Abruption (5 page)

“Totally! I just got out of economics. Can you believe the biatch gave me an A minus on my midterm? I totally deserved full credit. Think I’m going to go appeal to the dean.”

“Mercedes, I love you, honey, but I’m at work. You know, that place where sick people come for help
and
not the place to hear their nurse chattering about test scores. Can we talk later? And do me a favor, hold off on saying anything just yet, to anyone.” My baby sister took the term reactionary to a whole new level. I cringed envisioning her going off half-cocked over a few points. To the dean of her college, no less. Ugh. At least I didn’t have to worry about her academically. It might have been the only aspect of her life she had together. “Come on over tonight, I’ll buy you dinner. Okay?”

“Cool beans, sissy. And thanks for the money, I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“Wait,” I said to a dead line. Crap, she hung up and we never addressed the money. What the hell did she want now? I was sure I didn’t want to know. Double ugh.

Texting,
Money for what?!
I spotted Miss Passive-Aggressive crossing the bay with a steaming Starbucks cup in her hand. That explained her delay. Fabulous. Immaturity followed by immaturity. My morning was shaping up just great.

“Main ER is through the double doors, trauma bays are to the left. Peds has twelve bays total, all circling the desk. These four computers are up for grabs, don’t touch those, the unit clerk will rip you a new one, and any and all forms you can think of will be in this bin.” Sharon’s flippant attitude and unappealing fake grin made it clear she’d rather be anywhere but here. Didn’t she realize jealousy was unflattering? It wasn’t my fault she was overlooked for the assistant nurse manager and they hired externally. It was time she let it go and got over herself. Four days in, my patience was waning. And that said a lot. I almost never lost patience, so few things in life warranted it.

“Thanks for the tour, I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I bet they could really use your help back up on the floor.” Kill ‘em with kindness. Words my mama taught me to live by were coming in handy.

“Guess I’ll see you upstairs then, if you’re going to handle the new admission.”

Managers didn’t typically leave the unit to accept and transport new admissions, but I wanted to set the tone and let my nurses know I wouldn’t ask anything of them I wouldn’t do myself.

“All good, I’ve got it.” I watched her saunter off, feeling only a second of guilt before reveling in her absence. I knew in time she’d warm up, she’d have to.

Popping in front of a young ER resident walking by, I asked, “Hey, could you point me in the direction of room four? I have a PICU admission.”

The Disney scrub-clad doctor smiled with recognition and pointed me toward the far bay. “You’ve got Hunter Junior! He’s one of our favorites. Coolest little man, you’re going to eat him up.”

This was one of the reasons I loved pediatrics. It wasn’t “you’ve got the chest pain” or “you’ve got the uncontrolled diabetic.” Never happened. It was always about the kids. As it should be.

“I just have to drop off some labs and then I’ll meet you in there to give you sign out.” She held up the plastic specimen bag filled with neatly labeled blood vials and motioned me forward. “Dad’s with him, he can give you his history.”

Parents. They were
not
one of the reasons I loved my field. But I got it. Trust me, I got it.

Pediatrics was seventy-five percent little people, twenty-five percent parents. I knocked on the glass wall before entering, because even little people deserved respect. Children were way more perceptive than we gave them credit. They had an uncanny ability to read people, sense fear and pity, so I always made a point to swallow my reaction and bring my A-game.

“Hey! I’m Jules,” I announced, sliding the blue curtain open and memorizing the scene before me.

My Disney resident friend wasn’t exaggerating. The curly blond surfer dude sporting the cutest blue-rimmed glasses I’d ever seen stole my heart instantly. He was small and frail for his three years, wearing only an Aladdin gown and diaper. Propped on two oversized pillows, he was navigating his iPad like a pro. He was the epitome of cool.

“Where’s Margaret or Jill?” A deep, raspy voice surprised me, stealing my attention.

“Excuse me?” I stalled, distracted by the unwavering gaze of piercing eyes. Not my most professional response, but in my defense, I was not expecting Dad to be just a larger version of Surfer Dude, nor did I expect such an abrupt introduction. And oddly enough, he looked vaguely familiar.

