3:26 p.m.
"...the hell is that smell?" Honestly, I think something died in the car. They always give us the RMP with something wrong with it. Today, it smells. They only do that when ours is being serviced.
"What? My foot itches. I can't scratch it through my shoe."
Was he listenin' at all when his mother was teachin' him manners? "Bosco, I don't even know what to say right now. Every time I see somethin' like what I'm seein' now, it makes me so very grateful I don't have to live with you. Put your shoe on, we're here." He's like a little kid. It's true, I don't now what I would do if I had Bosco around me 24/7. I think I'd just go crazy or move or somethin'. Now to the task at hand. If we weren't here already, I'd be rollin' down the window to ventilate the car. Maybe I should, but I'm worried that bein' in this neighborhood, someone will mess with the squad. For all I care, they can take it, but that's beside the point. He finally gets out of the car after making an exaggerated effort of putting his shoe back on. Just for that, I hope his sock is buggin' him all day all twisted up in his shoe.
"So, what are we doin' here, Yokas? DD? What? "
Ya' know, I don't think he's got one ounce of compassion. If he cared enough about the people on the job we help every day, he'd learn a little about what it's like to be on the other side tryin' to get the cops to make the world a better place.
"No, Bos, it's not a domestic. Matter of fact, it's right down your alley. Someone wants us to get rid of a pest." I knew that'd throw him for a loop.
"A pest? What are we, exterminators?"
"I'm kidding, Bos. It does remind me of you, though. So, this lady wants us to politely ask a rather inebriated gentleman to step out onto the street and be on his merry way. Seems she's afraid to let her kids out of the apartment." He's a little ticked, but I can see he didn't get my correlation between the drunk guy botherin' the lady and himself botherin' me. I'll let it go, unlike him not letting a thing go ever. There's still time in the day.
3:32 p.m.
"Sir, please if you'll just step outside we can let you go. No, you're not arrested. There's a time and a place for everything, but not on public property, okay?" I could tell he's out of it, but not violent enough to warrant a trip to the tank. I don't think he could think of anything if we put him in there anyway. Somehow, I don't think it'll help much that he's got a half full bottle in that paper sack he's carryin' around. It's like his holy grail, or somethin'. "Sir, give me the bottle. I'll take that from you. Hand it to me, please." I can tell he wants to, but he loses his grip and it falls on the ground. I feel bad for the guy, I mean, this day is just going from bad to, well, more bad. To make matters worse, when he bends over to pick up the broken bottle I try to help him and he turns around with it. With him not knowin' I was there, I got my hand sliced open. I don't know who's worse off, the guy for pissin' Bosco off or me for havin' to go to the ER not even an hour after our shift.
3:45 p.m.
"Bos, you didn't have to yell at him. He was only tryin' to pick it up. He didn't know I was reachin' down to help him." The poor guy. You should have seen his face. It was like he was gonna' cry. Sure, it hurt a little but not enough where I couldn't get Bosco off the guy's back. He felt bad enough about it already, without him making it worse.
"You're just gonna' sit there and tell me we did the right thing lettin' him go? If you hadn't been hurt I'd have been out there nabbin' his jag-off butt. I mean, where does he get off..."
"Bosco, let it go please. Look, this is really startin' to hurt. Could you just keep your eyes on the road and get us there already? You know, we have to call this in." I think that got his attention, because he slowly calmed down and realized I didn't want to argue with him about it. He called it in and looked at me with serious eyes. I don't see that from him much. Usually I can't tell what he's thinkin'. This time I could tell he was worried. Over nothing, really.
"Sorry. You okay? Want me to turn on the siren?" He can be a nice guy, really. Well, he's usually nice, but doesn't think before he speaks a lot, and although I appreciate the offer, there's no need for a show. Showin' up at the ER with lights and sirens would be a little embarassin' to say the least.
"Nah, that's okay. When we get there, we get there. Just stings is all. I think the endorphins kinda' helped, but they're wearin' off is all." Finally, after a long ride in the car, we pull up to the bay doors for another wait in the room. I know every patient has to be triaged and the more important ones go first. I guess I don't mind. I mean, if it were someone I knew that were worse off than myself, by all means I'd want them to go ahead of someone who just had a little cut on her hand. I grab a chart from the nurse to fill out and sit next to Bosco. Sadly, I've been through this a few times.
3:56 p.m.
"Want me to do that?" I hadn't thought about tryin' to write with my hand like this. Luckily he thinks of these things.
