Midnight First Aid

My neighbor pounded on my door in the middle of the night, a deep gash on her hand. I grabbed my first-aid kit and patched her up.
The next day, she reported me to the state medical board for practicing medicine illegally.
I didn't argue. I quietly accepted my suspension from the hospital and waited for the investigation.
In the community group chat, she gloated: "That'll teach these little nurses a lesson!"
Five days later, her elderly father choked on a piece of food and stopped breathing.
She hammered on my door, screaming for help. I stood on the other side and said calmly, "I'm on suspension. I can't risk practicing medicine illegally. You'll have to wait for the paramedics."

1
It was one in the morning when the frantic ringing of my doorbell jolted me awake.
"Sarah! Sarah! Open the door! Help me!"
It was my neighbor, Linda. Her voice was a terrified shriek, laced with tears.
I threw on a robe and rushed to the door. The moment I opened it, the thick, coppery smell of blood hit me, making me gag.
Linda stood there, her face ghostly white. Her left hand was crudely wrapped in a kitchen towel, but blood had already soaked through, dripping between her fingers onto the floor.
"I was cutting fruit… I think I hit an artery! Sarah, you're a nurse, right?"
"Please, help me! I'm getting so dizzy!"
She swayed on her feet, about to collapse.
I didn't have time to think. I pulled her inside.
"Don't panic. I'll take care of it."
I sat her down on the sofa, ran to my bedroom, and grabbed the professional-grade first-aid kit I always kept on hand. As a surgical nurse at City General, this kind of trauma was second nature to me.
"Hold still. This is going to sting."
I carefully cut away the blood-caked towel. A deep wound, almost down to the bone, gaped at the base of her thumb. It was bleeding profusely, but she'd missed the main artery, only severing a small vein.
I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and began to clean the wound with an iodine swab.
"Ah! That hurts! Be gentle!" Linda screamed.
"There are shards of glass in the wound. They have to come out, or it will get infected," I explained, my hands never wavering.
Decontaminate, disinfect, apply ointment, pack with gauze, and secure with a pressure bandage.
The whole process took less than ten minutes. The bleeding stopped completely. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on my forehead.
"There. It's not too deep, and you didn't damage any tendons."
"Keep it dry for a few days and go to a clinic to get the dressing changed regularly."
I took a fresh sterile gauze pad and a roll of bandages from my kit and handed them to her.
"Take these for your dressing change tomorrow."
Linda stared at her neatly bandaged hand and let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Sarah, thank you so much! You're my savior!"
"I have to take you out to dinner to thank you properly!"
She grabbed my hand, gushing with gratitude.
I just waved it off, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over me. "It's nothing. We're neighbors. Just go get some rest."
After she left, I looked at the puddle of blood on my living room floor and the stained sofa cushion and sighed. I started cleaning.
I didn't get back to sleep until three.
The next morning, I went to work with dark circles under my eyes.
That afternoon, while I was preparing medications, the head nurse called me into her office.
"Sarah, did you treat a neighbor's wound at your home last night?"
"Yes. She was bleeding heavily, it was an emergency," I answered truthfully.
The head nurse slapped a file down on her desk.
"Your neighbor, Linda, filed a formal complaint with the medical board this morning."
"She's accusing you of practicing medicine illegally without a license in an uncertified location. She claims your improper procedure caused a severe infection."
"She's demanding you pay for her medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. A total of fifty thousand dollars."
Fifty thousand dollars.
My mind went blank. A chill spread through my limbs.
The same woman who had called me her "savior" just hours before had turned around and stabbed me in the back.
"She also said…" the head nurse paused, "that the medical supplies you used were expired, and that your hostile attitude caused her extreme psychological trauma."
Rage surged through me, so hot it felt like my blood was boiling. A fire lodged in my throat, and I couldn't speak. Every single item in my kit was from the latest batch, purchased through the hospital's internal supply channels each month. There was no way anything was expired.
I looked at my boss, my voice raspy. "That's a complete lie."
"Whether it's a lie or not isn't the point right now," she sighed. "The medical board has accepted the case. The investigators will be here tomorrow. Sarah, according to protocol, you're suspended, effective immediately, pending a full investigation."

