Chapter 15 Grace
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grace
I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.
A very harsh and relentless truck that wants to show me all the bad in the world in the form of innocent clients.
The last client I saw was a nineteen-year-old woman, found on her bedroom floor by her dad with what looked like drug paraphernalia.
The distraught family came in with the client, worried about her overdose and the recent discovery of her hidden use history.
They were tearful and anxious while I provided them with resources for rehab and mental health services due to her history of depression.
I held back the knot in my throat while they clung to me, asking why this happened to their little girl.
How could they have missed all the signs.
What could they have done differently. If she’s going to be okay.
I’m doing my job. Trying to keep a professional front while being as compassionate and sympathetic as possible.
But sometimes, that compassion bleeds into my own heart.
The images of the daughter crying in her mother’s arms when she realizes she’s met with concern and fear instead of reprimand causes me to imagine a child finding comfort in the one person who would move mountains for her.
I left the small room to give them some privacy while knowing their journey has just begun.
I tried to focus on the good. The fact that this incident didn’t take her life.
That both the mother and daughter understood they needed help and were willing to seek it, but I couldn’t help the constant twinge in my chest thinking about this hurdle they’d have to overcome before either one sees any semblance of normalcy.
I’m sitting in the nurses’ station, cradling a cup of vending machine Earl Grey tea while reviewing a chart for a patient ready to be discharged with a durable medical equipment order for a walker and shower chair.
I have a few minutes before my lunch, and I’m using it to unwind and disassociate.
Move on from one client to another in the hopes that I can help another person.
Maybe even see a significant amount of good outweigh the bad so that the light at the end of the tunnel feels more feasible rather than this obstacle course that continues to lengthen and grow more arduous.
After a regretful sip of my tea that left my tongue seared, I’m interrupted by a completely offhand question.
“Do you know anything about catnip?”
I look up from the computer I’ve been scanning over.
I had my pen wedged between my teeth, a very unsanitary habit I’ve been told by many I need to stop, and I whip it away from my face the second I see Dr. Noah’s distracted face peering down at his phone screen.
He has a pair of glasses on, ones that are clearly meant for reading, and he looks at me over the black rim.
I almost look over my shoulder, unsure if the question is directed at me, before finally responding with, “Catnip?”
He nods. “I just got a cat, or two cats actually, and they seem a little…overactive. I’m thinking some catnip may subdue them.”
“So, you want to get them high?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but I am a dog person,” I confess. “I believe that makes us incompatible.”
An offended look crosses his face, and he removes his glasses, tucking them into the breast pocket of his scrub top. “There are plenty of people who have cats and dogs. In fact, my neighbor has two golden retrievers and a calico cat.”
“Hmm,” I hum with intrigue. The conversation suddenly feels like a metaphor about suitability and congruence. And not of the coworker dynamic but something that suddenly makes me a little uncomfortable that it’s just me and him at the nurses’ station.
I’m glad to see Dr. Noah adjusting well to the unit.
These random questions that deviate from our regular day to day in the ER have been a welcome reprieve when I feel the day start to weigh on me.
Usually, he has a bigger audience with the steady flow of nurses coming and going through the station, but it just so happens they’re occupied with other matters at the moment.
“So, are these new cats, or…”
“My sister’s cat just had babies, and I took two of them in.” He swivels his phone screen, showing me two baby kittens with an assortment of black and white patches. “All they’ve done is rip up the socks in my hamper and cry all night.”
I know I said I’m a dog person, but the two sets of yellowish-green eyes looking back at me makes a squeaky “aww” squeeze through my lips. Maybe I’m not as much of a dog person as I thought. Maybe, with the right feline, I can shift into a cat person and make myself and Dr. Noah less unsuited.
“And you want to medicate these poor innocent babies? Shame on you, Dr. Noah.”
He smirks, taking his phone back and tucking it away in his pocket. “Don’t let those sweet faces fool you. I’m down to my last pair of socks.”
I laugh, and Dr. Noah does too. The two of us are caught in an innocent exchange when Betty slumps into the empty seat next to mine.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her focus on the chart she’s urgently flipping through.
“Dr. Noah is dabbling in veterinary medicine.”
Betty’s brow shoots up, her eyes still on the chart. “I think that takes an entirely different field of study, but you know, whatever career choice you go with, we all support you, Dr. Noah.”
