Izzy.
"Hey, Iz, I'm working."
"Yeah, yeah, it's nine at night, and all your patients are asleep. Tell me everything!"
Dessa chimes in, "Izzy, she definitely did the hanky panky with him! You should see her glowing over here," She all but yells into my phone. My cheeks redden instantly as I gasp and shove Dessa, and she laughs.
"Holy shit," Izzy screams into the phone. "Was it as good as you remember—"
"Okay, that's enough. We can talk about this when I'm not at work. Bye, Izzy!" I hang up, feeling slightly embarrassed and hoping none of our other coworkers heard the two hooligans discussing my sex life like it was front page news of the local paper that everyone should be privy to.
I spin around and flash a look at Dessa. One that says, "What the fuck" without having to say a word.
She lets out a small laugh and shrugs.
"You can't blame me for being excited about this, V. You deserve this. Every time you told me about him, I could feel your heart bursting. You never lost feelings for him, and he'sback."
I roll my eyes, stand up, and head toward the residents' cardiac wing to start making hourly rounds and checking in on each of them.
I made it through several resident units, most of which were fast asleep. I'm currently checking in on the Bourgs. Mr. Raymond Bourg and Mrs. Adelis Bourg. They have been married for fifty-six years and are the semblance of true love at its finest.
I can't stop my heart from swelling every time I check in and witness them snuggled up together, clinging to each other for dear life as they sleep contently. To choose someone to spend your life with in your twenties and still choose to love them all those years later, it's not only a commitment, but it's also absolutely beautiful. Mr. Raymond has cardiac troubles, whereas Mrs Adelis is, for the most part, perfectly healthy for her age. The way they care for one another is something you'd read about in a novel. Most people could only hope to find and keep that kind of connection and bond that they still share to this day.
When I was younger, I dreamed of that kind of love for Ander and myself—a love that could withstand all obstacles, even the test of time. Reality outweighed that dream.
As I walk away from their unit with a smile on my face, my smile quickly fades as I make my way towards Mr. Earls's room. I can see his light still on, peeking out from under the door to his apartment, spilling into the hallway. He's never awake this late unless something is wrong. He never likes to complain or "bother us," as he calls it, so when he starts not to feel well, he will typically sit in silence and suffer through. That drives me mad. My steps pick up speed. As I make it to his unit, I canalready sense that something isn't right, and my heart drops in my chest at the thought.
Part of working with older adults with medical issues is accepting that they may not have long left with us. We care for them as best as we can while they're here, but we are supposed to try and desensitize ourselves and accept that they will more than likely pass away at some point. As nursing staff here, we all have to attend seminars focusing on normalizing death as a part of life. It's abysmal, but it's how we're supposed to operate so as not to let the inevitable break us down mentally and emotionally. It's the one part of my job I've never been quite able to come to terms with.
After all the tragedies I've faced in my personal life, you'd think I would be the one person here who could grasp that death happens. It's quite the opposite. Whereas the logical part of my brain acknowledges it and understands that everyone has their own time to depart this earth, my heart will never be able to accept it.
I struggle with this internally more than I'd ever care to admit in therapy. It always baffles me how someone could be here, so full of life one moment and then gone the next. No one's time here is promised nor guaranteed, and if anything, that gives me a shit ton of anxiety.
I knock on the door to his apartment before using my badge to unlock it and enter it, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
"Mr. Earl, I saw the light was still on. Is everything okay?" I call out as I make my way inside.
His unit is quiet, and his living area is empty. As I suspected, all the lights in his living area and kitchen are still on, which is entirely out of the ordinary. He loves the dark, and although his utilities are included, he constantly rants about "saving electricity."
I make my way toward Mr. Earl's bedroom, and my suspicion that something isn't right comes crashing in as I swing open the door. Mr. Earl is hunched over in his recliner next to his bed, pale and clenching his chest. I instantly radioed for Dessa to page a Code Blue for room C34. Before I can even finish talking, Dessa's voice pierces the intercom. I rush over to Mr. Earl and start assessing him, trying to keep my composure and remind myself of all the skills I am equipped with to handle these situations. That doesn't stop the lump from forming in my throat. I am looking over at the grumpy older man who has become my confidant andfriend.
"Mr. Earl, It's Via, I'm here. Can you tell me what you're feeling?" I ask as I begin taking his vital signs and trying to comfort him at the same time. Unfortunately, Mr. Earl isn't new to having heart attacks. He's dubbed himself a cat and says he has infinite lives. He's also made dark jokes that he hasn't died yet because 'they' didn't know what to do with him, that he was too good for hell but too bad for heaven, so the gods beyond sentenced him to purgatory on earth.
"Via," He strains my name out as he leans back. "Don't worry about me; I'm just having bad heartburn."
"Mr. Earl, not everything is heartburn. How often have I told you to call me when you feel like this?"
"Oh, now that's enough fussing over me. How was the date?" His voice is low, gravelly, and barely audible.
I muster a small disapproving shake of my head, and before I can respond, my coworkers flood into the room, and we begin our cardiac process.
"Via, I tried calling the doctor on call for permission to administer nitro, but I wasn't able to get through. The ambulance is 3 minutes out."
I become instantly irritated. We don't have a doctor in-house on night shifts, only nurses. We do have physicians who rotatecalls at night. Still, if they don't answer the phone during emergencies, we cannot distribute any medicine that wasn't previously ordered, even if it could possibly save a life. We have to resort to calling 911, even though we are fully capable of beginning the process. This has always infuriated me.
I looked at Clark, our respiratory therapist, and ordered, "His pulse oxygen is at seventy-eight percent. Begin oxygen until medics arrive."
He takes one look at Mr. Earl and doesn't hesitate.
