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We work quickly to finish tidying up the room before Mr. Masterson returns from CT. When a possible heart attack, stroke, or severe infection is a concern, we jump into action quickly. Time is heart, brain, or body. But afterward, the cleanup can be a bit daunting and there will be lots and lots of orders to complete for his care before he’s admitted. Or should I say, when hefinallygets admitted. This job’s hard enough when we do have beds upstairs. Now we’re looking after really sick folkswho are usually in the ICU receiving one-on-one care while also bringing back additional patients to evaluate and treat.
I’ve been working as a nurse for the last ten years. It’s amazing how much things have changed in that time. New protocols require a lot of education and paperwork, but they save lives. I’d started online classes toward my nurse practitioner degree when I was pregnant with my youngest child, hoping I could cut back to part time, take the classes I needed, and spend more time with my kids. But what’s the old saying? The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
“So, who’s the hottie next door?”
My pulse quickens. Is he back? He must’ve beat land speed records to get back here. Thank goodness. “I’m pretty sure he’s a rule out appendicitis. He near about flew off of the bed when I pressed on his right lower quadrant.”
“Has Jacobson seen him yet?”
“No. But he was tied up with this stroke. So, I asked him if I could order the blood work and a CT.”
“Good call. They’ve been really behind today with all of these critical patients. The longer it takes to order it, the longer it’ll be before he goes.”
I wince, worried they could’ve come to get him before his return. I can’t lie or make something up if they found an empty bed. I’ll just have to come clean and say he left. My nerves quickly get the best of me, and I step over to the desk and peek through the window, hoping to find he’s back.
Darn it.
“Still not back?”
I jump with a start. “Oh! Wyatt, you scared me.” As I pull myself together, it hits me. “How’d you know he left and was coming back?” I whisper.
“I overheard your conversation. He seemed like an upstanding guy, Jillian. I have a good feeling he’ll be back. Try not to panic.”
“Jillian. Is everything, including your paperwork, complete for the code stroke?” Again, my hand flies to my chest, and I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves after Roslyn, the charge nurse, who lives in a permanent bad mood, sneaks up on me.
“Yes. I’ve done as much as I can until he returns.”
“Okay, when your patients get back from CT, try to get all of your orders caught up.” She tosses a dismissive sneer in my direction before heading to her office.Ugh.I have one patient possibly having a stroke, and the other may be going for surgery. I’ve filled out as much paperwork as I can until they get back.Chill lady.
“Don’t let her bother you,” Wyatt says, reaching over to rub my arm.
“She’s had it out for me ever since Anne started trying to help me with my schedule. It’s been hard to find a sitter for multiple twelve-hour weekend shifts. I know a lot of people struggle with childcare, but?—”
“Hey, I get it. You don’t have to explain. It sucks that some of the other nurses are making you feel bad. They’ve never had to walk a mile in your shoes.”
Well, I hope for their sake, they never do.I wouldn’t wish two steps of the last two years on my worst enemy.
All of a sudden, I hear Meghan’s voice. “Jill, your patient’s back.”
Wyatt and I run to the door, poking our heads into the hallway at the same time, only to see Mr. Masterson being pushed into his room, with Dr. Jacobson heading in our direction. Looking to Wyatt, I begin to feel utter dread.
“Jillian. Did Mr. Barrett go to CT? I tried to evaluate him earlier, but he wasn’t in his room.”
My mouth suddenly feels like the Sahara. I step into the hallway, hoping some angel of mercy will meet me here to get me out of the hole I’ve dug for myself. The absolute last thing I need is to get on Roslyn’s bad side. She’ll use this as the excuse she needs to get me fired. And I’d have no one to blame but myself. I drop my head in shame, trying to find the best possible way to explain what I did to Dr. Jacobson.
“Sorry it took so long in the bathroom. I might need a new gown.”
All three of our heads fly over to the doorway of Mr. Barrett’s room to find him wearing nothing but a pair of tight-fitting black boxers, panty melting abs covered in ink, and an apologetic smile. He’s holding his hands out with a shrug and an embarrassed facial expression, as if to demonstrate how much of a mess he just made in there. Even though I know full well, he must’ve just ducked inside the room as Dr. Jacobson approached.
Holy hell, this man is what the tatted up bad boy book boyfriends I read must be based on.
His chiseled chest is adorned in beautiful ornate tattoos, which travel down his torso like a living, breathing mural. His legs are tone, with less ink than the upper half of his body but equally as mouthwatering. And I’ve already had a front row seat to his spectacular backside.
“Oh, don’t worry. Jillian will get you a new gown. Come have a seat so I can evaluate you. I take it you haven’t made it to CT yet,” Dr. Jacobson says as he closes the door behind them.
Wyatt mocks wiping his brow. “Shit. That was close.”
“I think I just lost ten years of my life that I’ll never get back.” I laugh, resting my palm on my chest, trying to calm down my pounding heart. “Oh, my god, Wyatt. I’ll never do that again. Hejust looked panic stricken about picking up his kid on time. And I know what it’s like to have to decide between yourself and your children. I just wanted to help him.”
