Chapter 17 - Tasha
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tasha
The little girl—Mia, according to her chart—sat on the exam table in a pink onesie covered with tiny elephants, her wispy blonde hair pulled into two small pigtails with purple elastic bands.
She was clingy but not screaming, which was already a win.
Her mother, Jessica, looked exhausted in the way only parents of sick toddlers could manage.
"She's been cranky for two days," Jessica explained, bouncing Mia gently on her hip. "Won't eat much, keeps grabbing at her diaper. I thought it might be a UTI because my sister's daughter had one around this age."
I nodded, making notes. "Good instinct. Let's get a sample and see what we're dealing with."
Getting a clean urine sample from a fifteen-month-old required patience and creativity.
I applied the adhesive-backed collection bag carefully while Jessica distracted Mia with her phone, playing some mindless kids' song on repeat.
The whole process took twenty minutes, but we finally had what we needed.
"Lab should have results in about an hour," I told Jessica as I labeled the specimen. "In the meantime, let's get her some Tylenol for the fever and see if she'll take some juice."
Jessica nodded gratefully. "Thank you so much. I was worried I was overreacting."
"You did exactly right bringing her in," I assured her. "Better safe than sorry with little ones."
I sent the specimen to the lab and moved on to my other patients. Room 12 had a construction worker with a gnarly laceration that needed suturing. Room 4 was a college student with what appeared to be strep throat. Standard Friday afternoon in the ER.
I was charting the strep throat case when my phone rang. Lab extension.
"Fast Track, this is Tasha."
"Hi Tasha, this is Mike in the lab. I have critical results that need to be reported directly to a nurse or physician, not just uploaded to the system."
I frowned, pulling up my patient list. "Which patient are you calling about?"
"It’s, ahh, Room 8. Mia Johnson."
Room 8. Mia. The UTI case. I felt a flutter of confusion. "Room 8? That's a routine urinalysis for a possible UTI. What's critical about that?"
"The culture came back positive for Neisseria gonorrhoeae."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I stared at my computer screen, at Mia's sweet face in the photo Jessica had shown me earlier—the one where she was laughing in a sandbox, dirt smudged on her cheek.
"Are you... are you sure?" I managed.
"Confirmed positive. The patient is fifteen months old, correct?"
"Yes." My voice sounded strange to my own ears. "Yes, that's correct."
"Okay, I'll upload the results now, but I needed to make sure you were aware, given the... circumstances."
I hung up and sat staring at the phone for a long moment. Gonorrhea. In a fifteen-month-old baby.
There was only one way that could happen.
I stood up slowly, my legs feeling unsteady. I needed to find Sophia. I needed to call Dr. Lee. I needed to... I needed to go back to Room 8 and somehow explain to Jessica that her daughter's infection wasn't what she thought it was.
My hand flew to my mouth, bile rising. I swallowed hard, fighting it down.
Sophia. I needed Sophia.
I found Sophia at the charge desk, reviewing staffing assignments for the next shift.
"Sophia," I said quietly. "I need to talk to you. Now. It's about Room 8."
She looked up, immediately reading something in my expression. "What's wrong?"
"Lab just called with critical results. The fifteen-month-old with UTI symptoms." I lowered my voice. "She's positive for gonorrhea."
Sophia's face went perfectly still.
"Have you told the mother yet?"
"No, I... I just got the call."
"Okay." Sophia stood up, her expression shifting into the controlled competence I'd seen her use during mass casualty events. "Let's get Dr. Lee involved. I'll page him now. And we'll need to call Child Protective Services."
My stomach clenched tighter. "The mother... she's going to ask me how this happened."
"I know." Sophia's voice was gentle but firm. "We'll handle it together. But first, let's make sure we have all the facts straight."
Dr. Lee arrived within minutes, his usual easy demeanor replaced by professional gravity when Sophia quietly explained the situation. Together, the three of us approached Room 8.
Jessica looked up hopefully when we entered. Mia was sleeping in her arms, finally peaceful after the Tylenol had brought her fever down.
"How are the results?" Jessica asked. "Is it what we thought?"
I glanced at Sophia, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"Jessica," I said, pulling up a chair so I could sit at eye level with her. "The lab results showed that Mia does have an infection, but it's not the typical UTI we were expecting."
"What do you mean?" Jessica shifted Mia slightly, protective instincts already kicking in.
"The culture came back positive for an infection called gonorrhea," Dr. Lee said gently. "I know that's probably not a word you were expecting to hear in relation to your daughter."
Jessica blinked, confusion clear on her face. "Gonorrhea? But that's... how could Mia have that?"
I watched her mind work through the implications, saw the exact moment when the pieces started to fall into place… and then the desperate scramble to find another explanation.
"Oh!" Jessica's face brightened with sudden understanding.
"Oh, I bet I know what happened. I had that same infection recently.
My boyfriend, he..." Her cheeks flushed.
"He cheated on me. We worked things out, but before I knew I was infected, I took a bath with Mia.
She loves playing in the tub with me. That has to be how she got it, right? "
The hope in her voice was heartbreaking.
"Jessica," Sophia said softly, "I understand why you'd think that, but unfortunately, that's not how this type of infection spreads. Gonorrhea can only be transmitted through direct sexual contact. It can't be passed through bath water or casual contact."
