A day in a Nurses life

A day in a Nurses life  
 
Many people do not see what a Nurse goes through each day my hat goes off to them.
 
The old man opens his eyes as I approach and manages a smile when he sees me.
 
“You again, young miss?” he struggles to speak.
 
She smiles and nods, checking his vitals, and fluffing his pillows. The old man is not long for this world; I hope his family makes it.
 
She sits and holds his hand for a few minutes, catching him up on the news, anything to take his mind off the inevitable.
 
As she leaves, the old man catches his breath to ask, “What was your name again?”
 
At least, that is what he said. His voice is getting weaker, and it is hard to make out what he is saying.
 
“It’s alright; I’ll be back tomorrow,” she softly says.
 
She gets a page to go to the sixth floor. It is in the labor and delivery unit saying I have been summoned for an emergency, a young mother with a difficult pregnancy. They are inducing the birth early because she has developed eclampsia symptoms.
 
As she rushes in there, hearing a faint, weak wail. The baby has just been born. One of the other nurses wraps the child up, shows him briefly to the father, who looks terrified out of his wits, then whisks the baby out of the room.
 
Giving the father a compassionate glance, but her attention is on the mother. She is having seizures and is bleeding heavily go to her side, and she looks at the Nurse between episodes with a wild, frightened look in her eyes.
 
“You’re going to be alright, and so is your baby,” telling her gently and firmly.
 
She can barely nod at the Nurse, but she instantly looks a little calmer. Her eyes take on a faraway look, then she rolls them back and has another seizure while the Nurse holds her hand.
 
Walking passes the nurse’s station, where three new interns are chit-chatting with a couple of the younger nurses. They are exchanging silly hospital ghost stories. She has heard them all, but she is amused anyway. Stopping by the front desk and pretend to be busy filling out a chart so I can eavesdrop.
 
“The scariest one is an actual true story,” the petite brown-haired nurse, Isabel, says.
 
The others press her for the story. She tells them a fantastic tale about a nurse who plunged to her death when the elevator shaft malfunctioned thirty years ago when the hospital was brand new. She has been haunting the hallways ever since, calling on patients.
 
But only patients who will die see her.
 
A stifle a snort she has heard that story many times. It has been circulating among the staff at  
 
Downtown Memorial for about as long as she has been there.
 
The intern Charlie guffaws loudly at this. He is the one who manages to be adorable, even with a messy blond mop on his head and thick black glasses that keep sliding down over his nose. He is clearly trying to flirt with Isabel, and she is clearly more interested in his fellow intern, who is taller and less geeky.
 
I feel sorry for Charlie.
 
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “I bet this nurse would appear if we stood in front of a bathroom mirror here and chanted her name, huh? Like Bloody Mary. What was her name again?
 
Isabel rolls her eyes but answers him, “It is Evelyn — Evelyn Hargrave. Why don’t you try it and let us know? We are all gonna die someday anyway.”
 
She turns and says she must go back to work, breaking up the group chat. Charlie looks like a disappointed puppy as he trudges away. My heart goes out to him; I remember being that age and in love. I almost go after him to offer a kind word, but then he disappears around the corner, and I get called on to check on another patient.
 
Later.
 
My twelve-hour shift is almost done for the day, but I have one more patient to tend to before I can leave. It is the ER this time — a young, white male has been hit by a truck two blocks from our hospital.
 
I know that unruly head of blond hair and the broken black glasses before I even enter the room. It is Charlie, our intern, I realize with a shock.
 
Amazingly, he is still conscious. For now. I can tell they are not sure he is going to make it. He is babbling incoherently, going on and on about making sure we find the matcha latte he dropped, and get it to Isabel.
 
Dear lord, the boy went to Starbucks to get her a treat and got hit by a truck.
 
My heart rips open. I wish I had stopped him in the hallway before.
 
But it is too late now; I do the next best thing I can do. I hold his hand kindly. He turns to face me and immediately stops babbling.
 
“It’s okay, Charlie,” I say in my most reassuring voice. “I’m going to help you.”
 
His eyes flit over to my name badge and then straight into my eyes. In that one moment, I see a thousand things flash through his quickly fading mind fear, pain, despair, and finally, peace.
 
“Evelyn.” Charlie mouths silently at me, “I’m ready.”