Title: This is My Life
Author: Snowprincess
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Go bug someone that does.
Summary: Take a trip into the mind of dear Abby Lockhart as we live through a day in her view set during Season 8.
Author's note: Some may ask as to why I write a fic set two years ago, but I have one simple reason: I have no memory of what happened in season 9 and I've missed season 10 completely due to bad scheduling and sports getting in the way. And until I can catch the TNT reruns, I will have no clue as to what's happened lately.
There are some days when I want time to stop; everything is so wonderful and perfect. I feel alive and joyful, and nothing can touch me in my world. Then there are the days that I want to take that same world and hurl it against the nearest wall. Usually, those days coincide with an activity that takes up way too much of my time: work. So, it's not surprise that I'm feeling the latter emotion as my alarm calls me to the waking world at three so I can make my five o'clock shift. What can I say, I value sleep over money.
Swallowing a groan I force myself up and into the bathroom where I fumble with the shower until I'm awake enough to remember that I need light. Then I crank the temperature down and step inside, yelping at the cold. It was a good way to wake up though when you are short on caffeine and/or don't have time to make any. And judging my previously mentioned priority, you already know that I forgo caffeine for sleep. I crank the temperature back up and sigh in bliss. I needed to hurry and get into work before the redhead and the disgruntled clerk had my hide again. I've already been late three times this week because of the love of my bed.
As I stand under the spray, I strain my ears in an attempt to hear a sound from another apartment. Anything to tell me that I'm not the only one getting up this early to relieve a graveyard shift. But things have actually been quiet since Brian and Joyce went away. . . Well, except for the newlyweds who moved in a couple doors down. But I can't even hear them, they must have gotten to the post marriage exhaustion finally and the adrenaline must've worn off. . . Not that I'm an expert at anything like that. My botch of a marriage wasn't candy and roses. I thought it was based on love, but hey, I was naïve. Now I know it was based on alcohol and coldness. It was only after the abuse started and my depression after my abortion came to a head that I had the guts to leave him. . . And The Whore, but that's a different tale.
I'm contemplating this as I get out and wrap myself in a big towel and head for the living room. The apartment is cold and I can feel goose bumps rising on my skin. I turn on the weather channel since no news programs are on this early and wait for the local report. Oh yay, the forecast to day is rain, and rain, and hey, more rain. And when I go home tonight, it'll be raining harder. As an added bonus, it's spring so it will be cold with out the summer heat to compensate. I groan as this brings the thought of my double shift coming up. 16 hours of torture only because I'm the head nurse and it's my responsibility to cover if I can't find someone else to. Leaving the tv on I go into my room and change into warm clothes that I know will get soaked. Then I make my bed before I can change my mind and crawl inside it, telling the world to solve their own problems for a day.
Within ten minutes I'm done getting ready and am getting my stuff together so I can make the next train. I turn off the tv and grab my keys, locking up firmly. I check my watch and it reveals that I have an hour to get to work; just enough time to stop for coffee. I'm proud of myself; I won't be late today.
I curse the rain and tell myself to buy a cheap umbrella the next time I go shopping as I jog to the El station. This neighborhood at night is like a ghost town and I feel relatively safe making the journey to my station. By the time I get to the overhang of the track, I can feel my double layers sticking to me and I shrug in acceptance. I pay the fee and stand on the platform and wait for the next stop to show. I can already tell it's going to be a long day.
When the train does come to a halt I sadly notice that I'm the only one getting on; the only one riding for that matter. Apparently everyone else is either working or sleeping, lucky bastards. I won't see my bed again until almost eleven tonight and I'm already missing it. Even if I get a nap break, hospital beds just aren't comfortable. They can never compare to the warmth and bliss or your own bed. With a sigh I push those thoughts from my head and choose instead to watch the Chicago night fly by in a blur of colored streetlamps.
