I give her a fond, questioning look; she lowers her eyelids.
‘So I picked him up, the little show-off in his garish clothes who always stands in the garden acting like he’s achieved something in life just because he’s made of wood and not plastic,’ the man now explains with expansive gestures.
Only with effort does Nyla lift the corners of her mouth.
Is it because of our encounter in the ambulance yesterday? The way I was so dismissive at first was wrong. I shouldn’t have shut her out like that and should have admitted that I made a mistake out on the cliffs.
For a moment, the pinched face of my boss, who confronted me after yesterday’s shift about the rescue operation at the cliffs, flickers through my mind. And her incredulous look when I assured her that it wouldn’t happen again in the future—something that probably never would have happened without that conversation with Nyla.
‘I wanted to turn him a little, and what happens?’ Our patient throws his arms in the air. ‘The guy who’d stood obediently in his corner for years suddenly came flying at me like a miniature rocket launcher!’
Nyla startles, as if she’s just woken from a dream.
‘Okay, hold your hand still so we can see what we’re doing,’ I ask the man.
He stretches out his hand, and I spot the splinter immediately. Getting that out won’t be easy. ‘We should numb the area locally. What do you think, Dr. Moore?’
Nyla nods and gets to work.
Unimpressed, the man keeps chattering away. ‘But instead of backing off, I wanted to save it, so I grabbed for it. And what does the stupid garden gnome do? It twists in the air and lands— I swear, it was like in a bad action movie—right on my hand.’
Normally I would burst out laughing now, the man is damn funny, but I can’t when I see Nyla in this mood. ‘Wow, it really put you in your place,’ I say absentmindedly.
‘Please place your hand here.’ Nyla points to the mobile table on which she has spread out a sterile cloth.
The man does as she asks, then he leans toward me. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ he whispers to me.
If only I knew…
Instead of answering, I lift my shoulders. While Nyla switches on the lamp and positions it so she has a good view while she works, I watch her.
It probably has something to do with the old man who stirred up so much in her at the beginning of the shift. When his test and examination results arrived a few hours ago, it was clear that he was not doing well and would have to be admitted as an inpatient.
She was deeply sad when she told him. Almost as if she had informed him that he would be leaving our world today.
Maybe he will have to, I think, and for a moment I see Camee’s face before me. Her tired eyes, the forced smile, the pale cheeks.
A stab shoots through my chest and I focus again on our patient, who is chattering away nonstop with Nyla. He tells her how he called his garden gnome to account after the attack and warned it never to do anything like that again. With an expression somewhere between worry and tension, she administers the local anesthetic and hums her agreement.
When she removes the splinter a little later, it almost physically hurts to look at her. She’s perched on the rolling stool like a picture of misery.
‘I’ll clean the wound, then we’ll put a bandage on it, which you should change regularly,’ she explains to the patient. ‘I’m also going to prescribe an antibiotic for you, just to be safe.’
He doesn’t really need an antibiotic for this tiny splinter. That she’s prescribing one anyway doesn’t surprise me, though. No matter whom she treats, she just can’t leave well enoughalone. A few days ago I thought she was only this overcautious with me, but she seems to fear the worst for every single patient.
Admittedly, sometimes she prevents bigger disasters that way. Like yesterday. Taking precautions does apparently have its advantages now and then.
‘Avoid putting excessive strain on the finger over the next few days.’ Nyla sticks the bandage on. ‘Clean the wound daily with warm water and mild soap. No harsh disinfectants, they could irritate the skin.’
Visibly confused, the patient nods. He clearly hadn’t expected so many instructions.
I study Nyla. Why is she actually so overcautious? Is she afraid of making a mistake and harming patients because of it?
Has something like that even happened to her before?
‘If the finger starts to hurt more or turns red, report to the emergency room immediately.’ She gets up from her chair and pulls off her gloves. ‘Watch out for signs of infection, severe swelling, or fever. If that happens, react right away.’
The patient grows paler with every passing second. ‘Do you think that can really happen?’
