Page 24 of Deprived No More

“And I wanted to see if you could pick up the patient they’re putting in room twenty.”

Ah, hah! I knew it. Vindicated. “What? A pelvic exam or a large boil on their butt that no one can possibly handle as well as I can?” I respond, knowing I sound catty. But truthfully, this stuff gets old. On a different day, I could just grin and bear it. But I cannot control my irritation at things that could prevent me from leaving on time and returning to my family at a decent hour tonight.

“No. A rehab facility patient is being sent over to rule out a blood clot. It’s nothing complicated, but my shift ends in about an hour, and I didn’t want to have to sign the case out to someone else.”

Ugh. Now I feel bad for being such a brat. I wouldn’t normally act this way. My home situation is bleeding onto my job worse than that puncture wound patient on blood thinners. “I’m sorry, Donovan. I just have a lot going on at home. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. You’re right. We do ask you and the other mid-level providers to do a lot we could do ourselves. I’ll be the first to admit it. You guys deserve a lot more than you’re paid. You are a huge part of this team. I’m sorry things are rough at home, though. Nick, okay?”

“I guess. The kids are sick. He took the day off to manage since I’m here.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Kat.”

Looking down at my watch, the hour of the day suddenly occurs to me. “Wait? What are you doing here so early? You’ve worked the night shift for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Yeah. I have plans tonight, and it was the only way I could get the evening off. I worked six night shifts in a row, and after today have a week off. But there was something I wanted to do tonight, and the only way was to work the afternoon shift.”

“Holy crap, Donovan. Did you get any sleep? That’s like a four-hour turnaround.”

Reaching behind his neck to massage his tense and overworked muscles, he shakes his head. “I think I might have gotten an hour or two.”

“Those must be some plans.”

A broad smile illuminates his face. I don’t ever think I’ve seen him smile like that. “Yeah, they are.”

Thirty minutes later, I’ve managed to put a deep stitch into Mr. Wood’s arm and encouraged him to try take-out tonight and leave those burgers alone. I’m glad it worked. Wounds while on blood thinners don’t always go well. Especially when most people on this type of therapy are older and have frequent falls. Many head bleeds occur from a simple fall while using anticoagulants. It can be dangerous for elderly people to be on them, but also necessary to prevent clotting if…

All of a sudden, I recall the patient Donovan asked me to see for him. I completely forgot. I’m so preoccupied today. Knowing he’s probably trying to get his patients wrapped up before he leaves, I decide to call the charge nurse.

“Emergency room, this is Robin.”

“Hey, Robin. I was just finishing up some discharge papers, and it dawned on me that Donovan had asked me to pick up a patient coming from a skilled rehabilitation center to rule out a blood clot. Have they gotten here yet?”

“It just so happens he did. I just assessed him. He’s in room fifteen.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” Whew. That was close. I would’ve felt terrible if they’d been sitting there waiting. Reaching for my water, I decide to run and grab something to eat and a cup of coffee after this. I don’t think I’ve had much sustenance in the last few days. Plus, there’s the whole stomach bug thing at the house. Not very appetizing.

Reaching for the door to room fifteen, I give a light rap before entering. I’m on autopilot, starting to introduce myself before the door is fully open. “Hi. My name is Ka-”

Holy shit. As if teleported to the past. The room starts to spin. It’s Mark.

CHAPTERNINE

Kat

“Hi, Kat,” Mark greets, his voice sounding so different from how I remember. Frail compared to the robust firefighter I recall from my twenties.

“Hi,” is all I can squeak out. Why is this making me so jittery? I can feel my limbs shake, and walk to the sink to wash my hands, hoping the warm water and distraction will calm my nerves enough to get through this.

“I didn’t realize you still worked here. If you’d rather ask someone else to see me-”

“No, it’s okay. We’re terribly busy today, and I wouldn’t want to…” I stop myself from completing the sentence, worrying my saying thatI wouldn’t want to burden anyonemight offend him. Hell, let it offend him. But I’ve tried desperately to make peace with that time in my life. While I don’t plan to befriend him again, it’s only hurting me to hold on to so much hatred.

It’s been almost eight years since the accident that changed everything. I lost one of my very best friends that day after Jake and Mark argued and took their disagreement to the slick, unsafe highway. Then had to grapple with the odd feelings I had over Mark’s injuries. Mark had all but admitted to stalking me, apparently having become upset at feeling rejected once he’d allowed himself to care for someone who didn’t feel the same.

As a mode of protection, I hadn’t allowed myself to learn too much about his situation. The last few years had been hard enough. I knew he’d suffered a spinal cord injury of some type. I didn’t know if it was something that could have caused permanent paralysis, but now it appears so.

“I haven’t looked at your chart. But the nurse who assessed you said you were sent to the ER to rule out a blood clot.” This makes sense given clots form when the blood doesn’t circulate well, and for many people who are bed-bound or use a wheelchair for mobility, this is a real risk.

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