Augh, I make a mental note to tell Kerry that she needs to hurry up and hire another nurse, but then a familiar conversation comes into my head. She won't hire another nurse until I interview applicants, a task that she decided last week would be the head nurses' job: my job. Grrr. That's it, today I'm taking a two hour break to find another blasted nurse so I can stop with the damned double shifts. The others have kindly opted to not take a turn and give me a break for the last two weeks since we lost a nurse to a sunny California hospital. Since then, I've been doing double shifts, going home and sleeping right away, and then going back for more work. Granted, I'm getting severe overtime here, I just want the chance to be able to sit down and eat, or sleep for more than five hours. My apartment is starting to look like a war zone, I'm fastly running out of clothes, and the bills are about to expire to their second notices if I can't get some time to sit and write a couple of damned checks. Grrr.
By the time the train stops, my head is filled with curses and wishful thinking upon the unsacrificing nursing staff. I hop down the steps two at a time and curse that as well when I twist my ankle hard and nearly fall headfirst down the remaining flight. I catch myself on the rail and sit for a moment, checking the hurt limb before standing again. Now instead of walking to work, I get to limp because I'm the one who wanted to get off a stop early and get coffee. Grrr. The rain is just an added annoyance at this point. I sigh and begin to try and walk normally, gritting through the pain. Hopefully this will keep it from swelling too much and I'll be able to walk normally by the time I get to work. If I can't, there's always the bottle of Tylenol in my locker.
I walk into the ER with a plastered calm look on my face as I enter the lounge and strip off my watery sponge, shoving it into my locker. I reach up to the top and grab my Tylenol and swallow two with the last bit of my coffee. With a deep breath I grab my scrub top and my stethoscope and begin my long day. Then again, maybe not. . . Oh yeah. . . It's the graveyard shift, no one will be in for treatment until six at least, except for the drunken bums but that means I have a little time left.
I limp slowly to the board and gratefully see that my suspicions were confirmed: there's no one here. I jump as a voice asks behind me, "Are you alright?"
Oh, it's only Luka. There's another subject I don't want to touch at the current moment, thank you. "Yeah I'm fine."
"You're limping," he points to my left foot. Thank you captain obvious.
I shrug, "It's nothing." It's a lie and we both know it: it hurts like hell.
He grabs my arm and drags me to the nearest empty bed. What a jerk, he doesn't even ask if I want it checked out. Or maybe he just knows that I would've said no. . . probably that. I complacently sit and watch as he lifts my leg and places it on the edge, sliding off the shoe and sock. Ow.
I watch as he probes my skin with his fingers, the hurt appendage already showing signs of bruising and swelling. Well doesn't that suck. "How did it happen?"
My irritability must have shown, "Oh I was just so excited to pull another double that I decided to come in faster and have the vortex suck me in longer." He smiled slightly and looked me in the eye. I hate it when he does that. It brings back memories that I want to forget, but don't want to go away. . . It's like we're dating again, the look he gives me, when I know he wants nothing of the sort, and I don't want to get my hopes up. . . Oops. "So what's your professional diagnosis?"
"Stay off your feet."
That's funny. . . But I'm not laughing. I'm going to kill Kerry when she gets in. Grrr.
"Well since that's not going to happen can you give me a better solution?"
"Have you taken anything?"
"Two of Tylenol."
He nods for a moment and goes to an exam room, coming out with a couple of crutches. Hell no. They'll only get turned into hockey sticks if I'm walking around with those. I tell him this and he reluctantly agrees with that assessment. "Go home, Luka. I'll just tough it out."
He gives me that damned look again. . . I'm thanking my lucky stars that he turns away quickly and tells me to take it easy then. I'll see him later anyway, and I expect he'll want to check the ankle when he comes back for his night shift. I get up and go back to admit and see that Frank has returned with his breakfast. . . How he could eat that is beyond me. At least I have some time to look through nursing applications.
I hate you Kerry.
