The Followings of a Red Beret

The Bitter Caretaker

It's busy today- the corridors are packed with people.

"Mia, can you check on the patient in 328?" A passing nurse- Jenny's her name, I think- asks, handing me a bunch of papers.

I nod reluctantly, clipping them to my clipboard, and turn back to get to the elevator. Unfortunately, it's practically full. I have to squeeze in with a large family and a few other nurses. The elevator car begins its painfully slow ascent.

"I don't know, do you think she'll be okay?" A woman worries as she wrings her hands.

"We'll have to see what the doctor says," the man next to her replies as he rubs her shoulders.

An old woman behind them grumbles, "She shouldn't have been hanging around with those kids." I inwardly scoff at her remark. Like I haven't heard that line before.

"Mother," the man chides.

Finally, the doors open. I stride briskly down the hall, but then I notice that the family from the elevator is going in my direction, too.

As I reach Room 328, I glance back, and breathe a sigh of relief when they go into the room next door. That family would've been a headache to deal with.

I go into the room and shut the door quickly. The patient, who calls himself Cyril, is sitting in his wheelchair, no doubt about to leave the room. He's been since last November. Not much is known about him, as most of his file has been redacted. He's a little old- somewhere in his 40s, if I had to guess. Although I suppose most of the white hair on his head is from stress. The lines on his face gave that away. That being said, he's known among the staff for being old yet handsome, and the clean-shaven face helps. He's of Asian descent, but there must be a hint of European in him somewhere.

"Hold on, I have to check your arm first," I tell him. He reluctantly removes his hands from the wheels and presents them to me. I unwrap the bandages, examining the partially healed lesions on his arm. After checking for any signs of infection, I smear the antibiotic ointment over them.

"All right, you're free to go," I say. "Just don't do anything idiotic." He shoots me a pointed look before rolling out, probably to go visit his daughter, who's in a high quality room.

As a matter of fact, I have to go check on one of the high quality patients as well. I swiftly head out of the room and into the elevator, joining two women and a teenaged boy.

"He- the doctor says that he's- he's not going to be able to p-play football again!" one woman sobs. "Oh, he's going to be heartbroken!" The other woman comforts her. I stare ahead at the elevator buttons.

"Maggie, it's going to be okay, he said that it's just a possibility. Derek's strong, he'll pull through."

"B-But it's his dream to play in the NFL!"

I look back, and see the teenaged boy rolls his eyes. He grumbles, in a scornful tone, "If Derek hadn't kept pushing for the coach to put him in, then this wouldn't have happened. He thinks he's such a great linebacker, but he's really not-"

The not-sobbing woman cuts him off. "Eric, don't talk about your brother like that." He leans back against the wall and doesn't respond. Typical teenagers.

I nearly yelp when the woman- the mother of Derek, I assume- latches onto my arm. "Oh, nurse, do you think my little boy will be okay?" Personal space, anyone?

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm not involved-" I stop when the other woman shoots me a look that says, 

just tell her what she wants to hear

. I suppress the urge to groan. "I'm sure your son will be fine, our doctors here are very qualified. You don't need to worry," I assure her, smiling broadly. She beams and lets go of me.