“Umm. Hey, I’m Jules…” Damn, I already said that. I stuck out my hand feigning cool, calm, and collected. “I’m the assistant nurse manager of the PICU. You must be Dad. Great to meet you.”

He squinted ever so slightly before rising from the small bedside chair, which wasn’t actually that small but looked like dollhouse furniture next to his towering frame.

Swallowing my hand with his own, he eyeballed his watch. Awkward.

“Listen. I get that you’re new, everyone has to start somewhere, but Finn has an extensive history and I’d appreciate if someone could fill you in. I don’t have the time.”

You don’t have the time
?

And how did he know I was new?

Wait, did he just dismiss me? Oh no. This man had to be shitting me.

I thought not.

I felt my face flush. I hated how my cheeks always betrayed me.

I worked damn hard for this title, and with four years of experience, I was as seasoned as they come. I might’ve been new to
this
institution, but I was far from new.

Right before I had a chance to set intimidating Surfer Dad straight (with a professionalized version of my internal rant, of course) a petite blond came in like a whirlwind, freezing the tension. She dropped her purse alongside the bed and plopped down.

“Hey. I stopped by room two, but I didn’t see my Curly Cue. It’s busy in here already this morning. How you feeling, sweetie?”

Finn barely looked up, he was totally engrossed in his game, typical little kid.

“Where are we? Did my boy have to get another prick yet?” She gave her husband a knowing look before bouncing to me with eyebrows raised. She kept talking. “He’s been running a fever off and on since yesterday afternoon. Hit 104 this morning, I got worried. Last dose of children’s Tylenol was about two and a half hours ago.” She touched his forehead. “He seems good now.”

I sensed her relief. Finn still looked a little sluggish and weak, but it had to be a huge improvement. High fevers were no joke.

“This is the third fever in three weeks. I’ve had it with this,” Dad clipped.

“You definitely made the right decision to bring him in. Fever in any little guy leads right to dehydration and that can be very dangerous. He’s got IV fluids running, and he seems to be perking up a little.” I snapped back into nurse mode. This guy wasn’t going to rattle me with his insolence. “I’ll check with the ER staff and see where they are on his work-up, but first let me ask a few questions, get his history, so if he winds up needing to stay, we’ll be ahead of the game.”

Dad crossed his arms across his broad chest, settled into his stance and matter-of-factly stated, “He’s getting admitted.”

“Admitted?” Color drained from his wife’s face as she continued to rapid-fire questions. “Why does he need to be admitted? Oh God, were his labs abnormal? Did he spike again?”

Before I could calm her down, not that I knew the answers to any of her questions yet, the curtain rustled behind me. Dad lifted his chin and said, “Jill. Good.”

The Disney resident, who now had a name, joined us with a huge smile for our little friend and began. “Good news is chest X-ray is clear, labs are pending, but three fevers in the last month with an unidentified source needs investigating. We’re taking no chances here.” She shook her fingers through Finn’s fine hair reassuringly, but the little guy was beyond consumed and content ignoring the adults conferring around him. “We’re going to pan culture him, blood, stool, urine, and I hate to say it, but CSF this time too. We’re considering broad spectrum antibiotics during the interim as well.”

“CSF, as in he needs a spinal tap. Oh Guy!” Mom cried, as panic plagued her features, not that I could blame her. No parent wants their child to be held down while a twenty-gauge needle punctures their spinal canal. Though it was a little surprising how clinically versed both parents seemed to be.

Dad’s tense stance didn’t change when he unfolded one arm to bring her in for a half hug. It wasn’t overly affectionate; it felt forced and … distant. I suddenly felt sorry for her.

“We’re going to do what needs to be done,” he said with finality in his tone.

“Okay, let’s get him settled upstairs first and then we’ll proceed.” Jill looked at me to cue the transfer.

