Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
DANI
Four Years Later
Sighing, I stand from my chair in the testing center after taking my Certification for Hospice and Palliative Nursing (CHPN).
After years in the emergency department, I finally found a specialty where I could make a real difference.
It started one day when a family member brought in their mother, who was dying of cancer.
She hadn’t had a care plan in place, and ended up intubated, despite a poor prognosis and rapidly declining quality of life.
The doctor informed them that she would not likely leave the hospital this time.
Later, they chose to withdraw support. Maybe if they had received information about hospice options earlier, they might have been better prepared for that moment.
Still, even the best-laid plans can sometimes fall apart.
Can you ever really be prepared? Emotionally, no.
However, having a plan helps you think clearly, find a middle ground, and simply focus on being present in their final days, hours, or even minutes.
I know that I wasn't prepared when my mom passed away, despite knowing it was coming.
The hospice nurse, making her comfortable in those final hours, was invaluable.
I hope to provide that same guidance to others—to offer support, clarity, and the information they need to make decisions they can accept and feel at peace with when that time finally comes.
As I slip into my car and start the engine, the drive through the city passes by in a blur of pavement and shopping malls.
The streets seem quieter than usual, or it's just the thoughts in my head that are subdued. The late morning sun reflects off the glass of the building as I approach the downtown area, and I let my mind wander. I think about the patients I’ve helped, my mom’s passing, and the uncertain future that still lies ahead.
Each mile brings a strange mixture of nostalgia and hope. Am I making the right choice?
By the time I pull into the emergency department, my thoughts have shifted to the present.
The familiar chaos of ambulances, paramedics, and nurses rushing about is a setting I’ve been familiar with for years.
I find it strangely comforting, despite the stress it carries, because it always keeps my mind busy.
I enter the emergency department to clear out my locker, and Liv greets me.
“Hey, you,” she chirps, looping her toned arm around my shoulder as I rest my head against hers.
This place has been a familiar setting for years, and the friends I have made here are the best part.
“How’d it go today?” she asks, and I can’t help but smile.
“Passed like a superstar." I laugh, and Liv claps.
“Well, of course you did!” She does a little hop. “I never doubted it for a second.”
“Yeah, now I just need to send off my résumé to a certain hospital in Boston,” I say sheepishly. “I’m going to miss you guys,” I admit.
Her eyes mist. “I’m going to miss you, too.” She starts crying and hugs me, squeezing me tightly. I hear a distinctive clatter of clogs approaching before I see her.
“Oh, ease up, besties.” Emma snorts as she walks up to us. “You know Liv, she's so emotional when she’s pregnant.” She laughs, rolling her eyes and hitching her thumb in Liv’s direction.
Liv nods, agreeing. “It’s true.” She dabs at her eyes with her sleeve, and I cringe, thinking about what it has touched in this place, hoping she doesn’t lose an eye. “Are you glad you took a little time off to pack and then make that big move?”
I bit my lip, mulling it over. “Yeah, I’ll need the time.”
Emma’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Need the time to stalk things out?” she says.
“I think she means stake,” Liv counters, but Emma just hides her smirk before turning to watch a stretcher rolling past. A paramedic squeezes the bag as they rush the patient into the trauma bay with several people following close behind.
“And that’s my cue to go,” Emma says as she waves before following suit.
Liv insists on hugging me one last time as she reluctantly leaves, taking the hallway that veers off to the right and walking back to her urgent care station.
Opening the door to the women’s locker room, I open the bag I brought and begin the task of removing my years of memories from this place, which hang in the form of photos and well-meaning gifts.
I notice an envelope and see the cursive sprawl of Emma’s writing on the front.
I place this in my purse to read when I get home.
I pick up the stethoscope my mother gifted me the day I was accepted into nursing school and hold it tightly.
A single tear slips from my eye, and I can’t help the sadness of losing her in such a cruel way.
The monster that stole her from this world too soon.
Fuck cancer. I place it delicately on the top of my belongings and close the locker with finality, knowing that I won’t be returning, and the next time I hang my stethoscope in a locker, it will be in a different city and hopefully, if I plan it out correctly, at the same hospital Vic works at.
I grab my bag of belongings, swing them over my shoulder, and exit the building for the last time.
Memories of fun times with my friends, and reminders of how exhausting this job can be, flood me.
Yeah, I definitely won’t miss it all. I take a moment to savor the accomplishment, letting it sink in, before moving on to what I hope will be the final defining chapters of my life.
Back at the apartment, I can’t help but wonder how all this will play out.
I place my belongings in a box that will be taken to my new place soon.
I stand around looking at the apartment that has been my own personal prison.
Too many sad memories reside here, and I can’t wait to be rid of this place.
The walls are bare, and my bedroom is all packed.
I plan to have a quick night sleeping on the couch and stalking Vic online before the movers come to load my items and bring them to the East Coast. Emma wanted to take me to the airport to catch my flight, but she and Eduardo had to go to her family’s house in Mexico.
Luckily, Liv is off and volunteered to take me.
That prompts me to remember Emma’s note.
I stand up from the couch and grab my bag and laptop, plopping them on my lap as I fall back into the sofa, crossing my legs over one another.
Extracting the letter from the envelope, I open the stationery with a capital E in script. It reads:
Dani,
Over the years, you have become one of my most cherished friends.
I want you to know that if you ever want to talk, your secrets are safe with me.
Even if you don’t want to share, that’s okay, too, because I know you and I get it.
You are so much like me that the first time we met, I knew we would be great friends.
Please know that if you need anything at any time of day, I will be available to answer.
Should you need help, I will provide it, no questions asked.
Don’t be a stranger, and come back home whenever you can.
Love,
Emma Taylor-Ruiz
Home. That word stands out the most in that letter because I only have one home, and that is wherever Vic is. But for the last few years, this place with my found family in Houston has been my home.
I heard rumors about Emma and her husband being in the mafia, but I thought it was just that—a rumor.
However, after what I saw that night and the way they helped me take care of the situation with the body in the alley, I knew there was more truth to it.
There is usually some truth mixed in with the rumors.
The fact that no one was freaked out by what I did was also a big clue.
And I know that Eduardo, her husband, would do anything his wife asks, including helping me.
Opening the laptop and typing in Vic’s name, I see a picture of him on the medical staff website.
Dr. Victor Flores, of the general surgery department, is depicted in his portrait.
The boy, now a man, looks so similar to the person I said goodbye to that day, until his taillights faded from my view, taking my emotions with them.
His eyes are devoid of any happiness, and his lips form a thin line.
His white coat, with his name in black script, stands out.
I touch his face on the screen and vow to make the light return to his eyes and his lips to once again find mine.