This thought continued through my mind until she walked into the lounge not long after. She gave a cheerful good morning that made me want to smart off and deck her. Instead, I smiled and gave a grunt as I resumed sorting through those that had an interview, and those who had no freakin chance, as Dr. Romano would put it. After throwing the last two in the no chance pile, I handed the other pile to Kerry before she left the room and told her that these people had shown promise.
Oh wait. . . I have to interview them myself. Thanks for reminding me Kerry. . . By the way did I tell you that I hate you? I sigh and sit back down, picking up the phone and dialing the first number. Grrr.
An hour later I am emerging from the lounge once again and finally grabbing my first chart of the day. Yay, the Tylenol took effect while I sat. . . but unfortunately, my ankle stiffened up and now hurt like a mother to bend. While I was hiding the hospital had magically managed to fill up, but meh, that's pretty much normal. I sigh and grab a chart and make my way back to Exam 2. "Mr. Barnes?" I see that it is a frustrated looking business man who is toting a cell phone and a lap top in the middle of important conversations I'm assuming, and yet he still manages to hear me call his name. He quickly exits what he's doing and gives me his full but rushed attention. "What seems to be the problem today?"
"I tripped on my damn stairs this morning and hit my head. Now all I'm seeing is blurs, and I've got a headache the size of Texas."
"Alright, well I'm going to check you out and then the doctor will come and see you." I go through the motions and give my usual exam. Ask the usual questions, yada yada yada. Any stress? Unusual sores or bruising? Tired more than usual? After writing all relevant things down I nod and tell him the doctor will be in shortly.
Oh yeah, the job interviews. . . "Hey Kerry!" I call, running down the hall to catch up with her as she heads to another exam room. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. . .ow. "I need to clear the lounge out for a couple hours today so I can do job interviews."
She just shakes her head and complains to me, "I need you to work the floor Abby. We're already down and we need experienced people to help move patients."
Sometimes I just want to strangle this woman. "Kerry, I'm dying here! I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in two weeks and if I pull one more double I'm going to lose it!"
"Get another nurse to cover."
"You tell them that."
Crap, she looks pissed but gives into my request, but not for more than two hours. These are going to have to be some rushed interviews. . . Goodbye lunch. I nod in thanks and make my way back to admit, handing off Mr. Barnes to the nearest doctor and grabbing number 2.
Frank turns to face me and I can't help but wonder what happened now. I didn't do it, I swear. "Abby, Connie's called in sick and she needs someone to cover the graveyard shift."
"What?! No no no no no, you call her back and tell her to come in." Apparently, she's got a fever and is puking her intestines out, thanks for sharing Frank. I don't care, I'm too tired to even think of pulling another shift. What did he say? Something about contamination and patients? Fine, stay home then! If I can't find someone to cover, this means I'll have to work until eleven tomorrow night. . .
Please dear God kill me. I've only been on for an hour and I want to go home, and now this garbage. Grrr.
I spend the rest of my morning shuffling from nurse to nurse and hearing the same line over and over, "I'm sorry; I already have plans tonight and I can't cancel them." I know this is a load of crap considering that's the tenth time I've heard it in the last hour alone. No one wants to do a double, so I guess it's Abby's turn to do a triple. Thanks guys, I'll remember this the next time you want to go on strike and have me back you up. What is this, a mutiny?
"Haleh! Wait! I gotta ask you something!" She turns around and gives me the look. You know that one she gives when she's rushed for time and you had better have a damn good reason for stopping her. "Can you pull a double tonight?" I try to hold off on mentioning that it's the graveyard shift, maybe that's been my downfall all morning.
She grabs another chart and worms her way around me to the phone. "Sorry Abby but I have plans tonight."
I'm getting really frustrated and desperate at this point, "Oh come on! If you don't take the graveyard I'll have to do a triple, and I've been covering for the shortage for the last two weeks." Well, there goes the idea of keeping it silent.
"Sorry dear but now there's no chance." She turns away and begins barking to radiology over the phone and I know this conversation is over.
