6. Omar
Chapter six
Omar
My first week ended in a blur of mind-numbing routineness.
That is to say, I fed, burped, and changed my way through the days like the best, most overtrained nanny in the universe. The twins and I reached a sort of détente. I agreed to keep feeding them as long as they stopped projectile vomiting all over my scrubs.
Okay, maybe there wasn’t so much of an agreement as I learned how hard one could rock a baby before said child’s innards became outards.
I am a medical professional. Do not doubt my word choice.
Steel Bun was her usual sparkling self. Every time she strode by, something about how I held a baby was incorrect. Or the angle at which I held a bottle while feeding was too low. Or I hadn’t made clear enough notes in a patient’s file. It didn’t matter that all I did was feed and change the patient. She wanted notes about the color of the poo and mood of the baby.
Do babies that young even have moods? Weren’t they either awake or asleep? Hungry or burpy? Grumpy or . . .
Okay, she had a point.
Still, by the time my final shift of the week was winding down, my mind was filled with an odd sense of accomplishment and the contradictory feeling my work was never good enough. While I appreciated my boss’s desire to mold me into shape, I preferred she not do it in the same way a blacksmith made a sword with all his folding and beating and hammering and folding and beating and . . .
You get the point.
Steel Bun was a master blacksmith.
I was still a lump of iron.
At least, I felt that way.
“Good bye, little ones,” I said to the twins as I did my final check of the day. “You will probably go home tomorrow, so we will not see each other again. Thank you for teaching me how to burp without spit-up.”
The tiny, shriveled old man in the baby suit reached up and gripped my finger. Sunlight and world peace flowed through that touch.
And then the baby smiled.
“You can’t take him home with you. He has parents.”
My head whipped about, though I was careful not to dislodge my finger. I needed that connection to last a moment longer.
Carlie stood in the doorway, her gaze drifting from my face to the baby clasping my finger. A wide smile brightened her face. “You might just get the hang of this after all.”
I sighed. “Do you miss them? When they’re gone, I mean?”
She stepped forward and rubbed my arm. “Did you miss your other patients, your adults, when you worked at Grady?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But I worked in the ER. It was like turning tables in a restaurant. There was rarely time to get to know anyone before we shipped them off to another department.”
“Yeah, you’ll miss some of them.” Carlie looked past me toward the twins, and her voice softened further. “You have the easy cases now, the ones who aren’t sick but need a few days of attention. It’ll get harder when you help a preemie make it.”
“Why? That would be the best thing in the world.”
“It is.” Her eyes remained fixed on the twins as she spoke. “It’s just . . . different.”
“How so?”
She thought a moment, then glanced up. “How long do your infants stay in the unit before going home? A day, maybe two or three?”
“If you say so. I’ve only been here a few days myself.”
“Trust me, that’s about right.” Her smile wrinkled the skin around her eyes. I liked that about her. “When you get into Level Two and above, it’s a different game altogether. You have two or three healthy babies to care for, sometimes four, if the department is understaffed.”
“How many are you assigned?”
“One. Never more.”
“Really? A full-time RN for only one baby?”
She nodded as she reached down and stroked one baby’s tiny arm.
“The babies are sicker, weaker, born far too soon. Their odds are lower. All of that means they require more focused attention and their stays are longer, sometimes weeks or months. We get to know them. We learn their ticks and moods, what makes them settle, what riles them up.”
“That sounds so . . . personal.”
She gave me a faraway look and nodded slowly. “We’re trained not to let this get personal, and I think some nurses do okay with adults; but with babies, how can anyone look at that little face and not feel something? They’re so innocent and vulnerable. They need us.”
“Adult patients need us, too.”
“True, but it’s different. You’ll see.” She reached up and patted my arm again. “You’ve done well this week.”
I snorted. It wasn’t intentional. It just came out.
“What?” she asked.
“Steel Bun doesn’t seem to think that.”
“Steel Bun is a hard-ass.” Her mouth formed into a tight line. “If she’s bitching at you, she likes you. If she goes quiet, that’s when you should worry.”
That was a revelation. Steel Bun had been so far up my ass all week I wondered if I’d ever sit down again. Did that mean she liked me, that she thought I was worth investing her time and energy into? Had I been looking at her scolding all wrong?
Before I could lose myself down that rabbit hole, Carlie asked, “Doing anything fun this weekend?”
I shrugged. “I hadn’t given it much thought. My bowling team plays tomorrow night, but that’s about it, I guess.”
“Not seeing that ER nurse?”
My brow scrunched up. “Why would I see Matty on my weekend off?”
“Oh, come on, Omar. I saw how you looked at him through the glass, how you smiled when he asked you to lunch.”
“That was just—”
“Don’t give me that.” She shook her head and took a step toward the door. “It might’ve been his committee duty, but him taking you to lunch was something else entirely. Anyone with eyes could see it.”
“I . . . uh . . . what . . .” The English language abandoned me to flail in the midst of babes.
Carlie cackled. “Now, if your flag doesn’t flap his way, that’s okay, too. I have a few friends who—”
“It does. My flag. Flaps. I mean it flaps his way . . . that way . . . all the way.” I freed my finger from the infant’s iron grip and covered my face with my hands.
She could still see me.
Shit.
“Why don’t you stop by the ER and see if he has plans? You might not make twins of your own, but you could at least try.”
“Carlie!” I was stunned.
Her cackle grew. “Have a good weekend, Omar. I really am glad you’re here.”