"Move, move, move! We got mid-twenties male coming in with internal bleeding, unconscious state, and severe bruising to head and thoracic area. Make way!" The noise of an EMT causes me to look up from my turkey sandwich and walk from behind the nurse's desk to the hallway, but I am shoved to the side when the remainder of the paramedics run through the doors with a bloody, beaten up man on the stretcher.
"I guess my break is over," I mumble to myself while trashing my food and making way to the computer.
"We need him on an operating table stat! Let's go! Get Dr. Gammaro now! Move!" As the other nurses and physician assistants shout and command others around me, I stand there in awe and take it all in.
Normally I don't work in the emergency section but they were short on nurses today and being that I have my licenses for emergency care, I was temporarily moved here.
"Zoe!" one of my co-workers shouts, "Go retrieve his documents and start working on his file!" Nodding my head, I instantly run back to the nurse's station and gather everything I need.
Kyle Spencer, twenty-three years old, five feet eleven inches, single, no diseases, no family history of health problems, healthy weight and BMI. However, the last item on the list gathers my attention: immediate contact fiancé and then his sister. Where are the two in this desperate time of his?
Putting those thoughts aside, I run to the operating room and hand the assistant the paperwork in preparation of a surgery. Once I return to the desk, I read over his file in depth and wait for family to arrive.
However, after an hour I'm still sitting at the desk but no one has came looking for Kyle. Sad, really, his own sister hasn't bothered to call, and his fiancée, the woman who chose to be with him, hasn't shown her face. Perhaps they aren't aware of his whereabouts, I think giving them the benefit of the doubt. However, I have an aching pang in my chest- an intuition, perhaps, that the two emergency contacts are just that- only there when he is in dire need of assistance, not actual help.
Finally, the sound of wheels slowly rolling over the ground wakes me from my thoughts and twiddling. I look up and notice the nurses are pushing him out of the operating room, in a cot, and he isn't dead since he's uncovered, but that's not necessarily a good thing. When one of the PAs call my name, I jog to catch up with the team since I was told to meet in the conference room.
"We need to discuss how he got into this coma," One of the doctors comments while tapping his pen to his lip as I enter.
I'm not sure why I'm in here, since they usually only pull experienced and wise nurses but I suppose I'm one of the few available at the moment. Weekends are always the busiest for the ER, especially the days leading up to a holiday.
"We see he is allergic to Asparaginase and he took quiet a bit of Elspar," another MD announces and a few begin to take notes, which makes me feel out of place and almost like a child. However, I stay still and only retain the information in my mind.
"Did he try to kill himself?" One of the nurses asks. I silently scoff at the ridiculous question. Although it could be true that this man was suicidal, it is unlikely that he did this to himself. The drug is to treat cancer, and according to his records he wasn't diagnosed. And since this man is clearly not a doctor, or even in a career related to the medical field, it would be nearly impossible for him to now about this drug, let alone obtain it.
"Possibly but he didn't know he was allergic, so I don't believe so. This was accidental because upon ingesting the medication, he began having a seizure, thus causing the bruising and broken ribs. Ten minutes later, his fiancée found him on the floor." The last line instantly sparks my attention. So the girl does know- then why isn't she here, at his side, crying for him, begging God to spare him? That seems suspicious and almost enough to say she had a part in it.
"If he planned it then he would've made sure no one was going to find him." The psychologist finished with great confidence. This guy, whom I've only met twice, has already got on my nerves. From what I've heard and seen, he is a pretentious, self-serving, prick. It's obvious that the asshole, or formally called Dr. Harmon, only cares about himself and the psychotic nurse he's banging.
The team members bicker for a few more minutes, which gives me ample time to plot theories.
"Where was the fiancée during this?" I finally manage to mutter, and they immediately all jerk their heads to my direction. I'm sure most of them are shocked I even speak, while others unsure of who I am and why I'm even in the room.
'What about her?" A medical doctor asks with a raised eyebrow and a light scoff.
"W-well, she could have a play in this," I begin and hope I'm not shaking the boat. After all, I am trying to keep my position here and eventually move up in rank. "I mean, maybe she wants him dead for money or to run off with someone else?"
Once the words leave my mouth I instantly regret it. I couldn't have formulated it better, or at least have found some kind of evidence? Most of the nurses roll their eyes and me and one even scolds- as if I uttered the worst possible sentence.