"Yeah, thanks. Sorry for makin' you wait here. Um...how bout if I just list off the stuff to write in, since I can't write and all, and I'll find a way to sign it." The pain in my hand was excruciating and starting to go up my arm. I wish I had some ice or something. I think it's stopped bleeding, but Bosco found a towel to wrap it in and I don't want to look. I can already feel how swollen and puffy it is and I don't want to jar it or make it act like the fountain of youth again. Once was enough.
"Okay, first um..what's your birthdate? You don't have to say it outloud, how bout if you just whisper? Wow, no kiddin? Who knew?" He's laughing now, and I think it's to get my mind off of my hand. It's working a little, but by the time we're down to the point where I have to sign it, I don't think I can. I pick up the pen and attempt what I think is an okay signature. Well, it's ink and there's no goin' back from here. What makes them think everyone who comes in here can sign their name? What if they can't? Oh well, I tried at least. If they can't read it, well, then we're even.
5:03 p.m.
Okay, my hand is on fire. I'm about to call the bucket boys to come hose my arm down. This really hurts. I think I mentioned that already. Well, it does, in case there was any doubt. I think Bosco realizes the discomfort I'm in, because he's startin' to pace and when Bosco paces everyone beware. I adjust my seat and hit my hand on the armrest. For a moment, I think I may pass out. Stars flash before my eyes and suddenly the room goes dark. I must have made a sound or alerted Bosco to my situation, because he's now rushing over to help me. I hadn't even realized I was falling. Was I standing up? I thought I was sitting down. I'm confused. All I know is I'm staring up at the eyes of a very concerned partner and a nurse. I think I may have fainted. No, I'm pretty sure of that. Maybe it's not just a cut after all. I start to think maybe I should be giving them some information as to what's going on with me, but I don't think I have any answers for them. I couldn't talk if I wanted to. Probably because I'm about to pass out again.
5:36 p.m.
Why is it so cold in here? Is that me shivering? I didn't realize it was such a warm day. When did the heat wave come? I would think hospitals would want to keep their patients comfortable. I'm seriously wondering why my tax money is going into keeping this place running if all they're doing is freezing their patients. Maybe it's their way of killing us off so we'll get off their backs with those pesky HMO's and what not.
"Faith? You had me worried there. You still have me worried. Do you know where you're at?" I realize Bosco has been speakin' to me and I haven't been listenin'. Well, I don't think I could have. I wasn't really with it, but seein' his face now has alerted me. I can tell he's scared of somethin'. Maybe it's the fact that I passed out twice and am what feels like a few gallons short.
"Yeah, Bos? Um...I think my hand should hurt but I don't feel it anymore." I don't understand. Why am I so cold and why can't I move my hand?
"Oh, they numbed it up. You had an infection. I guess they can come early on after an injury. That guy's bottle was just covered in crap. No wonder you got an infection. Anyway, they cleaned out your hand and stitched it up. They say it'll hurt for a while but you'll be okay. Oh yeah, you're cold 'cause you were shocky, I think was the word. You didn't lose as much blood as we thought."
Well, that's a relief. I'm good to go in the blood department. What a day, though. One call, and this is where it gets me. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Who am I kidding? Of course it's worth it. At least the guy was calm, unlike some people I know. Drinkin' and my family don't get along too well. I guess that's why I can't stand alcohol. Sure, I'll have a few drinks, but I always feel guilty, like I should be settin' a better example for my kids. I just hate seein' things fall apart, and I hate cryin'. All the sudden the tears are flowin' and doin' a happy dance down the sides of my face. What is this stuff? I wish they'd put a warning label on whatever they gave me. Gosh, I feel like I should be pregnant.
"Faith, you okay? I thought you said your hand was numb." He's confused, as he should be. If I was lookin' at my partner, who, just a moment ago was doped up and now is bawlin' her eyes out, I'd be confused too.
"Yeah, sorry, Bos. Whew. Whatever this stuff is, don't try it. It's depressing." I see his eyes soften and I wish I wasn't sayin' all the stuff I'm sayin'. I think he knows it's stuff that I need to work out for myself, because he changes the subject.
"Hey what do you say we get out of here?" I couldn't think of a better thing to do. He helps me off the examining table and we get my prescription for the pharmacy. The day's half over and we've only been on one call. The sad thing is I'm in no condition to go anywhere else but home.
6:45 p.m.
