Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Melissa
I’ve walked up to this hospital for a year now but today holds so much more weight. This time, I’m entering as an oncology RN. Pride fills my chest as I step through the rotating door and into the main lobby.
Dressed in my new purple scrubs, I take the elevator up to the sixth floor. My long blonde hair is tied back in a tight ponytail.
I know these halls like the back of my hand. I swipe my badge at the double doors to the oncology department. I walk to the nurses’ station, where Trudy is leaning over the desk, talking to a nurse sitting on the other side.
I was thrilled when Stephanie told me Trudy was going to be my training nurse on my first day. She’s exactly who I would want to help me transition into this new role. After all, she’s the one who inspired me to become a nurse.
Trudy turns her head as I approach, and a bright smile spreads across her face. She extends her arms. “Come here, girl. I’m so damn proud of you.”
I break out into an easy smile—an effect she always has on me—as we embrace in a tight hug.
“You did it,” she whispers in my ear. “I knew you would. I’m so excited to watch you shine.”
I nearly choke on emotion. When I called my parents last week to tell them, their reaction was underwhelming, to say the least. My mom was already three glasses deep into her bottle of wine, and Dad was pretending that he wasn’t annoyed by her slurring and inability to stay focused on the conversation.
Needless to say, I didn’t get off of the phone feeling like they had seen my accomplishment for what it was before congratulating me.
But this hug right here with Trudy? This feels like exactly what I was looking for.
“It’s all thanks to you,” I reply.
We pull apart, and she waves me off like I’m being ridiculous. “Don’t take away from what you did.” She pulls her tablet off of the counter, then swipes through her schedule. “It looks like you’ll take 412 with me today. I’ve got the rest.”
I nod my head in understanding.
“First, let me show you around so you know where everything is.” Her hand taps on the counter in front of us. “This is home base. It’s where we live.”
We walk down the hall where patient doors are on our left and right until we turn the corner. She flashes her badge, and we walk into the supply closet.
“You’ll find IV supplies, dressing kits, gloves, and saline flushes here. If you can’t find anything, just ask.”
I nod my head. Pretty straightforward.
We exit the closet and head across the hall, where she swipes her badge again.
“And here is our medication room. You swipe your badge here and type in your patient. Put in your PIN, and the medication drawer will open.”
“Got it.”
She continues down the hall, where she shows me the break room and then the staff locker room. I quickly shed my winter coat since it’s January, and walking downtown with this wind is painfully cold. I find the locker HR assigned to me, type in my code, and hang up my coat.
“Great.” She smiles. “Now let’s go see our first patient.”
When we are outside of room 412, Trudy stops. “This is Mr. Bishop. Sixty-one years old. Metastatic colon cancer. He’s stable, but anxious. Pain levels have been unpredictable.”
I follow her lead as she steps into the room.
“Mr. Bishop.” Trudy smiles brightly. “Good to see you this morning. How are you feeling?”
His wife is sitting in the chair beside him, doing a word search puzzle. I can’t help but smile to myself. My grandma always loved doing those puzzles.
Mr. Bishop clears his throat. “Pain seems to be worse right now, like yesterday.”
Trudy works on adjusting his pillow and straightening his blanket while she checks his numbers. “It’s pretty common for it to be the worst in the morning. Let’s see what we can do to get you more comfortable. First, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
While Trudy does that, I step to the other side, where his wife is. “Do you mind if I check your line?” I ask.
He nods absent-mindedly, shifting his focus to his wife.
I clean the port with a saline wipe and pull the saline flush syringe from my pocket that we grabbed while in the supply closet. After I push the solution through the line and confirm it’s clear, I dispose of the syringe.
“I’m going to get you some more medication to keep you comfortable. Dr. Fisher will be in this morning to go over your labs. You do your best to relax, and we’ll be right back with your meds.”
We exit the room.
Trudy turns to me. “I’m going to go check on another patient of mine. Can you go to the medication room and pull the PRN for 412 and meet me outside of his room?”
“Of course,” I answer.
By the time I’m back, Trudy is finishing up with the patient in 410 and walking out of the room.
She smiles at me. “Perfect timing.”