"That's possible, we'll look into her but I doubt it," Dr. Harmon answers with his arms folded over his chest and body slumped in the wheelie chair. "I'm pulling up his life insurance policy right now," and just like that he has all of the patients information on the Mac Book screen. "It hasn't been updated in over a year. Plus, his family isn't wealthy. So there's not a strong motive"
Empathy taking over my emotions, I protest and stand out of my chair. "B-but, look! She's a med student so she would know how to use certain medicines to her advantage and probably obtain them!" Realizing my valid point, I smile to myself and am convinced that the woman had to have had some play in this alleged accident.
"Okay, Zoe," Dr. Harmon grits. Although we've never officially met, he has noticed me in the halls lurking when him and Hayden, the nurse he's screwing behind his wife's back, are stumbling out of a closet or operation room. "Go ahead and call the sister to see what she has to say. We'll look into the fiancée but as of now it's deemed an accident."
With the final word, Dr. Gammaro dismisses us and takes off before any after thoughts can be said. He isn't a man of patience or care- just in it for the money, most whisper behind his back.
When I understand that I was given the permission to call Kyle's sister, the woman who could have all the juicy details of his seemingly awful fiancée, I run out of the room and race to the computers for her number.
Unsure of why I'm suddenly so passionate about a man whom I've never even laid eyes upon, I slow down to a speed walk and wonder why I even care. I suppose if I was in his position I'd hope someone would care enough to give me justice, or it could be that he has no visitors, not even a concerned phone call.
Once I obtain his sister's telephone number, which seems to be out of the country, I dial with shaky hands. In my years of working as a nurse I've never had to call a family member or even inform them of anything. In my usual unit I just watch after children who have severe stomachaches or broken bones.
After the fourth ring I hear the groggy voice of a woman, who I assume to be his sister. Luckily, I'm correct but she doesn't seem too happy since apparently it's the early hours past midnight in her country of New Zealand.
A smile spreads across my face at the realization that she couldn't visit with such little notice, considering the distance, and that she wasn't even inform. Apparently the imbeciles here don't know the policy that clearly states all emergency contacts must be contacted upon arrival of a patient.
After breaking the news, and informing her that he is indeed alive but unsure of his current condition, I question her about his fiancée, Madison. However, she informs me that because of the distance she doesn't know much about the woman, and has only met her once. Although, she does note that the two often fight and she does become violent. Apparently she has a history of domestic abuse, on her part.
Once I finish thanking her, I begin to write a summary of what I've been told and my theories of what happened. As I type each word something inside me blossoms, almost like a new feeling. Unsure if it's only exhaustion from working a double, I ignore the sensation and write on until I'm satisfied with the work.
With ten minutes left of my shift I check on my patients for the last time and then quietly sneak off to Dr. Harmon's office to slip the letter in his door mail slot. With high hopes that he'll consider my evidence and not let the seemingly evil woman walk free, I shove the envelope through the small opening and then slowly drag myself out of the bright hospital.
. . .
The next morning I arrive to work twenty minutes early, in hopes that I can speak to the doctors about what I've written. As I practically skip through the automatic sliding door as the thought of not working a double shift for the first time in a week runs through my mind. Although I don't have any plans besides curling up in a bed to a good book.
Once I sneak into the wing of offices, I slowly creep to the conference room in hopes to catch them before their meeting ends. Luckily, after she knocks the familiar voice of Dr. Harmon calling me in.
As soon as the door swings open the team stares up at me, and the sleazy Dr. Harmon even looks me up and down. Holding back a gag, I force a smile on my make-up free face. "Good morning," I mumble in a breathy tone while sliding into one of the plastic chairs.
"We looked over your report," a man who introduced himself as Detective Colquitt begins. "From our own evidence we've concluded that his coma was accidental since he wasn't aware that he is allergic to Asparaginase. If he didn't know then surely his fiancée wouldn't. We do thank you for your dedication to this case."
"That's ridiculous! She's in school to become a nurse! She could easily steal a kit from the labs or take the medication to poison him- we all know that the medication is extremely deadly with a slight deviation from the normal dose! P-plus, Kyle's sister told me how Madison was abusive and shady. Madison has no alibi. God, Kyle's life insurance even covers death by removing life support. This is bull-"
Finally Dr. Gammaro cuts me off. I'm shocked that they even let me ramble this far but I know I've made valid points- most that I hadn't even thought of until they left my mouth. Still unsure of where I found the passion, or theories, I allow a smug grin to spread my face.
However his words don't soothe me- no, they only add more pain. "Zoe, our decision is final. Although, we do adore your passion, which is why we've assigned you to be his nurse. Every shift you will be there to assist and care for him until the moment he leaves."
