Page 8 of In Your Wildest Dreams
“Ask me who it is.” She nudges me with an elbow, and her smile widens.
“I don’t care who it is.”
“Just ask me,” she insists, practically vibrating next to me.
“Okay, fine. Who is it?”
Before she can answer, the charge nurse on the day shift shouts my name. Sandy is a frightening woman who has worked at the hospital longer than I’ve been alive. Her patients love her, but everyone that works with her gives her a wide berth. One of her jobs is to create the schedule for the nightshift. We had a new hire last month that talked back to her and barely lived to regret it. She quit on day two.
I happen to like Sandy’s no-nonsense, slightly prickly personality. She still scares me, but I like her.
After startling, I aim a wobbly smile at her. “Yes?”
“I’m assigning you the VIP in 601 tonight.”
“Lucky,” Hannah hisses and then leaves me to start her shift.
Lucky? Is she joking? I once overheard a nurse trade two vacation days to avoid taking a VIP patient. No one wants to get stuck with a VIP.
All I’ve heard since I started working here is how management hovers nearby VIP rooms, popping in and out unexpectedly and scrutinizing care decisions, and that the patients are often more demanding. Sometimes it’s a doctor’s family member or a loved one of someone in administration, or it could be a donor who gives large sums of money to the hospital each year. The criteria for who makes a VIP is broad and not clearly defined.
But as I look around, I notice a few more jealous gazes turned in my direction, which makes no sense to me.
Sandy brings both hands up to rest on either end of the stethoscope around her neck. “Let’s do the bedside report for 601 first.”
Nodding my agreement, I follow her toward the room of who I’m sure is going to be the most stressful patient of the night. On the plus side, I probably won’t be bored enough to realize how tired I am.
The hospital is laid out in an L-shape. One long hallway with patient rooms extends out from the nurses’ station, and on the other side are four more patient rooms—though these are bigger, nicer, and often reserved for cases the hospital deems a higher priority. Room 601 is one of the nicer rooms. Maybe the nicest since it sits at the end of the hallway. Every floor has one room at the very end of the short hallway with windows that look out onto the city. The executive offices are on the top floor on this side of the building for that very reason.
“So, who is the patient?” I ask her as we pass by empty rooms, trying to shake any negative thoughts. Whoever it is, they’re just another person that needs the same empathy and care.
She stops in front of the supply closet and hands me two extra pillows and a blanket. “Are you a hockey fan?”
“Hockey?”
She nods.
“No. Not really. Why?” As I ask the question, my throat goes dry.
“I never really cared for it either, but my husband is a diehard. We always go to a couple of Wildcat games each season. He’ll be so jealous when I tell him I got to meet one of his favorite players.”
The implication of her words hits me with force. A Wildcat hockey player ishere?
I can’t seem to find my voice to ask her which player. Besides, there are a dozen other guys it could be. There’s no way it’s him. It can’t be.
Without another word, she shuts the closet door and continues down the hallway toward the last room. I follow behind her, heart racing even as I repeatedly tell myself I’m overreacting for no reason.
The door for Room 601 is open a crack. Light seeps out along with muted voices. Memories of the last time I was face to face with a Wildcat player swirl through my mind and my fingers tremble.
“Sandy! Wait up.”
We both turn to find Hannah jogging toward us. She stops in front of Sandy. “Someone from administration needs to see you.”
“Tell them I’ll be there as soon as we do the handoff on 601.”
“She said it can’t wait. They have a question on some paperwork for him.” She tips her head in the direction of our VIP.
“Maybe I should go,” I offer.