What a day. What a long, long day. Bosco is bein' extra nice and even offered to take me home, but not without picking up my prescriptions first. What a guy. Yep, he's definitely a changed man. I wonder why I didn't notice it before. We don't argue as much, and lately I think we actually have some decent conversations. That's why I think we're gonna' be okay. I've seen people distance themselves from their partners 'cause they got too close and got to be annoyed and whatnot. There were times I thought that would be us, but ya' know what? That hasn't happened. There's days he pushes my buttons and days I just can't stand to be around him. Then there's days like today when I just don't know what to think. There's a scary thought. Me thinkin'. I'm chalkin' that up to the meds I'm all doped up on. I hope I haven't said anything stupid. That would be a first, I know. I wonder if there's anything about myself I should change. I'll have plenty of time tonight to think about it. Well, I better be headin' up. He's starin' at me and I realize we're at my place. He comes around the car and even opens the door for me. 'Course, I couldn't have anyway with my hand all bandaged up, but let me have my moment. He's got my meds in one hand and the keys to my apartment that I don't remember giving him. I realize I won't be needing them. Everyone at my place will be home and awake. Usually, I have to creep in and try not to wake the kids. Today is different. I wish there were more nights like this. He must have realized he wouldn't need the keys after all, also, because he taps on the door and within seconds Fred is there to open it up. He's surprised to see us, as he should be. He raises his eyebrows and notices my hand. I don't really feel like explainin' it to him, and he picks up on that vibe. I tell him I'll come inside in a sec, and turn around to say goodbye to Bosco, only to realize he's not there anymore. On the floor with my bag of meds is an envelope with my name written on it in Bosco's handwriting. Inside the envelope is a piece of stationery from the hospital. The thought of it makes me laugh. Bosco sittin' down to write anything. He doesn't even like to do paperwork. He must have written it when I was gettin' examined and was probably a little nervous to give it to me. I guess he found his chance.
Written on the paper is not much. A few lines of writing, but those few lines say so much.
Faith-
I just got what you meant earlier. Very funny.
You have a point though. I'll try to make my ma' proud and start treatin' you nicer, ya' know not be a pest all the time.
You tell anyone about this and I'll have to kill you.
-Bosco
I shake my head and pick up the sack from off of the floor. Bosco always knows how to get to me. I think I got to him today. I know I got to him today. I'm still going to think about trying to change, myself, though. There's room for improvement in us all.
Funny, though, that all it takes sometimes for someone to change is a call and a trip to the ER.
"...the hell is that smell?" Honestly, I think something died in the car. They always give us the RMP with something wrong with it. Today, it smells. They only do that when ours is being serviced.
"What? My foot itches. I can't scratch it through my shoe."
Was he listenin' at all when his mother was teachin' him manners? "Bosco, I don't even know what to say right now. Every time I see somethin' like what I'm seein' now, it makes me so very grateful I don't have to live with you. Put your shoe on, we're here." He's like a little kid. It's true, I don't now what I would do if I had Bosco around me 24/7. I think I'd just go crazy or move or somethin'. Now to the task at hand. If we weren't here already, I'd be rollin' down the window to ventilate the car. Maybe I should, but I'm worried that bein' in this neighborhood, someone will mess with the squad. For all I care, they can take it, but that's beside the point. He finally gets out of the car after making an exaggerated effort of putting his shoe back on. Just for that, I hope his sock is buggin' him all day all twisted up in his shoe.
"So, what are we doin' here, Yokas? DD? What? "
Ya' know, I don't think he's got one ounce of compassion. If he cared enough about the people on the job we help every day, he'd learn a little about what it's like to be on the other side tryin' to get the cops to make the world a better place.
"No, Bos, it's not a domestic. Matter of fact, it's right down your alley. Someone wants us to get rid of a pest." I knew that'd throw him for a loop.
"A pest? What are we, exterminators?"
"I'm kidding, Bos. It does remind me of you, though. So, this lady wants us to politely ask a rather inebriated gentleman to step out onto the street and be on his merry way. Seems she's afraid to let her kids out of the apartment." He's a little ticked, but I can see he didn't get my correlation between the drunk guy botherin' the lady and himself botherin' me. I'll let it go, unlike him not letting a thing go ever. There's still time in the day.
3:32 p.m.
"Sir, please if you'll just step outside we can let you go. No, you're not arrested. There's a time and a place for everything, but not on public property, okay?" I could tell he's out of it, but not violent enough to warrant a trip to the tank. I don't think he could think of anything if we put him in there anyway. Somehow, I don't think it'll help much that he's got a half full bottle in that paper sack he's carryin' around. It's like his holy grail, or somethin'. "Sir, give me the bottle. I'll take that from you. Hand it to me, please." I can tell he wants to, but he loses his grip and it falls on the ground. I feel bad for the guy, I mean, this day is just going from bad to, well, more bad. To make matters worse, when he bends over to pick up the broken bottle I try to help him and he turns around with it. With him not knowin' I was there, I got my hand sliced open. I don't know who's worse off, the guy for pissin' Bosco off or me for havin' to go to the ER not even an hour after our shift.
