8. Chapter 8
Aspen
The ER is slammed today; it is a lot of the days in the winter, especially in December.
Busy bodies run all over the emergency room department trying to keep our four-room ER moving along.
There are still a handful of patients in the waiting room.
Today alone I have seen three patients who fell off a roof trying to put up Christmas lights.
The snow has fallen heavily and there hasn’t been a break in its falling, but there have been plenty of broken bones.
“Okay, bay four is ready for a new patient,” Tanya, our charge nurse for today, says as she pumps the hand sanitizer onto her hands before running to put out the next fire.
“Want to rock paper scissors for the next patient?” Ava says.
“I’m a little worried if you hustle anymore today you’re going to go into labor and then I’ll be alone in this hell hole.
” I walk over to where she is slouched, looking incredibly uncomfortable as she catches up on charting.
“I got this one; I’ll have the charge nurse come help me if you need a break, okay?
” She’s too damn stubborn for her own good, so I know she won’t.
We had a CNA float from the med-surg floor to help with our department today. She helps us room patients and turn rooms, since they were slow on the floor. We would be dead in the water if it wasn’t for her help. Next week, I'm bringing her a large, extra-caffeinated coffee as a thank-you.
Once the patient is roomed, I pop in and do my assessment, then relay my findings to the doctor. It doesn’t take me too long, but when I am done with that, it’s officially lunchtime and my thirty-minute break from the chaos.
Walking through the halls on my way to the cafeteria, I admire the hanging pictures taken by members of our community.
The cafeteria is small, but the food is homemade, though it's questionable on Fridays when they use leftovers to create some sort of hodgepodge meal.
I catch a whiff of fish and suddenly my mouth starts to water, and not in a good way; my gag reflex kicks in right behind it.
I have to brace my hand on a nearby table to get it together.
Taking a few deep breaths to get my shit together and not upchuck all over the floor, my mouth finally stops watering and I open my eyes so I can get in line.
The special is Fish and Chips, and usually, I love this.
They make a killer homemade tartar sauce.
It’s probably because it’s 2:30 in the afternoon and I haven't eaten in hours. Sometimes when I push myself too long without a snack, I get nauseous. It’s annoying, but once I get some food in me, I will be better.
Sitting down, I try to take a bite and realize I was wrong; getting food in me did not help.
The second the fish touched my tongue, I knew it was a mistake.
The nausea came back with a vengeance, and if there had been anything in my stomach to evacuate, my body would have.
Instead, I got to dry heave into the toilet fifteen out of thirty minutes of my break.
I get back in line, going for something safer this time.
“Are you back for seconds?” the line cook, Jana, asks. She’s my favorite. She always gives me four pieces of bacon in the morning when I get breakfast here, even when I only order and pay for two.
“Actually, can I get a grilled cheese to go? Ava needs food,” I lie, mostly because I don’t want her thinking I didn’t like the food. They work hard here and I’m not an ass.
She smiles at me warmly as she writes my order on the bottom of my paper plate. “Of course, we will get that right out.”
Making my way down the line, I hit the water station. Maybe I’m extra dehydrated and that’s why I feel like crap.
Jana hollers my name when the sandwich comes out.
I go to sit in a secluded corner, not wanting to deal with the breakroom.
I bring the sandwich to my nose and sniff, seeing if this too will make me lose my cookies.
But it doesn’t; in fact, I feel my mouth water again, but this time it’s a good reaction.
I find a seat in a chair secluded in the corner; usually I am a social butterfly, but the ER can be a bit overstimulating and sometimes I just need these thirty minutes to hear my own thoughts.
Opening the lid of the to-go container, I pull out my sandwich and take a bite, and my goodness, this is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.
The only thing that would make it better is if they cut it from the corner instead of the middle, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I inhale it faster than necessary, but since I already lost precious time, I need to go back to work.
When I sit down at my desk, it seems most of the chaos has calmed.
“So, what did I miss?” I look over to Ava, who has her legs propped up on the chair and her arms folded over her very pregnant belly.
I’m willing to bet she pops within the week.
She wanted to work up until she popped; the good news is if it happens here, she can just walk herself over to labor and delivery.
“We discharged two while you were gone; we’re waiting on labs for bay four, but it does appear that there has been a break in the constant rain of patients.” She knocks on the wooden trim of our desk to ward off the bad juju. “How was lunch?”
“Weird, I think I’m having an aversion to fish for some reason. I walked down to the cafeteria; it was fish and chips day, which is normally my favorite, but I ended up getting sick.” I look to her, shivering again at the thought.
“Ugh, the smell of fish is so gross.” She scrunches her nose, as if nauseous at the thought of it.
I nod in agreement. “I couldn’t eat it, but I did eat the shit out of a grilled cheese. It was seriously the best one I've ever had. The crust was all crispy and the cheese was perfectly melted.” I have to stop describing it before I start drooling like a damn dog.
She pinches her face and purses her lips. “Have you had other nausea?”
I toss it around in my mind. “A little, I guess, but mostly while working.”
“Here, with all the gross smells?” she questions with a quirked brow.
“No, here with the short staff that leaves me lunchless until two, when my blood sugar has dropped to the depths of hell, leaving me hangry.” I level with her.
“Just want to throw out something, and don’t hate me for it.” She looks to me, asking for confirmation that I’m not going to be mad by tilting her head and raising her brows.
“I could never be mad at you for your sometimes harsh and hurtful honesty,” I joke.
“Truth hurts, baby. But I think you should consider another reason for the on-and-off nausea. Like pregnancy perhaps.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“And do you take it like you should?” she asks with a bit of sarcasm.
I changed my mind. I’m mad.
“This is stupid. There’s no way in hell I can be pregnant.” I spin in my chair and look at my computer, suddenly irrationally annoyed.
“Yeah, you didn’t say yes. I’m not saying you are.
I’m just saying I would check if I were you.
That was one of my biggest symptoms. It came and went, but when it came, it was awful.
It’s gone now, replaced with peeing every time I sneeze and then wondering if it was pee or if my water broke.
Did anything happen with Cameron that night? ” She wags her brows.
With that, I burst out laughing. “No. It was a wonderful first date, but I haven’t seen him since.
We’re supposed to meet up next weekend.” With my admission, she almost looks disappointed, which makes me laugh harder.
“I’m sorry. But I really don’t think I am.
But I do appreciate your concern. Now, go to lunch before you go into labor on your last shift with me.
” I shoo her with my hand until she waddles out of the department.
The second she leaves, another patient is ready to be roomed and I’m left with no time to overthink.