I giggle at the same time Betty finally lifts her gaze from the chart. Her deep blue eyes dart from me to Dr. Noah who has his elbows braced on the counter. She tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and gives me a look meant to convey a question, but I ignore it.
“Well, good luck, Dr. Noah.” I stand from my seat and turn to Betty. “I’m on lunch in case you need me.”
She nods, and I round the corner to leave the station.
Once in the breakroom, with my freshly heated frozen dinner, I settle in for the next half hour.
I’m mindlessly scrolling through my phone when it buzzes with a new message.
A light snort rattles my throat when I see a new text message. From Andrew.
Andrew
Did we decide whether or not multiple moose are called meese?
I abandon the plastic fork in my hand that was jabbing at a sauce-covered piece of penne pasta and tap out a response.
Grace
I think the third round of tequila shots arrived before we came to a conclusion.
Andrew
But meese sounds pretty accurate, right?
Grace
Have you Googled it?
Andrew
You can’t cheat!
I laugh, wondering where this sudden intrusion is coming from. But, with how entertaining my lunch break is turning out to be, it hardly feels like an intrusion at all.
Grace
Is there a reason for this midday text interruption? Aren’t you at work?
Andrew
That’s exactly why I’m texting. I need a break from my day.
Grace
Ah, so I’m a distraction now.
Andrew
But the best kind. The Cadillacs of distractions. A GOAT, if you will.
Grace
Why are you talking me up? What do you want?
Andrew
So I have to want something to compliment you?
Grace
That’s usually how it works. You want something, you talk me up. And vice versa.
Andrew
How about just a friend needing a friend. Is that enough?
Grace
I guess.
So, what are you up to?
My lunch grows cold in front of me, but I don’t even bother to care. I’ve found something much more fulfilling to take up the remaining twenty-two minutes left of my lunch break.
Andrew
I just sorted through my third bag of Sour Patch Kids.
Did you know there are approximately sixty-four blue raspberry-flavored ones in each bag?
My face contorts with confusion.
Grace
Why on earth are you doing that?
Andrew
Boss’s orders.
The simple two-word explanation is all I need to know how his day is pretty much going.
And the knowledge that someone would task their employee with something so demeaning and belittling makes the anger and frustration inside me simmer.
What grown man asks—no, demands—someone else to divvy up their candy according to color and flavor? What kind of childish person is he?
Grace
Jeez, you weren’t kidding. I’m sorry.
Andrew
I’m sorry too.
That my boss is an eight-year-old boy.
Grace
Anything I can do to help?
Andrew
This? Talking to you helps.
He adds a half-smile, half-sad face emoji, and a small part of me cracks under the guilt of him having a rough day.
Grace
How about an after-work pick-me-up?
I think about my message before adding,
Grace
As friends, of course.
Andrew
What did you have in mind?
Grace
There’s this new ramen bar near my house that I’ve been wanting to try out.
How about I order some to-go, and you can talk more shit about this juvenile boss of yours while we eat at my place.
I consider my offer. We did agree on this friendship thing.
I’m definitely not breaking any rules by inviting him over.
We’d just be having ramen while having a small venting session.
And after the day I’ve had, I’m sure I need it just as much as he does.
Suddenly, the idea of carrying everything I’ve been bearing during my workday home doesn’t feel as daunting as it normally does.
Because I’d be offloading it to someone who would sit there and listen while slurping away at his warm, savory noodles.
I’ve finished convincing myself to stick with my invitation.
To not go back on it and look forward to a night with a friend when I receive a response.
Andrew
You’ve got a date.
A FRIEND date.
Just as expected, my half-eaten lunch remains unfinished by the time my break is over. I toss its remains into the trash, suddenly looking forward to dinner. A dinner not eating another frozen dinner like I planned.
I plan to spend the remainder of my day catching up on charting and discharge follow-ups.
When I return to my desk, I find a small chocolate cake in a plastic disposable container.
It’s from the cafeteria, made obvious by the addition of a few coarse brown napkins, but there’s the addition of a little yellow sticky note on it.
I pluck up the note and read it with curiosity.
Your guilt trip worked. I’ll try a motorized cat toy to wear them down instead. Thanks for the tip.
— Noah
Not Dr. Santos or Dr. Noah. Just Noah.
Even though I find myself rolling my eyes and shaking my head, the smile on my lips shows a far cry from vexed.