Page 115 of Habits

You used to know all the nurses, and they’d explain everything you wanted to know.

Not anymore.

That was in another lifetime.

With confident, long strides I walk down the hallway until I reach the door my mom said is my dad’s office. I lift my hand to knock, but find the door slightly ajar.

It feels like déjà vu.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I peek in the small space left open.

My father is seated in his chair. His dark hair, dappled with grays, is messy. His white coat is left open, wrinkled from the long shift.

I hear their murmured voices, but I can’t decipher the words, the buzzing in my head growing louder and louder.

They both laugh, and I see the nurse that’s inside with him—young, barely out of college, with long legs, a tiny waist and big bust—leaning over the table toward him. The motion opens even more of her shirt, exposing her ample chest that my father doesn’t even pretend not to look at. His hand covers hers on top of his desk.

The bile rises in my throat.

This can’t be happening.

Not again.

I take a step back, but when that’s not enough to get them out of my sight, I take another and another before I turn around on my heels and hurry away.

When I pass the nurse’s station, I remember the file in my hand.

That stupid file.

“Give this to Dr. Sanders.”

I thrust the file her way and run out of there, not waiting for an answer.

She calls after me, but I ignore her.

I have to get out of here.

I have to escape.

The space, the sound, the smell … it’s all too much. The picture of my father in his office with that nurse, etched in my mind. It brings memories. Memories I’ve spent a lot of time forgetting.

But the thing about the memories?

They usually come back.

* * *

Before

I run pass the nurse’s station waving at Sally. She’s the fifty-something head nurse of the cardiology department in St. James’s Hospital. Sally gives me a short wave before continuing her phone conversation, probably with one of the patient’s families.

Sally’s the best nurse ever, and I’ve met quite a few since I started tagging along with my father to work. She’s caring, emphatic, and so, so nice. She always smiles, and I’ve heard a lot of patients say that her smile brightens their day and makes them feel better.

Yes, medicine helps, it can save people’s lives, but care and compassion are equally as important, if not more, in the recovery.

I walk down the hallway, greeting nurses and patients along the way to my dad’s office. I didn’t tell him I was coming, but since Max and I went to school in the same car today, I figured I’d stay in the city while I wait for him to finish with his hockey practice.

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