2
I walked out of the head nurse's office in a daze.
My colleagues looked at me with a mixture of pity and curiosity, but mostly, they just looked away.
"Illegal practice." For anyone in the medical field, it's a career-destroying accusation.
I could hear the whispers from the corner of the nurses' station.
"See? No good deed goes unpunished. She stuck her neck out and got it chopped off. Serves her right."
"Fifty grand? That neighbor is ruthless. It's a straight-up shakedown."
"You never know, though. How do we know her supplies were clean? What if she really did mess it up?"
The words were like needles, piercing my heart.
I went home, and before I could even catch my breath, my phone started buzzing violently. The community group chat.
It was Linda.
She had tagged me in a post to all three hundred members.
She'd attached a photo. Her hand was re-bandaged, but she'd deliberately loosened the wrapping to make it look sloppy. The skin around it had been photoshopped to a raw, swollen red, making it look "severe." I could tell instantly the "redness" was just smeared-on lipstick.
Immediately, a woman named Janet chimed in. She was the head of the community association, a notorious gossip who loved to stir up trouble.
What's going on here, Sarah?
The chat exploded.
Neighbors who knew nothing about the situation piled on.
"That's horrible! How could you betray someone's trust like that?"
"Exactly! Don't offer to help if you don't know what you're doing!"
"What a terrible nurse. Using expired supplies just to save a few bucks?"
I stared at the cascade of false accusations. I wanted to fight back, to post all my evidence and tear their lies apart.
But as I typed the first word, I stopped.
I suddenly understood. Arguing with a mob fueled by outrage was pointless. They didn't want the truth. They wanted a spectacle.
I deleted my message and left the group chat.
I took a deep breath, walked into my bedroom, and locked the very first-aid kit that had saved Linda's life deep inside a closet.
Then, I sent a text to my head nurse.
I accept the hospital's decision. I will cooperate fully with the investigation.
To Linda and Janet, my silence was an admission of guilt. It was weakness.
Their performance became even more theatrical.
BREAKING NEWS! That nurse Sarah has been suspended! See? Justice will be served!
Thank you, Janet, for standing up for me! And thanks to all my wonderful neighbors for your support!
That's how you deal with these nurses! They think a white uniform makes them angels?
Look, she's too scared to say a word. She knows she's guilty!
This isn't over until I get my $50,000. Not a penny less! She's going to pay!
I could almost see Linda's gloating face through the screen. I smiled.
It was a quiet, cold smile that I could feel on my own lips.