I'll have to watch as his lifeless body lies on the cold, hard mattress while everyone walks by and whispers what a tragedy it is that this poor man slipped into a coma unwillingly.
However, I nod at the offer. This job is too important to risk of mere intuition. So, once I'm excused, I head to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. The day has barely begun but I'm already desperate for a nap.
Staring at my reflection in the cloudy mirror I wonder why I'm so invested in this man, for the second time. For all I know he could be a criminal- a thief, rapist, or murderer- but my brain doesn't allow those thoughts to taint the ones I've already formed of him.
Instead of wasting time, I slug from the bathroom to the nurse's station and grab my clipboard.
Upon arriving to Kyle's room an eerie sensation creeps around me, almost like he's watching me. But as I look around the room, I confirm that no one is here besides Kyle who is fast asleep in a coma, with his eyes shut. Slowly, I walk towards him, as if I'm going to scare him.
Once I'm close enough to study his appearance, I stop. The first thing I notice is his blonde curls that are stuck to his face by sweat. The tresses, a perfect shade of yellow, give Kyle a vibe that is unfamiliar to me, but nonetheless enticing.
Next, I move lower to notice his lips that are, although a bit dry, still a beautiful shade of pink, almost like a rose petal. They pucker into the most adorable pout and look so fluffy, so... kissable. However, the most innocent looking thing is the tiny, barely noticeable, freckle on the tip of his nose. I could barely make it out from my position but leaning in closer I revel in its cuteness.
Wondering if anyone has ever pointed out the small beauty mark, I brush my hand over his button nose. Perhaps it's an insecurity or maybe he's never bothered to take the time to study himself, so he's unaware that it even exists.
The beeping of his cardiac monitor remind me that I'm here as his nurse, not his friend and certainly not his fiancée. So, I quickly hook the bag on insulin to his IV stand and study his arm as I insert the needle.
The limbs are muscular, with decent size bulges all around, and veins popping from his forearm. I've always been fond of big arms, something about being able to hold me no matter what.
Once I finish, and check all his vitals, I decide to clean his room up a bit since my only other patient is napping. Organizing his few belongings, like a dead cell phone, I wonder what his background is. Could it be of him and his soon-to-be bride? Or maybe it's a photo of the sunset he took while hiking. Hopefully it isn't something horribly corny like a practically nude female he thinks is attractive because of her big tits and tiny waist.
After shoving the silly thought from my mind, I note that I should bring a hairbrush and some flowers, to brighten the room. After all, I do want him to have the most pleasant experience anyone can have while in a coma...in an expensive hospital...with no family or friends to visit. That should be an interesting task.
. . .
Checking the time I realize I have fifteen minutes until my shift is over, so I begin to finish with Kyle so I can quickly check on my other patient. Before leaving the room I squat next to Kyle and try to muster up something to say. I've seen plenty of movies and read ample books about coma patients and they all speak to them, so I suppose I should follow.
"Kyle," I begin with a shaky voice. I'm unsure if he can hear me, let alone understand my words. But I still continue, "it's your decision whether to die or live, so make the right one. Today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the temperature a perfect 68 degrees. Oh goodness, the sunset was gorgeous. Blend of lilacs, teals, tangerine, and salmon lit up the sky so beautifully, I wish I could've captured it for you. Right now, I see the stars twinkling in the night sky. Don't you miss that?" I pause, feeling silly, and listen to the halls to ensure that no one is listening to my speech. Once I'm sure the coast is clear, I start up again. "Please, don't give up. You're halfway in between. Still not dead but not quiet living. I wish I could be with you and let you know everything will be okay. But I will be here until the end. Until you decide. Your journey can't end, I hope, because you'd leave behind a train-wreck of messes and heartache."
I know it's wrong, stepping on the thin line, but I still kiss his cheek, in hopes that human touch will keep him striving. "Keep fighting. I'll be your nurse from now on. I'll see you bright and early until the wee hours of the evening- most days that is."
Once I kiss him one last squeeze of the hand, I stroll out of the hospital and pray he wakes up some day. He deserves a life, a second chance. I want to do more research into this Madison character because, quite frankly, she's suspicious as hell. What kind of girl doesn't visit the man she plans to marry when he's practically dead?
Then, on my way to the car, everything suddenly hits me, the reason why I'm so drawn to him: my younger brother, Charlie. He was so bright, so talented, so promising, but it was stolen from him by some girl-some stupid, selfish, woman.
He was on his way home from work on a Saturday night when a belligerent driver t-bone him. She tripled the speed limit and sent his small Toyota Camry flying. When the ambulance arrived they found him stuck inside an upside down car barely breathing, and upon pulling into the hospital parking lot, he fell into a coma.
