There is this beauty when becoming a nurse. You get to take care of people, improve their health and help doctors do their jobs, and at some point, save someone's life. That's what I saw when I took nursing as my major. But after years of studying and finally being able to work with my license, I realized that I overlooked something.
Like everything else, there was a downside in becoming a nurse, and it was seeing people die. It wasn't easy seeing the life leave someone's body. I must admit that this crucial part of my job sometimes weakens me and there was also a point in my time of being a nurse that I had to hide in the rooftop during lunch break to cry and mourn. It wasn't easy seeing someone die.
I've seen a lot of patients die after all the fighting. But one thing is for sure, there is this turn in my career that made me realize how cruel life can actually be, and there was one particular patient that made me realize so.
After I confirmed the patient's vital signs, one of the head nurses approached me.
"Hey, Sam," I greeted after setting down the stethoscope.
"Hey there, Harry." She smiled, her eyes exhausted after being in the graveyard shift for a while now.
"How's it going?"
"Oh, you know, I started questioning myself why I had to have this kind of job that keeps me from my one true love."
"You have a boyfriend?" I asked. Sam was pretty, beautiful even, but being a nurse is kind of a hindrance to find a proper date. Maybe that was one of the reasons why I remain single. Instead of looking for someone, I take time to sleep.
Sam smiled smugly. "I'm talking about my bed, Harry."
"Oh."
She laughed at my behalf and then spoke again after recovering. "Listen, from this day on, you're not going to do regular rounds."
"What? Why?"
"You're going to be someone's personal nurse." She said. "One of our nurses was placed to the bigger unit of our hospital and you were highly recommended."
"But why me?" I asked once more.
Sam's eyes drooped lightly so she narrowed her brown orbs to me. "If I were you Harry, I'd just accept it. At least you can save yourself the slack of doing damn rounds every 15 minutes." She said. "You'll start tomorrow, okay? Zayn's shift for that patient ends tonight."
I've finished my rounds that night and went home after my shift. But then I kept imagining who the patient will be. Is she a she or a he? Young or old? Grumpy or smiley?
The next day, I found out that it was a she. And she was about my age. She has blonde hair that is slightly thinning due to her condition, though despite the severity of her disease, her eyes held much radiance that it didn't seem like she was sick.
"Good Morning," I smiled at her, "I'm going to be your new personal nurse."
Her eyes turned to my direction after hearing my voice, after she stopped staring at whatever it was in her hands. I realized a second later that it was an angel figurine.
"Where's Zayn?" she asked me. Her voice was steadier than I expected. Her records were handed to me earlier and I learned that she's been in our oncology ward for a month already. It doesn't even show.
"He was transferred to a different unit." I explained briefly.
She pouted. "That sucks. I like him. He's a cute guy. I mean, those eyelashes!" she gushes.