I groan and decide that caffeine will be my comforter. I look at the clock and gratefully see that the fist applicant is due to arrive at any time. I call out to Frank to send them to the lounge and proceed to raid the fridge for anything edible. Hmm, carrots, leftover cake, someone's sandwich. . . Well, whoever was stupid enough to not label said sandwich would now be going without it, poor sap. And yet, I strangely don't feel guilty at all.
As I'm chewing I head back to the admit desk and grab the folder with all the applicant's files, as well as a pen and a notebook. Behind me I hear someone complain, "Hey Abby, you're eating my lunch!"
"Sorry Carter, triple shift fee. Nurses have to eat too ya know." I can still hear him grumbling while I limp back to the lounge. My fist applicant is there and waiting. "Hi," I greet, not bothering to shake hands. "My name is Abby Ms. . . "
The woman shifts in her seat and answers the unspoken question, "Mrs. Lana Hovett." She seems nice enough right away. Red hair, middle aged, not too skinny but not overweight. Overdressed for the standards of this hospital. It seemed that she has had a lot of experiences with emergency rooms. Husband gets transferred a lot and she's always looking for a new job somewhere else, probably won't be here more than a couple years. Still, long enough for me to find someone else to do this job. . .
Two hours later I am excitedly finding Kerry and telling her that Mrs. Hovett is my choice and that she can start. . . and this is the best part. . . she can start tomorrow during the time when I'm pulling the double shift. Theoretically I can train her and leave early and not be on for almost 12 hours, something that I'm beginning to think is a record. Much to my enjoyment, Kerry agreed and I was sent along my merry way, now counting down the hours until I'm released. I feel like Bart Simpson at school when he watches the clock to get out, and I'm fully expecting the same effect: the clock will start ticking backwards.
The afternoon passes by in the predicted slow rate. With no traumas for over three hours, all that's left to do are minor cases that take longer to solve because of the speediness on lab results. I actually want a trauma because then it'll suck at least an hour of my time and I won't even realize it. So, three sprained ankles, two homeless guys, and five minor lacs, I am utterly bored and angry that the damn clock doesn't seem to want to leave the number four. Only 31 hours to go, 24 if I'm lucky and this new nurse is a hit. Suddenly I'm on top of the world, and it feels great.
Speaking of Bart Simpson, I believe this child in front of me is the carbon copy, only worse. He's even wearing the clothes, down to that damn hat which is covering his only difference: brown hair. I watched him earlier, struggling to run away from his frazzled looking mother and nearly knocking down the soda machine. "I'm not paying you to slump."
Ahh! I whirl around to see the man of the hospital himself: Rocket Romano himself. "Uh, I was just about to go see my next patient. . "
"Or you were about to avoid the little terror sitting in chairs. Show a backbone woman," he tells me. Yeah, if you think I need a backbone, use yours to go and deal with the monster. "No? Then I guess I'll have to do the work around here."
I watch as he walks over to the kid and squats down to his level. "Hey, I bet you wanna be just like Bart Simpson don't ya?" He's rewarded with a vicious "Bite me" and a kick to the shin. I can't stop to breathe, I'm laughing so hard. But I quickly sober up when he glares at me. He turns to the mother at this point and mumbles something about being so proud and I can't help but egg him on.
"So much for a backbone Doctor!"
I smile and limp over to his failed example and go to a knee. The mother smiles and I can tell she's praying that I don't get the repeat performance. Poor woman. "Mrs. Donovic? And this must be Bart?"
"Bite me!" He's about to kick me but I think ahead and stand up.
"Hey hey! Settle down." Geez, quite the vocabulary for a five year old. I look to his mother and smile. "I take it he doesn't like hospitals."
"Only the ones that have needles." Well that's wonderful. "It reminds him of school, where he spends most of his time writing lines for Mrs. Krabbaple." She gives me that look: Please just go along?