Doctors said it was hopeless, just like Kyle, but I had hope. I wouldn't just let my brother die- not if there's a chance he could wake up. However, since I was only seventeen, and not his next-of-kin, my parents made the final decision. Six months into the seemingly permanent slumber, they pulled the plug. They ended his life without so much as a word to her.
Since the day of his official death, I haven't uttered so much as a text to my parents.
I won't let the same happen to Kyle. He's too young, too much to do and see.
That night I wake up every hour to the same nightmare: Kyle lying in bed, begging me to save him but the doctors decide to end his life before I can interject.
. . .
"Where is my fiancé?" A whiny, screechy greets me as I enter the lobby of coma care. Visitors like this irritating woman aren't uncommon but the staff still become very annoyed. "I need to see him! Where. Is. He?"
When I finally find the source of the shouting, I notice she's directing her anger at a young, and new, male who's job is to answer telephones, and since he's currently on a call, she must wait for other assistance. However, by the looks of this wanna-be Paris Hilton, she doesn't seem like the accommodating type.
Luckily, I'm in a good mood since I won fifty dollar on a scratch off on my way to work, so I quickly strut to assist the unpleasant guest.
"Hi, can I help you?" I ask in my most calm voice with a smile so fake plastered across my face, I almost think it'll be stuck this way.
The thin, bleach-blonde figure instantly whips her head around to face me and scoffs. "Finally!" she announces, dragging out the last letter. "The service here is awful! I need to see my fiancé this instant!" she demands with arms crossed and forehead crinkled.
"Are you having trouble finding the room?" I begin and grab my clipboard.
"No!" she answers with her fists clenched. I notice her face begins to turn a light shade of scarlet and her lip is twitching. "I don't even know what room he's in since no one is helping me. Is everyone around here stupid?"
Using all my will power and constantly repeating, you need this job, in my mind, I take a deep long, deep breath and formulate the correct answer to retort to the bottle blonde dimwit. "Ma'am, I'm only trying to help. Give me the first and last name of your fiancé."
She rolls her eyes, as if I'm supposed to know her life story and her fiancé, and then pops her gum, "Kyle Spencer."
When the two words leave her red-lipstick stained mouth, I nearly drop the damn clipboard from my hands. How didn't I realize that the most overly dressed, whiny, and obviously fake, woman in the room could be her. "M-Madison?" I eventually croak out.
Her face immediately shifts from the frown to a slight smile. From the looks of it, this girl loves attention from anyone, even from a nurse in dirty scrubs treating her dying fiancé. "Yes. How do you know me?" As she asks, batting her lashes, she twirls a strand of her nearly white hair.
"I'm his nurse," I answer and instantly her smile drops. "I'll lead you to the room and update you on his status." With the nod of her head, we're off.
As we walk together I begin to explain his situation and study her reactions, since I'm still highly suspicious of her. However, halfway through I notice her lack of response and find her texting. "Madison, did you catch everything?" The sight of her carelessly chatting to God knows who on the hunk of technology that practically takes over her existence is disturbing to say the least. The man who she's supposed to be in love with is on the brink of death and she's mindlessly texting or playing some stupid game.
"Yes," she groans, almost angered that I interrupted her from her precious conversation. "Are we almost there?"
Instead of spitting back some attitude, like I so desperately desire, I nod my head and quietly lead her down the dark hall. Finally, after two minutes of awkward silence, we enter his room. And the first reaction is not sadness or fear. The very first thing she does when she lays her eyes upon her comatose fiancé is scream.
"Who the fuck brought these flowers?" she sputters with her fists clenched so hard at her side that here knuckles have turned white and jaw clamped tightly.
Suddenly feelings very weak and small, I ignore her question even though I know exactly who placed the beautiful arrangement of handpicked sunflowers- me. "I-I'm not sure," I eventually mutter, lying to avoid her wrath.
"Through them out. Kyle hates sunflowers."
I scoff under my breath and nearly laugh aloud at the thought of a man hating a certain flower. In fact, I'm sure Kyle has never even been given flowers his entire life. But of course I comply and insist that I'll trash them later, although I won't.
A few minutes later I inform her that I'll be stepping out to retrieve medication and 'food' bag.
Once I arrive into the room I nearly drop the two bags in my hand at the sight of Madison straddling him. She's fully clothed, but he tight dress is inched up to her hips and she seems to be panty-less. For some reason I'm in a shock that doesn't allow me to speak or move. Thus constraining me to watch the horrendous sight.
