A Healer's War

Chapter 7 - Good Samaritan

Chapter 7: Good Samaritan

Friday, April 13th. 07:07

In a haze, Rory dried and dressed, and the rest of his shift passed quietly. The breathing treatment in Room Nine was effective, and everyone settled in until morning blood draws by 0400. Rory restocked mechanically, focusing on something Bell had said—something he wasn't sure how to do this time. He couldn't shake the image of Octavia.

"Get ready for the next patient," Bell's voice repeated in his head.

Rory winced. There was always a "next patient," but this time felt different. And it bothered him he couldn't put his finger on it. Later, he told himself. I'll figure it out later.

At 07:00 and without a patient assignment, Rory skipped morning report and went back to the locker room. Seeing the shower, his face flushed with embarrassment; he really hoped no one had heard him. He changed into bright green leggings and cycling shoes and removed his helmet from his backpack before balling up his scrubs and stuffing them inside, along with his badge and keys. Last, he pulled on his yellow raincoat. Only transplants and tourists trusted a sunny Northwest forecast in April.

Rory walked past the unit out of habit—one last look to make sure he didn't forget to chart some vitals or sign a note. He saw Dr. Deedee and Bell walking two sobbing parents into a consultation room. Bell held the door for them and glanced up to see Rory, giving him a small wave before stepping into the room. He knew who they were: Octavia's parents. They were about to have the worst conversation of their lives.

Some parents wept quietly when they heard the news, others wailed or threw chairs; a few blamed the staff, but most just sat and asked the same question again and again. Some version of, "Are you sure?" Those were the hardest, only because you had to rehash the details over and over until their new reality finally sank in.

Rory's pocket vibrated as he hurried downstairs toward the employee exit, grateful to be leaving. He pulled out his phone and found a blinking notification from his dating app. Hovering his finger over it, a voice in his head asked, What are you going to talk about? He pictured Octavia and could script the typical conversation.

It would start with, "So what do you do?" and normally ended quickly when Rory replied, "pediatric intensive care nurse." For the small percent that clarified, some version of "That's the really sick kids?" came next. When Rory nodded, the conversation inevitably swerved to more universal topics, like celebrities, the weather, or, God-forbid, family.

"Not tonight," he said, wanting to avoid another time-sucking dead-end. He swiped the notification aside before typing out a quick message to Patrick.

Oliver's at 7pm? I need a drink.

——

07:15

"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" A man in a blue hospital-security uniform and cap blocked Rory's path. He wore a granite scowl on his clean-shaven face, and Rory wondered if he'd been in the military.

Rory glanced into the security office—called the Fish Bowl by the staff because of its glass walls. A bank of monitors showed the hospital waking as physicians and families joined the nurses and patients. During the day shift, the hospital was a flurry of activity: consults and treatments, visitors, and guest lectures. Then, when night came again and the cycle reset, only then did the hospital breathe and settle down in hopes of true rest.

"I'll need to see your badge, sir," the burly guard said.

They'd spoken before, but Rory couldn't remember his name. Cameron... no, Carl... no. Kyle?