"But then how...?" Jessica's voice trailed off, her eyes growing wide with dawning horror.
"We need to ask you some questions," Dr. Lee said gently. "Has your boyfriend ever been alone with Mia? Even for short periods?"
"I... yes, but..." Jessica's voice became smaller. "He babysits her sometimes when I work late shifts. He's good with her. She likes him. She never seemed scared or..."
The words died in her throat as the full implications hit her. The color drained from her face.
"No," she whispered, almost inaudibly. "No, that's not... he wouldn't... he loves her. He tells me how much he loves her all the time."
Then she began to cry. Not the quiet tears of a worried mother, but the soul-deep, keening wail of someone whose world had just shattered. Mia stirred in her arms, whimpering at the sound.
I had heard people cry before. In the ER, you hear every kind of grief—the sharp grief of sudden loss, the exhausted grief of prolonged illness, the angry grief of unfairness.
But I had never heard anything like the sound Jessica made.
It was primal, devastating, the sound of every assumption about safety and love being ripped away.
Sophia immediately moved to gently take Mia from Jessica's arms, holding the sleepy toddler while her mother fell apart. Dr. Lee was already on his phone, making the necessary calls.
"I'm so sorry, Jessica," I said, my own voice thick with tears I was desperately trying to hold back. "I know this is devastating. But we're going to take care of Mia, and we're going to make sure she's safe."
"How could I not know?" Jessica sobbed. "How could I not protect her? She's my baby. She's my everything. How could I let this happen?"
"This is not your fault," Sophia said firmly, still holding Mia. "Do you understand me? This is not your fault. You brought her here because you knew something was wrong. You did exactly what a good mother does."
But Jessica was beyond hearing reassurances. She was lost in the horror of what had been done to her child, what she had unknowingly allowed to happen.
I excused myself and walked quickly to the bathroom, where I locked the door and leaned against the sink, trying to regain control. My hands were shaking. My stomach felt like it was full of broken glass.
When I came back out, Sophia was waiting for me in the hallway.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I lied automatically.
"Tasha." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I've been doing this for fifteen years.
I've seen too many of our colleagues—good nurses, smart nurses, dedicated nurses—who we've lost forever because they didn't want to ask for help.
We see the worst things in the world, and we're good at helping people through them, but we're awful at helping ourselves. "
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"You know what the most dangerous thing is?" Sophia continued. "When we start thinking, 'What right do I have to complain or be sad when so many other people have it so much worse?' It's a fallacy. Just because someone else's pain is visible doesn't mean yours doesn't matter."
"I'm fine, Sophia. Really."
"This is a hard thing to see and go through," she said, ignoring my deflection. "If you need help processing it, we have grief counselors available. I'm going to get you that information this afternoon. And if you need anything else, anything at all, I'm here. Anytime. Really."
I managed a thin smile. "Thank you."
"Also," Sophia said, glancing back at the charge desk, "we're overstaffed today. I need to send someone home early."
I stared at her. In three years at Metro General, I had never once seen us overstaffed. Not even close.
"Sophia, you don't have to—"
"Four o'clock is fine," she said, as if I hadn't spoken. "Get out of here. Go home. Rest."
I looked at her for a long moment, seeing the kindness behind the professional facade, understanding that she was giving me exactly what I needed, even if I couldn't ask for it.
"Sophia," I said as I gathered my things. "Does it ever get easier? Does it ever... go away?"
Her expression softened, and for just a moment, I saw the weight she carried—fifteen years of cases like Mia, fifteen years of being the rock everyone else leaned on.
"No," she said quietly. "It doesn't. But you learn to carry it. And you don't carry it alone."
I nodded and headed for the parking garage, pulling out my phone as I walked. I scrolled to Nate's contact, my thumb hovering over the call button.
He was probably having a nice day off with Paige. I didn't want to ruin that. But I also couldn't go home to my empty apartment and sit alone with what I'd just witnessed.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit call.
"Hey," Nate's voice was warm, relaxed. "This is a nice surprise. What's up?"
"Are you busy?" I asked, trying to keep my voice normal.
"Just hanging out with Paige. She's building some kind of architectural marvel with Legos. Why?"
"Could I... would it be okay if I came over? I know it's last minute, and if you have plans—"
"Of course," he said immediately, and I could hear the shift in his voice, the way it became more alert. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I lied. "Just... had a rough shift. Thought maybe I could see you both."
"Absolutely. We'll order pizza. Paige will be thrilled."
"Thank you," I said, and had to end the call before my voice broke.
As I drove toward Nate's house, I tried to push the image of Mia's innocent face out of my mind. Tried to stop hearing Jessica's devastating sobs. Tried to forget the moment when I'd had to explain to a mother that the person she trusted with her child had destroyed that child's innocence.
But I couldn't. It sat in the pit of my stomach like a stone, heavy and sharp-edged.
I needed to see Paige safe and happy. I needed to see Nate's fierce protectiveness in action. I needed to remember that there were good people in the world, people who would die before they let harm come to a child.
I needed to remember that love could be trusted.
Even if I wasn't sure I believed it anymore.