3:45 p.m.
"Bos, you didn't have to yell at him. He was only tryin' to pick it up. He didn't know I was reachin' down to help him." The poor guy. You should have seen his face. It was like he was gonna' cry. Sure, it hurt a little but not enough where I couldn't get Bosco off the guy's back. He felt bad enough about it already, without him making it worse.
"You're just gonna' sit there and tell me we did the right thing lettin' him go? If you hadn't been hurt I'd have been out there nabbin' his jag-off butt. I mean, where does he get off..."
"Bosco, let it go please. Look, this is really startin' to hurt. Could you just keep your eyes on the road and get us there already? You know, we have to call this in." I think that got his attention, because he slowly calmed down and realized I didn't want to argue with him about it. He called it in and looked at me with serious eyes. I don't see that from him much. Usually I can't tell what he's thinkin'. This time I could tell he was worried. Over nothing, really.
"Sorry. You okay? Want me to turn on the siren?" He can be a nice guy, really. Well, he's usually nice, but doesn't think before he speaks a lot, and although I appreciate the offer, there's no need for a show. Showin' up at the ER with lights and sirens would be a little embarassin' to say the least.
"Nah, that's okay. When we get there, we get there. Just stings is all. I think the endorphins kinda' helped, but they're wearin' off is all." Finally, after a long ride in the car, we pull up to the bay doors for another wait in the room. I know every patient has to be triaged and the more important ones go first. I guess I don't mind. I mean, if it were someone I knew that were worse off than myself, by all means I'd want them to go ahead of someone who just had a little cut on her hand. I grab a chart from the nurse to fill out and sit next to Bosco. Sadly, I've been through this a few times.
3:56 p.m.
"Want me to do that?" I hadn't thought about tryin' to write with my hand like this. Luckily he thinks of these things.
"Yeah, thanks. Sorry for makin' you wait here. Um...how bout if I just list off the stuff to write in, since I can't write and all, and I'll find a way to sign it." The pain in my hand was excruciating and starting to go up my arm. I wish I had some ice or something. I think it's stopped bleeding, but Bosco found a towel to wrap it in and I don't want to look. I can already feel how swollen and puffy it is and I don't want to jar it or make it act like the fountain of youth again. Once was enough.
"Okay, first um..what's your birthdate? You don't have to say it outloud, how bout if you just whisper? Wow, no kiddin? Who knew?" He's laughing now, and I think it's to get my mind off of my hand. It's working a little, but by the time we're down to the point where I have to sign it, I don't think I can. I pick up the pen and attempt what I think is an okay signature. Well, it's ink and there's no goin' back from here. What makes them think everyone who comes in here can sign their name? What if they can't? Oh well, I tried at least. If they can't read it, well, then we're even.
5:03 p.m.
Okay, my hand is on fire. I'm about to call the bucket boys to come hose my arm down. This really hurts. I think I mentioned that already. Well, it does, in case there was any doubt. I think Bosco realizes the discomfort I'm in, because he's startin' to pace and when Bosco paces everyone beware. I adjust my seat and hit my hand on the armrest. For a moment, I think I may pass out. Stars flash before my eyes and suddenly the room goes dark. I must have made a sound or alerted Bosco to my situation, because he's now rushing over to help me. I hadn't even realized I was falling. Was I standing up? I thought I was sitting down. I'm confused. All I know is I'm staring up at the eyes of a very concerned partner and a nurse. I think I may have fainted. No, I'm pretty sure of that. Maybe it's not just a cut after all. I start to think maybe I should be giving them some information as to what's going on with me, but I don't think I have any answers for them. I couldn't talk if I wanted to. Probably because I'm about to pass out again.
5:36 p.m.
Why is it so cold in here? Is that me shivering? I didn't realize it was such a warm day. When did the heat wave come? I would think hospitals would want to keep their patients comfortable. I'm seriously wondering why my tax money is going into keeping this place running if all they're doing is freezing their patients. Maybe it's their way of killing us off so we'll get off their backs with those pesky HMO's and what not.
