#nyumed

“Con-Ed called. We’ve got half an hour of power left and 204 patients to evacuate before the backup generator fails,” the grad student explained as our small group of volunteers closed in on his impromptu pep talk. “The nurses are bringing the babies down first,” he continued, shifting his eyes from side to side nervously. The rest of us stood in the med center lobby blinking back at him. Hadn’t we come to carry med equipment to dry ground like the group of students who’d shown up before the hurricane hit? Would we really be tasked with hauling sick people to safety? “Bringing the babies down!” someone whispered as the lobby lights sputtered overhead and we prepared to join the rest of Manhattan in vast black. “What is this, Titanic?” Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. I glanced around. Much of our group was comprised of petite 23-year-old girls donning ponytails and spandex still fresh from their first month of medical school. Aside from a few able-bodied students, we were a flimsy bunch that hadn’t hit the gym in months. Not one of us had ever cared for patients, let alone carried them down 16 flights of stairs. Hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I’d snuck inside the med center lobby holding Ivan’s hand as he flashed his med school badge at a distracted security guard. I knew nothing of this sterile world with its scrubs, rubber gloves, and delicate HIPPA processes, having spent the past year at a start-up in an open office overlooking Park.