The Essence of Hana (Muslim story)

Chips

The rounds at the hospital have been taking their toll on me. Not necessarily physically, but rather mentally.  I only see about six patients a day in the wards, check their charts and make any recommendations or adjustments if need be. And the rest of the time I'm reading through patients cases or helping out with dispensary down stairs.

Being honest, I kind of prefer dispensary. There's less 'thinking on my feet' involved and we hardly get a lot of outpatient discharges so it basically means less of a workload compared to upstairs. That, and ground level is generally a  pharmacist zone, if you don't count the emergency room or cafeteria. So there are less doctors chasing us around for drug advice nor nurses wanting us to check dose charts. And for that reason I tend to keep my visits limited. 

That doesn't always work though. And currently, my main issue is Steve. He's still an inpatient after almost two weeks, and considering he's my inpatient, I've been up in the wards more than I like- particularly physio. He's developed three UTI's within the fortnight, two caused by MRSA, and his clot risk is quite high so doctors have decided to keep a close eye on him. Which is understandable, but because he's bed ridden, I've had to make sure he's seeing his physio on the daily. That isn't too bad, because his physio is Tom- the intern- so I haven't had any encounters with Noah as of yet.

In fact, the last I spoke to Noah was almost two weeks ago, when he last suggested we have lunch together. But I assume he's too busy to even remember he mentioned it let alone actually go through with it. If I said I didn't care, I wouldn't be lying but I would be telling the truth either. 

After the little conversation that sparked the dimmest light of nostalgia and perhaps faith that things between us could go back to how they used to be, I kind of hoped I'd bump into Noah in the corridors and he'd insist on coordinating our lunch breaks and we'd end up eating semi-cold pizza from the cafeteria or maybe get a coffee and joke about his latte art. But I was stupid for even thinking it, because the thoughts would fill me like helium and I'd deflate miserably over the hours.

So, I've trained my self not to care, at least not too much. And that way, I can actually focus on getting my work done.

~*~

"Is bed number six still there?" Rebecca, an intern I'm working with asks.

"Mhmm. Recurrent UTI's." She tenses her jaw and raises her brow as she goes back to filling out charts.

After having spent all of last week successfully avoiding the wards for the most part. This week I wasn't as lucky. Rounds had taken up all my morning and now well into the afternoon, I've been stood at the nurse bench filling chart after chart.

Sighing, I close the last file and it it to my unbalanced pile. Slipping my pen into my pocket I stretch my fingers before giving them the chance to cramp up.

"I'm headed to dispensary." I tell Rebecca.

"You can't hide there forever." She jokes.

"I can try." I smile and make my way down the hall.

"I'll page you if I need you." I look back briefly to nod.

"Cool." I round the corner and head down stairs to dispensary, taking the stairs to avoid the crammed and horribly pungent scent of sweat and sanitiser.

Fumbling to stretch the cord of my pass to reach the buzzer, the entrance doors open from the other side.

"Just the person I'm looking for." The pass slips from between my fingers and recoils back to my side.

The doors slide shut behind Noah as he walks over in a crisp checkered shirt, sleeves loosely rolled from his wrists and ends tucked into a pair formal navy dress pants that end at his tan dress shoes. Looking immaculately put together, I drag my gaze to his head, where his hair is wet and lies distressed over his forehead.