Rhoda smiles. “Last patient, I promise, Maeve. Got to go pick Coco up after the shift.” Rhoda thinks of Coco’s fluffy little face.Ha, such a good doggie.“Can you call ahead to Radiology, Maeve?” Rhoda asks. “Book the CT, we’ll get that done first and hopefully ICU will have space by then. And Maeve, could you page up another doctor? That junior doctor is still up to his eyeballs with that missing-finger situation. He isn’t going anywhere soon.”
Maeve lets out an unexpected burst of laughter and sets about calling Radiology.
Rhoda grabs the unknown man’s medical notes again and breaks into a gentle jog back toward cubical 7, her white nursing shoes squeaking across the linoleum.
“Oh, and porter, please!” she calls behind her as she disappears out of Maeve’s sight.
—
In cubical 7, Rhoda works fast. A series of actions she has gone through multiple times over the last thirty years. Pulse, blood pressure, fluids, ready for transfer.
She looks through his entry notes again. She reads the notes on his behavior in more depth: “disorientated, aggressive, highly agitated, and nonresponsive.” Excellent, what a wonderful combination to end the shift with, she thinks.
Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do with you.
The patient’s breathing changes infinitesimally in depth. Rhoda looks up from the clipboard.
Oh God.
The man begins to stir under the blankets. The notes say, “Patient has been slipping in and out of consciousness for approximately 35–40 minutes.” There might not be long to get him transferred before he wakes up again and this all gets slightly more complicated.
She pokes her head out through the cubicle curtains. “Porter,now,please,” she calls, louder this time.
Behind her the man shifts in his bed. Rhoda sighs. He’s waking, looks like it’s happening regardless. She moves around to the man’s bedside and steels herself.
He stirs again and suddenly his eyelids flick open.
He looks directly at her.
She smiles down at him. “Hello, you.” Her tone is gentle, maternal. “How are you feeling?”
The man stares up at her warm face floating above him. He takes it in, studying it. He was on the beach and now he is here.
His brow slowly knits as he looks at her, her kind eyes, the small scar hidden in her hairline.Does he know her?No.He doesn’t know her.Rhoda watches the realization flash across his face.
“My name is Rhoda. I’m a nurse. You’re in a hospital now. But there’s no need to worry, you’re fine, everything is all right. I’m just here to help you. Okay? That’s all I’m here for. Now, you’ve had a little knock to the head but we’re going to get it all sorted out. Everything is going to be just fine.”
A knock to the head?His eyelids flicker in concern.
“Nothing too serious,” Rhoda counters. “Nothing for you to worry about just now. All you need to do is lie there all cozy and let me do everything. Have a nice relax and let me do it all. Do you understand? You’re in safe hands with me.”
His muscles slacken back into the bed as he stills himself. He blinks up at her and lets out a sigh that clouds his oxygen mask.
“Trust me?” Rhoda asks.
He looks up at her and she looks straight back down, solid and safe.
His eyes fill and when he blinks, tears run in two rivulets down either side of his face. He exhales deeply again and tries to raise his arm. Rhoda rests a hand on it lightly, she feels the quivering of his muscles beneath the sheet.
“Okay, then. That’s a deal. You trust me and I’ll get you all fixed up. Shall I?”
He blinks at her slowly, consenting.
What the hell happened to you?she wonders, and moves her warm hand to his shoulder.
“Do you remember banging your head? Do you remember that?”
The man closes his eyes to concentrate, breath momentarily held. When he looks back at Rhoda, there is only thinly masked confusion.He can’t remember.