From the doorway I spot Kyle's penis, that is pretty much limp, in her hand as she tries to force it erect. She begins to shouts, "Kyle! Wake up- get up," with each phrase she punches his chest lightly, as if he's just messing with her.
Finally, the trance is over and I gain my voice back. "Madison," I snarl from the entrance. The harsh tone of my voice instantly causes her to turn around to face me and slide off Kyle. "Get off him or I'll be forced to call security. You're only damaging him."
Instead of throwing back a nasty reply, she simply fixes her cheap looking dress, slings her five-inch heels back, and applies perfume.
Once she's out of the way I fix Kyle and change the bags on his IV. As I do so, the vexatious voice of Kyle's fiancée rings in my ear like a fly that just won't leave.
Tuning out her criticism, I remember during orientation the head nurse telling everyone that some family members will complain about any and every thing.
Eventually, I complete my duties so I exit to get the two space, although I'm not comfortable with it.
After checking in with a few of the residents, I notice it's been a while since I've checked on Kyle, so I warily make my way to his room.
The image is less traumatizing than the first, but it is still cringe worthy. Madison is roughly squeezing Kyle's hand while murmuring into his ears. And although I can't make out what she's saying, I can tell that it's not sweet nothings. Something far more mean, vicious, and threat-like.
But being that I'm just the average nurse, I keep my mouth shut and only observe.
"Madison," I chirp, hoping she won't be upset that I'm interrupting. "I have to bathe him soon, so let me know when you're finished."
Instead of a verbal response, she leans over and plants her thin lips onto his and attempts to make out. The sounds alone are enough to make me gag, but being the professional I am, I only glance away and wait patiently for her to cease.
Once the tramp has left, I lug the sponge and bucket to his side and begin to peel his hospital gown off. This procedure is very foreign, since I've only worked with children who were well enough to clean themselves, so my hands are shaky and my breath is rigid.
First, I slide the sudsy, soaking sponge down his neck and eventually to his well-defined chest. Under the bright fluorescent light, he still looks flawless. The glimmer of the soap on his pecks is enough to cause a slickness to create between my legs.
However, when I make it to the area I've been dreading, heat really begins to build up in my lonely core. The mere sight of his large penis sends pangs straight down to my already soaking pussy. But since my job isn't that simple, I have to actually wash it.
Quickly as possible, I run the sponge around his cock and think of all I could when no one is watching. But immediately, I reprimand myself for such inappropriate thoughts.
The last time I had sex, which was many, many years ago, and it was not satisfying at all. In fact, nothing has been good enough lately, not my hand or the toys I've bought. I'm craving real, male dick. And I've had opportunities but something inside has told me to wait. For what, I'm not sure, but I continue to listen.
After the 'bath' is over, I change him into a fresh gown and tuck him in with a kiss on his cheek. Once I realize it's nearly my break, I lean down to speak to him once again. "You're trapped within your mind- unable to reach a hand within your cage. Surrounded by white hospital sheets that stain your dreams, lost in the depths of your mind and soul. When you're ready, I'll be here. Waiting, wanting."
His heart rate appears to rise and a smile spreads across my face. It could be because of the human kindness, or because of me in particular. But nonetheless, I'm happy.
"I'm going on break, Kyle. I'll be back in thirty minutes." I'm not sure why I inform him, since he probably doesn't comprehend most of what I say, but without informing him I feel as if I'm not doing my job correctly. Like I'm breaking the rules.
3:15 pm.
Dragging myself to my new car, I grip a book in hand to pass the last fifteen minutes of my break.
Truthfully, I hate my thirty minutes off because it's such a tease, but the law requires that I take a rest. However, I'm grateful for it today because Madison and Kyle have really worn me out.
I nearly lose track while nose deep into a James Patterson novel but luckily the sound of screaming gets my attention to the clock.
As I slug inside I over hear the same shouting and decide to see what's going on.
Of course, it's Madison on the phone and since I'm suspicious as hell, I creep behind the corner to listen. After a few minutes of eavesdropping, the words she slips from her mouth are shocking and terrifying. I can't believe what's she's doing, but the worse part is I have no proof and no one will believe me.
Still, I run inside to Kyle's room and ponder of what I heard. I could have misunderstood, but words like that aren't thrown around often, so it couldn't have been a joke.
Not knowing what to do, I take Kyle's soft hand and read some Walt Whitman poetry to him until my beeper buzzes vigorously in my pocket.
I'll go about this problem after my shift, but for now I want to keep my patients happy.