I nod and decide that I need to play in this fantasy if I want to treat this kid. I kneel again and try a different approach. "Bart? Would you come with me if I promise that you won't be cornered by Principle Skinner or your teachers?"
I swear the kid is thinking about kicking me again. I want to just hand this off to Carter or something: he likes abuse. But unfortunately, he has to be seen by a nurse first. "I can even try to find you Doctor Hibbert." I really hope Gallant likes smart mouthed kids. Oh God I'm screwed.
I think this persuasion worked and he began to walk away like he owned the place. He better not find the spray paint that was confiscated last week; I can only imagine the havoc he could cause. The mother stands and we begin to follow the tyke. "I'm sorry about him."
"I've never met a five year old who likes Bart that much."
"Ah, his brother is crazy about it, and if the older one watches the show, the younger has to watch it or it's parent hell."
I nod and feel for a moment like I'm divulging a secret, "I think you're in hell anyway."
Mrs. Donovic looks like she's had a sudden revelation as we walk into the empty exam room. I pray for her sanity that she still has time to enact a plan, or "Bart" would drive her to lose her hair, just like poor stressed Marge.
A couple hours later and I am beginning to think I might actually make it through the next day. I pop another dose of Tylenol while on break and grab my nth coffee. The stuff isn't exactly good for me, but I don't care. Besides, it'll only hold me over until I can find my cash and raid the pop machines for the caffeine and the sugar in one dose. Sugar. . . yum. Outside I can hear that we're starting to get busy again, and I'm ever so grateful. It figures on the day that I have to stay for my longest shift yet, is the day where we actually don't get backed up for hours on end. Somebody upstairs obviously doesn't like me or just feels like messing with my head today.
I sigh and push my way through the forming chaos outside. It's still raining, though not as hard as when I left in the morning. More like a drizzle now. I let the cool drops floated by breeze fall on me and cool my body temperature. When the ER fills up with patients, somehow the hospital just seems to rise in temperature that much more. The sounds of cars and the distant El train permeate the silence, but surprisingly no ambulances. Maybe all the traumas were on the other side of the city today. Maybe some distant ER was getting the activity that was usually reserved for us. Lucky bastards, and I will deny ever saying or thinking that.
The rain feels so nice when you're not being soaked by it. Don't get me wrong, as a kid I loved going outside in the rain and just going wild. With Maggie not being like most parents, she never told me to come in so I wouldn't catch a cold. When it rained, it seemed like the world was mine to own and no manic depressive cycle could take that freedom away. As an adult I am more. . . cautious? about the rain. I still love it, but now getting soaked usually produces a hindrance in may day rather than enhancing it like it used to. I am perfectly fine in just holding onto some of the few happy memories of my childhood.
Behind me I hear the ambulance doors opening and closing repeatedly. Patients go in, patients come out, some without even being seen. It's all a routine that I've gotten used to since first being transferred to the department last year. It seems like such a long time ago now. A year ago I was worried about not being able to go back to med school after what Richard did, and now I'm worried about going back after what Luka did. I know he only had my best interests at heart, and he really thought I was going to go back. I forgave him for it almost as soon as he did it, but I was angry at myself and I moved it onto him which was a big mistake on my part.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we had both just taken a breath that night. If we would have taken a moment to calm down and talk about our troubles instead of shouting them in between insults. I know I hurt him with what I said about his marriage, and not a day goes by when I don't regret the look of hurt that I brought upon his face: like that man needs any more pain. And at the same time, I cannot completely forgive what he shouted at me first. Childish I know, but that remark had hurt a lot more than he'll ever begin to understand.
But what would have happened that night if I hadn't insisted we go out? If John hadn't called? If I hadn't so easily lost my temper? What if? I could torture my mind to death with everything that I had done wrong in our relationship, constantly applying those two words and fitting in an appropriate situation. What if I had waited a day to ask him out? What if I had listened to him about going to Oaklahoma? What if I had opened up to him when he had so clearly wanted me to?