"Faith? You had me worried there. You still have me worried. Do you know where you're at?" I realize Bosco has been speakin' to me and I haven't been listenin'. Well, I don't think I could have. I wasn't really with it, but seein' his face now has alerted me. I can tell he's scared of somethin'. Maybe it's the fact that I passed out twice and am what feels like a few gallons short.
"Yeah, Bos? Um...I think my hand should hurt but I don't feel it anymore." I don't understand. Why am I so cold and why can't I move my hand?
"Oh, they numbed it up. You had an infection. I guess they can come early on after an injury. That guy's bottle was just covered in crap. No wonder you got an infection. Anyway, they cleaned out your hand and stitched it up. They say it'll hurt for a while but you'll be okay. Oh yeah, you're cold 'cause you were shocky, I think was the word. You didn't lose as much blood as we thought."
Well, that's a relief. I'm good to go in the blood department. What a day, though. One call, and this is where it gets me. Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Who am I kidding? Of course it's worth it. At least the guy was calm, unlike some people I know. Drinkin' and my family don't get along too well. I guess that's why I can't stand alcohol. Sure, I'll have a few drinks, but I always feel guilty, like I should be settin' a better example for my kids. I just hate seein' things fall apart, and I hate cryin'. All the sudden the tears are flowin' and doin' a happy dance down the sides of my face. What is this stuff? I wish they'd put a warning label on whatever they gave me. Gosh, I feel like I should be pregnant.
"Faith, you okay? I thought you said your hand was numb." He's confused, as he should be. If I was lookin' at my partner, who, just a moment ago was doped up and now is bawlin' her eyes out, I'd be confused too.
"Yeah, sorry, Bos. Whew. Whatever this stuff is, don't try it. It's depressing." I see his eyes soften and I wish I wasn't sayin' all the stuff I'm sayin'. I think he knows it's stuff that I need to work out for myself, because he changes the subject.
"Hey what do you say we get out of here?" I couldn't think of a better thing to do. He helps me off the examining table and we get my prescription for the pharmacy. The day's half over and we've only been on one call. The sad thing is I'm in no condition to go anywhere else but home.
6:45 p.m.
What a day. What a long, long day. Bosco is bein' extra nice and even offered to take me home, but not without picking up my prescriptions first. What a guy. Yep, he's definitely a changed man. I wonder why I didn't notice it before. We don't argue as much, and lately I think we actually have some decent conversations. That's why I think we're gonna' be okay. I've seen people distance themselves from their partners 'cause they got too close and got to be annoyed and whatnot. There were times I thought that would be us, but ya' know what? That hasn't happened. There's days he pushes my buttons and days I just can't stand to be around him. Then there's days like today when I just don't know what to think. There's a scary thought. Me thinkin'. I'm chalkin' that up to the meds I'm all doped up on. I hope I haven't said anything stupid. That would be a first, I know. I wonder if there's anything about myself I should change. I'll have plenty of time tonight to think about it. Well, I better be headin' up. He's starin' at me and I realize we're at my place. He comes around the car and even opens the door for me. 'Course, I couldn't have anyway with my hand all bandaged up, but let me have my moment. He's got my meds in one hand and the keys to my apartment that I don't remember giving him. I realize I won't be needing them. Everyone at my place will be home and awake. Usually, I have to creep in and try not to wake the kids. Today is different. I wish there were more nights like this. He must have realized he wouldn't need the keys after all, also, because he taps on the door and within seconds Fred is there to open it up. He's surprised to see us, as he should be. He raises his eyebrows and notices my hand. I don't really feel like explainin' it to him, and he picks up on that vibe. I tell him I'll come inside in a sec, and turn around to say goodbye to Bosco, only to realize he's not there anymore. On the floor with my bag of meds is an envelope with my name written on it in Bosco's handwriting. Inside the envelope is a piece of stationery from the hospital. The thought of it makes me laugh. Bosco sittin' down to write anything. He doesn't even like to do paperwork. He must have written it when I was gettin' examined and was probably a little nervous to give it to me. I guess he found his chance.
Written on the paper is not much. A few lines of writing, but those few lines say so much.
Faith-
I just got what you meant earlier. Very funny.
You have a point though. I'll try to make my ma' proud and start treatin' you nicer, ya' know not be a pest all the time.
You tell anyone about this and I'll have to kill you.
-Bosco
I shake my head and pick up the sack from off of the floor. Bosco always knows how to get to me. I think I got to him today. I know I got to him today. I'm still going to think about trying to change, myself, though. There's room for improvement in us all.
Funny, though, that all it takes sometimes for someone to change is a call and a trip to the ER.