Crash Into Me (Into Me Series Book One)

Chapter Nine - Ride

"Sir, I assure you, you are not dying," I sigh, glaring at the man in front of me.
"Okay, but are you sure? Like 100% sure?" he challenges.
"She's sure bro," Brian grumbles, looking at me with annoyance.
"Well, how do I know you're not lying?" the patient accuses.
"Because if I was lying, I would lose my job and my nursing license, both of which I happen to like a lot," I reply, rolling my eyes and turning my attention back to my computer screen.

"You're just like every other health care worker, completely dismissing my symptoms and telling me that I'm totally fine without even lifting your stethoscope," he accuses.
"For fucks sake, alright, listen," I begin, "Your blood pressure was basically perfect, 122/78. Your heart rate is 84bpm. Your oxygen saturation is at 98%. Your temp is 98.1 degrees. When I listened to your lungs, they were totally clear. Your heart sounded even and strong. Your pulses are intact and palpable. Your bowel sounds are normal. You do not have any signs of infection. Your EKG was textbook perfect. I mean, I'm actually planning on saving it to show the next group of nursing students that comes through here."
"... Really?" he questions.
"Really," I affirm.
"Really," Brian agrees, nodding.

"Mr. Smith, I assure you, if there was something drastically wrong with you that had life or limb at risk, I would 100% be in your corner. You can ask Brian here, when there is something wrong, I become quite protective of my patients and do not stop until they get the care they need. I become a mama bear and I will push and push until my patients are cared for properly. On my nursing license, I promise you that you are okay," I explain.
"You're 100% sure?" Mr. Smith wonders, again.
"She's sure as shit, Mr. Smith. Let me show you to the lobby," Brian suggests, standing up and motioning with his hand.
"Oh... okay, well, thank you, nurse," Mr. Smith blurts as he follows Brian out of the triage room and into the lobby.
"You're welcome, Mr. Smith. Take care," I call after him.

I groan, standing up from my wheely chair. I start tearing down the room, balling up the dirty sheet on the bed and pitching it into the soiled laundry bin. I wipe everything down with a bleach wipe, the stench making my nose burn a little. I sit back down and wheel myself over to the computer, pulling up Mr. Smith's chart. I type in a nursing note about him being completely fucking fine, per usual, and discharge his chart from the system.

I feel bad for him, truly. Mr. Smith's wife died of a freak medical snafu. She came in for a simple hernia repair, did awesome in surgery, and was discharged the same day. Three days later, she came in via squad. Temp 104, heart rate 130s, blood pressure 70s/40s, oxygen saturations in the toilet. Full-blown septic. We started pressors, aggressive fluid resuscitation, and the strongest antibiotics we could, but it was too late. Her kidneys had already started shutting down, her liver following, starting the domino effect with the rest of her organs. She was dead before he ever called 911.

An in-depth autopsy was completed on her, which came back inconclusive. Everything with the hernia surgery was fine. The incision was clean, the mesh was in place and well approximated, and internal sutures were free of infection. They have no idea why she went septic so quickly. I held him for hours that night as he screamed over and over and over again. He kept asking why and I never had an answer for him. No one did. And so now, whenever he has so much as a sniffle, he shows up here and demands to be examined. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.

Brian opens the curtain up, stepping back into the room with fresh linens, "Remind me what we did exactly to end up in triage all day," he groans.
That would be my suicidal ass. That would be why we're stuck in here. Sorry, Brian. "No idea, I think Evans is in a mood today," I conspire.
"Well, whatever we did, remind me to never do it again," he complains, handing me the other side of the sheet.

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head at him. We pull it taunt and lower it onto the bed, tucking the edges and corners. I toss Brian the naked pillow. He catches it and starts shimmying on the case. I pull out some more telemetry stickers, a new blood pressure cuff, and a belongings bag. He pulls out supplies for a blood draw and sets up his IV station as well.