Tracking Logan Foster

{18} Still Alive

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down the white blouse I wore as I hesitantly wrapped my hand around the door handle. After a few seconds of mental preparation to calm my nerves, I opened the door and approached the front desk of the hospital.

"Last name?" Asked the young receptionist without looking up from her computer. I'd guessed her to be in her mid-twenties with short, strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Johnson," I stated quickly.

She nodded once, punching a few letters on her keyboard as her eyebrows drew together. Finally meeting my eyes, she frowned and remarked, "We don't have any patients with the last name of Johnson here currently. You're here to visit someone, correct?"

"Oh," I apologized, "I'm sorry. Johnson is my last name. I'm here for a job shadow."

The receptionists eyes widened and she gave me a tight lipped smile. "In that case," she instructed, gesturing to the door behind her, "Go right on in there and I'll get you settled."

I did as I was told and hurriedly followed her into the small room. She spoke so fast that I was worried I'd miss something as she described what I would be doing for the day.

As soon as we were ready, she lead me out into the hall where a clinical stench immediately flooded my nostrils upon reaching yet another circular desk. Only this time, several nurses in various shades of blue scrubs were busily bustling around.

"Nurse Demetria," the receptionist requested, stopping one of the nurses dead in her tracks.

Making her way over to us, the nurse who had been summoned politely asked, "Yes?"

Nurse Demetria was slightly curvy with spiraled curly hair that just barely grazed her shoulders. Kind brown eyes softened as she caught sight of me and she stuck her hand out, introducing, "Oh, you must be here for the job shadow. I'm Demetria and you must be Iris."

I nodded, matched her smile, and clasped her hand in mine as I said, "Nice to meet you, Nurse Demetria."

The receptionist excused herself to carry out with her prior duties, leaving me with Demetria.

"Okay," the kind woman began, "Today, we will be visiting a few patients. The goal is to check their blood pressure, weight, and give them a meal they should fully digest. Simple."

I nodded once more as I followed her down a series of maze-like hallways until we reached a room occupied with two patients separated by a curtain.

"Cynthia?" Demetria called into the first curtain divided cell.

A grunt ensued the response, "I'm here. Where else would I be besides I don't know, prom?"

Demetria chuckled, shaking her head as she entered the room with me on her heels. "Come on," she joked, "You can go to prom next year. For now, we need to focus on your recovery."

I took a few moments to digest what was going on. A teenager a couple of years younger than myself was lying in the hospital bed, propped up by a few pillows. Her blonde hair hung limply down her sides and a paper thin hospital gown drooped across her skinny frame dotted with dark purple bruises.

"But Jeffrey and I had planned to go together this year," she complained as the nurse checked the IV in her arm before glimpsing up at the beeping monitor above Cynthia's head.