Skinny • Book 1 In The Reality Series

Cam (a nurse)

I see a lot of sad things in the emergency room.
I also see a lot of gross things, but that sad stuff is worse, way worse.

I hate seeing kids. Bleeding kids and dying kids get me every time.

I hate seeing people that I know won't get better.

But most of all, I hate the teenagers.

It's always something tragic with teenagers; alcohol poisoning, a drug overdose, a suicide attempt, a car accident.

I remember once, when I first started, fifty years ago, there was a tragedy combo.

A boy with alcohol poisoning and high out of his mind who had intentionally crashed into a McDonalds.

I felt bad for the poor guy, for obvious reasons, but I felt worse for his parents.

I always feel worse for their parents.

There's a teenager they're working on in a curtained room.

He looks about my grandson's age, and about the weight of my Pomeranian.

"Bulimia," I hear someone say, "or Anorexia."

"Could be EDNOS."

"Give him two more ccs please."

"What should I tell his family?"

"Nothing yet."

"He's going to need a tube."

"Feeding or breathing?"

"Both."

I shake my head.

I hate the eating disorder kids. They look like something out of a holiday season infomercial about malnourished kids in some far away place.

They stay in Emergency a few days, then they go upstairs. They get feeding tubes there.

Their parents aren't doting and crying anymore, they're tired and irritated and ready to talk about it.

I hate when they're ready to talk about it.

After that they go home. Or they go upstairs again, to the psych ward.

I've only been up there once. The place is sad.

It's more like a prison then a hospital; bars on the windows, no sharp or hard objects, no doors. The beds don't even get sheets, just special, anti hang yourself blankets.

I hate when they go all the way up.

It's better then skeletons though.

They come in looking dead and leave looking deader.

I cross myself as I pass the boys room.

I hope he goes upstairs.