Dad may have been stoic and resolute, a little too much so (who was I to judge), but Mom radiated nervous energy. To lessen her blow, and to clarify my own confusion, I accepted the chart from Jill’s outstretched hand and asked, “Do you want to hold off on moving him right now? Finn seems comfortable, and we can run all those tests from here. And while we’re waiting, his Tylenol should be wearing off. We’ll have a better sense of whether he’s going to spike a fever again.
And
I know on good authority that the balloon artist is scheduled to come down here in a half hour. He was finishing up in the PICU before I came down.”

Finn peeked up and showed off his ridiculously precious dimples. Yep, balloon artist trumped iPads every time.

I was in no way overstepping my bounds. It was completely unorthodox to go straight to a PICU admission. FUO (fever of unknown origin) was always worked up in the ER.

Dad rolled his eyes. Seriously, he rolled his eyes, while Jill bit her lip. Whatever. He already disliked me. My only concern was Finn and being his advocate.

“Um...” Jill’s brain looked to be working overtime. “You’re right, Jules, we’d usually do that. But Finn’s got a pretty extensive history. Dr. Guillroy is his private pediatrician and he definitely wants him admitted, at least overnight. He’ll be much more comfortable in a private room. Peds floor is full, so he’s bumped to the PICU. Dr. Hunter is most comfortable with that too.”

Dr. Guy Hunter, as in MD Hunter, as in scowling Dad. Crap. No wonder he wasn’t feeling like going through his son’s history with the
new
assistant
nurse manager, who just second-guessed his son’s plan of care without knowing his medical history. But then again, he didn’t have to be such a … no, I wasn’t going to say it. That thought was a little harsh. Besides, who was I to judge?

Before I had a chance to remove my foot from my mouth, Finn chimed in cheering, “Bawoons, bawoons.” He hopefully tugged at his father (aka Dr. Hunter), who in turn morphed his eye roll into daggers of steel. At me. Whoops.

Jill squatted to Finn’s level. “Hey, buddy. I noticed Italian ice is on the menu today. I’m sure we can have some waiting for you in your new room with a comfy bed.”

Nice save, had to give it to her.

Disappointment scrunched Finn’s brows beneath his thick glasses. “Bawoons.”

Double whoops.

Jill forged on, sing-songing, “I’m pretty sure I saw your favorite flavor on the list.”

“Yemon?” Finn’s humongous cheese relaxed the room. God, he was seriously the sweetest little boy.

Note to self—sweets trumped balloons trumped iPad for my new patient. Too bad my dad wasn’t here to whip up his famous batch of water ice. It was legendary back in the neighborhood, and I highly doubted the hospital cafeteria had anything on Alonzo Chiappetti.

“You bet.” Jill smiled, unable to hide her adoration for the little charmer.

My back pocket vibrated in succession, and since this seemed like an ideal time to step out, I announced, “I’m going to get started on the orders and get things rolling then.” Dr. Hunter was definitely not going to miss my presence.

Moving toward the desk, I eyed the only free computer and made my way over. While I waited for my log in to load, I checked my phone.
I’m going to freaking kill her.

Caring even less about cell phone etiquette this time, I didn’t even attempt to lower my volume when Mercedes answered on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re joking, because my day already sucks, and if I have to sedate Mom to stop her from having a heart attack, I’m really going to be pissed.”

“It’s going to be awesome, right!”

“Are you on drugs?” I bit out, even though I knew there was zero chance she’d get involved with drugs. I needed to drive home how ludicrous she was being. “No, it is
not
awesome and you are
not
getting a tattoo!”

“If you don’t want to lend me the money, that’s all you had to say. You don’t have to be such a…” She stuttered because my sister would never call me a bitch. She was a lot of things, but disrespectful was not one of them.

So I helped her out and said, “Such a what, Mercedes … a bitch?” That last word I might have whispered.

“You know I would never say that, Jules.”
Told you, I knew my sister.
“But why can’t you just back me on this? I’ve thought a lot about it and I really want it. You didn’t act like this when Selena got her tat! And besides, it’s not like I’d get a huge one or anything. It’s going to be quarter-sized, on the inside of my wrist.”
Oh God, where people could see it.
She might as well ink it on her forehead.