There's a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of. I don't have to name them for their memory to already begin to re scar my mind. But I do know that when I was with Luka I was happy, whether or not I showed it. And my damned pride and my inability to trust played a factor in that, which is something I'll never forgive myself for.
"Hello? Earth to Abby. . ." A hand waves itself in front of my face and I realize that someone's trying to talk to me. "Are you home or should I just leave a message?"
I smile at the attempted humor and turn to my pursuer. "I take it you're the emissary coming to tell me that the rest of the staff thinks I've gone MIA?"
"They think you're half way to Canada by now." I turn and face John. "I just came because I was going to go to Doc Magoo's and replace the sandwich that was so kindly eaten."
I can't help but laugh and shake my head, "Sorry." I can tell what he's about to ask and beat him to his own question, "Do you wanna get some coffee and talk?"
Ten minutes later we're sitting in a dry booth staring at the spot we were standing at before. Some conversation going there. . . There are a lot of things that I want to say though, mostly consisting of, "I'm sorry." He gives me a shocked look and I realize that I just thought out loud. I almost didn't hear his reply in the noise of this place. Servers and customers are moving everywhere.
"For what?"
Well, there's no getting out of it at this point. "For putting you into that position; for making you believe that I had feelings for you. It wasn't intentional, it was just that. . . oh forget it." Here we go with the pride.
And he's not taking the bait, "Just what?"
My coffee looks so interesting at this point. I could just stare at it all day than face my feelings and admit that I was wrong. But I know John better than that and I know that I'm not leaving this diner until I tell him everything, and I do mean everything. "John, when I was with him," no need in saying the name and make him mad since we both know who I'm talking about, "things were a lot harder. I've never been in a relationship that needed me to be so openly honest about everything and accept the same from the other person. And you were there, and when you're telling a friend about you're problems it's a lot easier to say what you really need to say. Let's face it, you're like one of the girls-"
"I am not!"
Yeah you are, but I'm not about to argue with you on that point right now. "You were the person that I could go to about everything, when it should have been him. And somewhere along the way I should have realized that I either needed to try and fix things between me and him or move on, but I just couldn't. We didn't exactly start off on a good foot, and things just kept getting in the way. If I wasn't dealing with a problem, then he was. It became too much to handle too soon, and I ended up making you my outlet, and that isn't fair to you.
"Both of us made a lot of mistakes and it ended up forcing us to break off horribly, and we hurt each other. But after we were separate, I began to realize that you were right about a lot of things that day on the river. Carter, I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to, but I still love you as a friend."
I look up and I can tell he's still trying to absorb everything I said. Finally he sighs and it's his turn to make a speech. "I'm sorry too about what I said. I know I told you in a bad way how I felt about you and Luka. And as your friend I should have been more supportive and just happy to see that you were happy. But I couldn't help what I was feeling, and I'm glad I told you before it came out in a worse way than it did. I really do want to be your friend, if nothing else."
Well, that's a relief and something I didn't see coming at the same time. I was expecting along the lines of "have a nice life." I bring my cup to my lips and begin to sip the lukewarm liquid before nearly choking back up. "What?"
"Are you in love with him?" he repeats.
I. . . I . . . uh. . . .um. . . What do I say to this? Do I? No, it's impossible. I think we're both too messed up and come with too much baggage to ever truly love someone again. Meanwhile, the rain outside begins falling harder and I can barely see the ambulance bay doors through the heavy drops. I stand, and Carter adopts a confused but apologetic face; he thinks he said something wrong. "Come with me," I tell him before he can begin apologizing.
TBC
Ok ok, now I have finished the story already, but I'm curious as to what people thought of it. So I'm going to leave a little space and maybe then I could make the second part better before I post it based on what people think now.
Anyways, this will probably be the last full story I have time to do for a while with school starting in (bleh), 8 days.
You all know what I want.
Snow