3
The days of my suspension were harder than I could have imagined.
I couldn't go to the hospital, couldn't put on my scrubs. I felt like the core of my identity had been ripped out.
I replayed every detail of that night in my head, confirming again and again that my procedure had been flawless. I photographed the lot numbers, manufacturing dates, and expiration dates of every single item in my first-aid kit. I even managed to pull the security footage from my apartment hallway. The video was grainy, but it clearly showed the stark contrast between Linda's panicked arrival and her calm departure.
With all my evidence prepared, I waited for the investigators' summons.
Meanwhile, Linda and Janet's show continued in the new HOA group chat they'd created.
Every day, Linda posted an "update" on her condition.
One day, the wound was supposedly filled with pus. The next, she couldn't lift her arm. The day after, a doctor had supposedly told her she might have permanent nerve damage.
She painted herself as a tragic victim, brutalized by a negligent nurse.
Janet, for her part, fanned the flames. She even posted a notice on the community bulletin board titled: "Official Condemnation of Resident Sarah Jenkins of Unit 1502 for Endangering the Safety of Her Neighbors."
It was printed on red paper in stark black ink, like a public shaming notice, nailing me to a pillar of disgrace.
Every time I went out to take out the trash, I could feel the other residents' eyes on me.
Contempt, avoidance, smug satisfaction.
Once, in the elevator, an older woman saw me, immediately grabbed her grandson, and pulled him into the corner, muttering under her breath.
"Stay away from her, sweetie. Her hands are dirty, and so is her heart. You might catch it."
An invisible hand squeezed my heart, so tight I couldn't breathe.
I was the one who had saved a life. Why was I the one being publicly crucified?
Five days later, the call from the investigation team finally came.
I went to the hospital with all my evidence.
Facing the two grim-faced investigators, I felt no fear.
I presented my evidence, one piece at a time: the photos of the supply lot numbers, the clear expiration date records, the hallway security footage, and even photos showing how I had properly disposed of the medical waste.
I calmly recounted every step of the procedure, from cleaning the wound to bandaging it, along with the medical justification for each action.
"Based on my assessment of the wound and the sterile procedure I followed," I concluded, "the probability of infection occurring during my treatment is less than one in a thousand."
"If Ms. Linda's claim of a 'severe infection' is true, there are only two possibilities."
"First, after receiving my emergency aid, she removed the bandage herself, causing a secondary contamination of the wound."
"Second, she deliberately faked an infection in order to extort money from me."
My words shifted the atmosphere in the room. The investigators exchanged a look.
When the interview was over, I walked out of the hospital into the blinding sunlight, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders.
I trusted the facts to clear my name.
When I got home, my phone showed that Linda was still performing in the group chat.
Today happened to be a holiday, the Festival of Lights.
Linda had posted a photo of a lavish dinner, with a bowl of steaming sweet rice balls in the foreground.
Happy festival, everyone! Once I get my settlement money, I'm treating all my supportive neighbors to a huge feast!
@Linda, congrats in advance! You can't go easy on people with no medical ethics!
A chorus of agreement followed, all of them praising her "brave" fight for "justice."
I looked at the screen, at all those hypocritical faces, and turned off my phone.
I boiled a bowl of frozen dumplings and ate them alone, in silence.
Outside my window were the lights of a thousand homes and the occasional firework.
My own world felt cold and empty.
Just as I was finishing my meal…
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A pounding on my door, even more frantic than before.
It was followed by Linda's voice, now a distorted, desperate shriek of pure terror.
"Sarah! Open the door! Please, open the door!"
"Help me! My dad… My dad is dying!"

4
Through the peephole, I saw a face twisted in absolute horror.
Linda, her hair a wild mess, was throwing her body against my door, creating a series of dull, heavy thuds.
"Sarah! I'm begging you! Please come out and look!"
"My dad choked on a sweet rice ball! He can't breathe!"
Her voice was raw, every word trembling.
I didn't move. I didn't make a sound.
THUD!
Linda started kicking the door, making the heavy steel frame vibrate.
"Sarah, are you even human?! You're a nurse!"
"If you let him die, you're a murderer!"
She started screaming curses, spewing every vile word she could think of.
I could picture the scene on the other side of the door.
A life, slipping away with every second.
My hand clenched into a fist, my nails digging deep into my palm.
As a nurse, saving lives is my instinct. My brain was racing, every step of the Heimlich maneuver flashing through my mind. If I opened the door, it would take me maybe thirty seconds to save a man's life.
But…
I remembered her gloating in the group chat.
"That'll teach these little nurses a lesson!"
I remembered the notice on the bulletin board, its angry red paper burning in my mind's eye.
I remembered the old woman in the elevator, her look of disgust.
I remembered the lonely, sleepless nights of my suspension, the feeling of being utterly alone and betrayed.
Why?
Why should I? Why did they get to hurt me, to trample on my profession and my dignity, and then demand my help as if it were their right?
I slowly walked to the door and leaned against the cold, hard steel.
Outside, Linda's screams and curses continued, now mixed with desperate pleas.
"Sarah, please, I was wrong! I'm not human, I'm an animal!"
"I shouldn't have reported you! I don't want the fifty thousand! I'll get on my knees for you!"
"Please, just save my dad!"
THUD! THUD! THUD!
She'd given up kicking and was now banging her head against the door.
I took one final, deep breath, suppressing the last flicker of a nurse's impulse.
Then, through the door, in a voice that was perfectly calm and clear, I said:
"Linda, I'm very sorry."
"I am currently on suspension. I am the one you reported for practicing medicine illegally."
"I can't break the law. You'll have to wait for the paramedics."

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