The hospital was nestled in the rolling foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The jagged horizon had gravity – it pulled you in. Here, the trees grow deep against harsh winds, and the summer bloom is brief.
It was winter. People came from all over the world. Some to take pictures. Others to hike, climb – and conquer. Sometimes, danger wears a beautiful face.
The adventurers worried me the most. It was avalanche season. And the frozen mountain decides who goes – and who stays.
My pager buzzed. A rewarming case for hypothermia – and I had to make the call. If it was a “go,” I’d place drainage tubes into the heart, connecting them to the heart-lung machine – the cardiac surgeon’s workbench. It could warm even the coldest blood.
If not? We’d stop. We’d declare death. And as every doctor knows, you aren’t dead until you’re warm and dead. But how we define can also defile.
This one was cold. No heartbeat since they dug her out of the snow an eternal two hours before.
She was a seasoned mountain climber from a distant country. Her sole traveling partner was still missing. We had no other information.
A body with no person.
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Photo courtesy of Paul W.M. Fedak
