Page 2 of Night Shift

“This guy arrived by ambulance following reports of a collision. Evidently, he ran a red light and T-boned a minivan crossing the intersection of 509 and Pacific, which caused another car to swerve and crash into a utility pole. This was a bad one.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even gotten your name yet. You walked straight into a mess.” The side of her jaw clenched.

“It’s Sam,” I told her. “And your name is…”

“It’s Bethany,” she said, glancing at me. “Well, Sam, the vehicle he hit had a mother and three children in it. When police and fire arrived at the scene, they found the mother desperately clinging to her little girl, screaming for help while her other two kids were still in the van. They found the two boys deceased on the scene. When they brought her here, she was semiconscious. They took the little girl, who was in critical condition, to St. Mary's Children’s Hospital just up the road. They lined this patient in the field, so we were able to draw blood right away. We’re waiting to see what his blood alcohol level is, but I have no doubt that it’s high.”

I was trying my best to focus on her full report, but the lingering memories of that night—the one that had irrevocably changed my life—rushed to the forefront of my thoughts like a dark wraith.

“Is everything okay?” Bethany asked, concern settling in her brow. “You’re turning a little pale, and the last thing we need is another patient in the department.”

“I’m okay. This…is one of those cases that’s hitting a little close to home.” I plastered on a soft, professional smile and dug my nails into the palms of my hands to force the dark memories to recede. “Don’t worry. I’m good.”

While I listened to the rest of her report, I forced myself to slow my breathing. When working in the emergency department, I had one rule—not to get too invested in my patients, no matter how they affected me, good or bad. Sure, I cared about them, but if I allowed my emotions to get involved, it could be detrimental to their care. It was better to keep a professional distance. Caring for this man was going to be difficult because of the horrific pain his actions had caused innocent people. He would be a challenge, forcing me to confront my ethical boundaries.

But I was duty-bound to care for him, even if he was a piece of shit, so much like my father.

Giving Bethany a sidelong glance, I arched an eyebrow and asked, “Want to place a bet? Closest to guess his EtOH, and the loser buys coffee.”

The left corner of her mouth rose. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine here, and I’ll take that bet. I’ll go with a solid three-fifty.”

The doctor rushed past me once again, this time hitting my shoulder hard enough to spin me around. In a flash, he was gone, no apologies offered.

Bethany chuckled and said under her breath, “Don’t take Dr. Thorin’s rudeness personally. He’s like that to everyone.”

Once we got Mister Charming situated and sent to CT for his brain scan, Bethany briefed me on the two other patients I’d been assigned so far tonight. Thank God they weren’t in critical condition.

“I suspect that guy we just moved to CT is going to be a handful, so if he gets out of line, just remember to call security,” Bethany said, then paused. “We don’t need a new nurse getting assaulted by some drunk.”

Looking at her with a half smile, I assured her, “Just because I’m new here doesn’t mean I’m a new nurse.” The last thing I wanted was for someone to get the wrong idea about me being an inexperienced “baby” nurse from a small town. I knew how to handle my own.

“Sassy and pretty… I hope you know I meant nothing by the ‘new nurse’ comment,” Bethany said, nudging me playfully with her elbow. “And as much as I would love to stay and see what the EtOH result is for that guy, I’m fucking exhausted. It’s been a long day for me. I have a hot shower, a bottle of wine, and some Outlander waiting for me when I get home.”

I decided to treat our bet like they did on The Price is Right. “Sounds good, and I’ll guess three hundred fifty-one for the patient’s blood alcohol level.” I figured this would give me a fifty-fifty chance of winning. I’d spent enough time watching that silly game show to know that this was a solid strategy.

Bethany threw me a scowl hard enough to make my cheeks heat. “You’re really going to Price is Right me like that?” she asked.

“Sorry, Bethany, but I like to win.”

She shook her head in disbelief, but her scowl cracked into a smile.

“All right, all right… You’d better be honest about the test result when it finally comes in. Obviously, we don’t want any HIPAA violations, so don’t go texting me what it came back at, but I’m going to go ahead and give you my number because…well, I guess I like you.”

As Bethany walked away, a sense of relief lifted my spirits. I was pretty sure I’d just made a new friend.

It wasn’t long before the patient was wheeled back from CT in a frenzied state, ruining the upbeat vibe I’d just established with Bethany. Why did my first shift have to start like this, with such a violent and out-of-control drunk? I walked into the man’s room and asked the security officers if they knew what had happened during the scan. Normally, I would have received a call if something unusual was going on with a patient.

“He grabbed the CT tech and spit at her,” one of the officers said.

Well, that explained why the patient was now wearing a spit hood.

That kind of behavior didn’t shock me. I’d been around enough raging drunks to know they could do just about anything when inebriated. “Do we know if they completed the scan?” I asked.

The ED tech who had accompanied the man said, “He didn’t even make it into the scanner before spitting at her, which forced us to pull him out of there real quick.”

Moving closer to the edge of the patient’s bed, I gently but firmly rested my hand on his shoulder. I might have been calm on the outside, but on the inside, turmoil raged within me like wildfire. In my most composed nurse’s voice, I said, “Sir, it’s very important that we complete the CT scan. You’ve been in a car accident, and we need to check for any brain injuries. I’ll speak with the doctor about possibly giving you something more to help you relax, but I’m going to need your cooperation.”

His response was a vehement “Fuck you!” followed by an attempt to spit at me. I gasped, grateful for the spit hood’s protection. My hand dropped from his shoulder, and I stepped back. In an instant, despite his restraints, he managed to latch his fingers around my wrist, twisting it roughly and digging his nails into my skin. “I’ll kill you, you little bitch!”

The security guard was on him in a split second, squeezing the tendons of his wrist, weakening his hold just enough for me to yank my arm from his fingers.

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