A man steps out of Mr. Bishop’s room. His eyes are already on the chart in his hand. Tall. Focused. Moving like the hallway belongs to him.
“Morning,” Trudy says easily.
He looks up. His gaze flicks from her to me—brief, unreadable.
“Dr. Fisher,” Trudy adds, gesturing between us, “this is Melissa. She’s starting with us today.”
He gives a short nod. “Okay.”
His eyes drop immediately to the medication in my hands. “Pain med?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Good,” he says. “He’s been escalating since early morning.”
And then he’s gone, already halfway down the hall.
I watch him for a second longer than necessary.
That wasn’t the man I remember.
Or maybe it was, and time had simply softened the edges.
Either way, Trudy is already turning toward the door.
“Ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
It’s after six when I walk through the door of my apartment. The old wooden floors creak with the weight of each step as I head for my bedroom to immediately rid myself of my scrubs and take a shower.
The low water pressure has always been a major frustration of mine with this apartment. Bryce and I had a nice starter apartment outside of the city with amazing landscaping and phenomenal water pressure.
I grab my leftover takeout from last night and place it in the microwave. Being a nurse is rewarding but leaves very little time or energy to cook your own dinners. I try to be good on my days off and try to put no pressure on myself after a shift.
The front door opens as I’m walking over to the couch with my food.
“I swear to God,” Kayla announces as she kicks off her shoes, “if one more man at that gym opens his mouth and ruins my fantasy, I’m switching to Pilates.”
I laugh as I take a seat on the couch. “That bad?”
She appears a second later, gym bag slung over one shoulder, ponytail half fallen, cheeks flushed. She drops the bag with a dramatic sigh. “Worse. Catastrophic.”
“Oh no. Not Gym Guy,” I say, pushing my fork into a piece of broccoli.
“Former Gym Guy,” she corrects. “He’s dead to me.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
“Okay,” she says, collapsing onto the couch next to me. “So, you know how he’s been my muse? Tall, quiet, mysterious? All brooding glances and morally gray energy?”
I nod solemnly. “Obviously.”
“Well,” she continues, “turns out, the mystery was just … emptiness. I made the mistake of talking to him today.”
I wince. “What did he say?”
“He asked me if I believe the earth is flat too.” She pauses. “Then told me he’s a Leo, so obviously, commitment is hard for him.”
I snort. “That’s devastating.”
“And then”—she raises a finger, eyes wide— “he said reading is a waste of time.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” I say. “Straight to jail.”
“Right? My ovaries shriveled in real time.” She grabs the glass and takes a long drink. “So much for chapter twelve.”
“Guess you’ll need a new fictional obsession.”
“Ugh. Back to emotionally unavailable billionaires, I suppose.” She studies me over her shoulder, then shifts so she is facing me. “Okay, enough about my heartbreak. How was your first day?”
I hesitate, leaning back against the couch.
“It was … fine,” I say honestly. “Busy. Calm actually. Trudy’s exactly how I remembered her.”
Kayla smiles. “Of course she is.”
“I only had one patient. Stable. Nothing dramatic.” I shrug. “It felt good to be back on a floor. Different from the ER, but good.”
“And the doctors?” she asks, casual but curious.
“There was one,” I say. “Chief of oncology.”
“Hot?”
I roll my eyes. “Kayla.”
“What? It’s relevant.”
“He was …” I search for the word. “Not the same as I remember. Not bad. Colder.”
“Cold, hot or cold, cold?”
“Cold, cold,” I say. “Efficient. Not unfriendly. Just … not warm.”
Kayla hums. “Interesting.”
I shrug again. “Honestly, it didn’t matter. It was a long day. I’m tired.”
She watches me for a beat, then grins. “Well, in that case, I vote we order takeout, you drink wine, and I rewrite an entire subplot out of spite.”
“That sounds perfect.”
She hops off the stool and grabs her phone. “Thai or pizza?”
“Surprise me.”
“Living dangerously on day one,” she says, already tapping away. “I like it.”
I smile to myself as I head toward the couch, exhaustion settling in—not heavy, but earned.
Tomorrow will come soon enough.
Tonight, this is enough.