Abby was bent over at the admit desk, her head in her hands. She felt a bit dizzy–she had passed over real breakfast for one of the liquid variety. She had about 3 and a half cups of strong coffee pumping caffiene through her veins, and no food in her stomach since dinner last night.
"Abby, we need you in here," Weaver shouted as the gurney rolled by. Abby jogged into the trauma room and prepared to help. The patient had been injured in a car accident...mostly cuts and bruises, but also a nasty fracture of the upper arm. Abby rushed around, helping where needed, handing Weaver instruments as she barked out orders. She kept trying to shake off the wretched feeling that was working it's way through her whole body.
"Abby, I'm going to need you to irrigate this wound," Weaver requested as she pulled gauze off of the open fracture on the patient's arm. Abby started to cross the trauma room to grab the irrigation kit, but instead made a beeline for the garbage can and violently threw up.
"Get Halleh in here!" Weaver screamed. "Abby, go rinse your mouth and lie down."
"No, no...I'm fine," Abby protested, but then gagged and vomited again. She was thoroughly and completely embarrassed. She had never reacted this way to a trauma victim, not since her very first nursing practicum in college.
"Go," Weaver shouted as Halleh entered the trauma room. Abby didn't have to be asked twice. She slunk to the restroom with her proverbial tail between her legs.
In the restroom, Abby rinsed her mouth and splashed some cold water on her face for good measure. She took a look at herself in mirror and sighed. She felt ridiculous–she absolutely hated being sick in front of others. When she was younger, she never even wanted Maggie to help her when she had a stomach flu. She worked her way through the crowded ER to the lounge, where she laid down on the sofa. She felt fatigue flow through her entire body, all the way to the tips of her fingers. She shut her eyes, only to snap them open again as she felt someone's hand on her forehead.
Carter was standing over her, looking every bit the concerned doctor.
"Hey," she whispered weakly. "I think I have a stomach bug or something."
"Yeah, Chuney told me that you got sick during a trauma." Abby rolled her eyes in disgust. Soon the entire ER would be buzzing about her lovely performance.
"So, you think it's just a bug?" Carter asked.
"Yeah, I guess..." Suddenly a cold feeling of dread filled the pit of Abby's now empty stomach. She began adding numbers, counting days, in her head.
"Hey, Carter...would you tell Weaver that I'm going home for the afternoon? I feel lousy, and I know I'm not going to get any rest around here."
"Sure Abby."
"Thanks," Abby whispered, and gathered her keys and jacket. She knew that she would not be heading straight home. Her very first stop would be a drug store.
Abby slammed her bathroom door behind her and took the pregnancy test out of its box. She opened the wrapper and sat on the toilet to perform the test. "Dammit," she cursed to herself. She had never been able to take one of those things without accidentally peeing all over her hand.
She set the test down on the edge of the sink and washed her hands. Three minutes, three minutes she told herself. In three minutes she would probably be wetting her pants, either from utter relief or utter shock. She glanced at the test on the sink again as she dried her hands. Her heart leapt into her throat. The test had already completed, and two blue lines were staring her right in the face. Two. She was pregnant.
Abby couldn't help herself. She lit a cigarette, knowing how unbelievably wrong it was the entire time she was smoking it, and tried to figure out what the next step was. Carter. She would have to call Carter. Should she call him at work? Wait until he got off? She glanced at the clock and saw that it would be another 6 hours before he got off. No way was she enduring this panic all by herself for six hours. As she searched for her cordless phone, a funny feeling came over her for what seemed like the millionth time today, but this time it wasn't dizziness or nausea. It wasn't dread. She wasn't completely sure, but for some strange reason, she felt the teeniest, tiniest bit...happy.
"Abby, we need you in here," Weaver shouted as the gurney rolled by. Abby jogged into the trauma room and prepared to help. The patient had been injured in a car accident...mostly cuts and bruises, but also a nasty fracture of the upper arm. Abby rushed around, helping where needed, handing Weaver instruments as she barked out orders. She kept trying to shake off the wretched feeling that was working it's way through her whole body.
"Abby, I'm going to need you to irrigate this wound," Weaver requested as she pulled gauze off of the open fracture on the patient's arm. Abby started to cross the trauma room to grab the irrigation kit, but instead made a beeline for the garbage can and violently threw up.
"Get Halleh in here!" Weaver screamed. "Abby, go rinse your mouth and lie down."
"No, no...I'm fine," Abby protested, but then gagged and vomited again. She was thoroughly and completely embarrassed. She had never reacted this way to a trauma victim, not since her very first nursing practicum in college.
"Go," Weaver shouted as Halleh entered the trauma room. Abby didn't have to be asked twice. She slunk to the restroom with her proverbial tail between her legs.
In the restroom, Abby rinsed her mouth and splashed some cold water on her face for good measure. She took a look at herself in mirror and sighed. She felt ridiculous–she absolutely hated being sick in front of others. When she was younger, she never even wanted Maggie to help her when she had a stomach flu. She worked her way through the crowded ER to the lounge, where she laid down on the sofa. She felt fatigue flow through her entire body, all the way to the tips of her fingers. She shut her eyes, only to snap them open again as she felt someone's hand on her forehead.
Carter was standing over her, looking every bit the concerned doctor.
"Hey," she whispered weakly. "I think I have a stomach bug or something."
"Yeah, Chuney told me that you got sick during a trauma." Abby rolled her eyes in disgust. Soon the entire ER would be buzzing about her lovely performance.
"So, you think it's just a bug?" Carter asked.
"Yeah, I guess..." Suddenly a cold feeling of dread filled the pit of Abby's now empty stomach. She began adding numbers, counting days, in her head.
"Hey, Carter...would you tell Weaver that I'm going home for the afternoon? I feel lousy, and I know I'm not going to get any rest around here."
"Sure Abby."
"Thanks," Abby whispered, and gathered her keys and jacket. She knew that she would not be heading straight home. Her very first stop would be a drug store.
Abby slammed her bathroom door behind her and took the pregnancy test out of its box. She opened the wrapper and sat on the toilet to perform the test. "Dammit," she cursed to herself. She had never been able to take one of those things without accidentally peeing all over her hand.
She set the test down on the edge of the sink and washed her hands. Three minutes, three minutes she told herself. In three minutes she would probably be wetting her pants, either from utter relief or utter shock. She glanced at the test on the sink again as she dried her hands. Her heart leapt into her throat. The test had already completed, and two blue lines were staring her right in the face. Two. She was pregnant.
Abby couldn't help herself. She lit a cigarette, knowing how unbelievably wrong it was the entire time she was smoking it, and tried to figure out what the next step was. Carter. She would have to call Carter. Should she call him at work? Wait until he got off? She glanced at the clock and saw that it would be another 6 hours before he got off. No way was she enduring this panic all by herself for six hours. As she searched for her cordless phone, a funny feeling came over her for what seemed like the millionth time today, but this time it wasn't dizziness or nausea. It wasn't dread. She wasn't completely sure, but for some strange reason, she felt the teeniest, tiniest bit...happy.