Read Online Here and Again by Nicole R Dickson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nicole R Dickson
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weeks,” she said, following Ginger back to her truck. She opened the back door.
“
Eewwww-wee
,” Margery declared. “That’s a mess.”
“I know. And I gotta drive all the way home after it sits in here for twelve hours during my shift. I’m the new nurse,” Ginger replied with a grimace.
Margery welcomed her with a wry smile. Together they lifted Jacob out of the backseat and dragged his dead weight through the small waiting room to the closest bed. There, they dumped his body.
“I’ll call the doctor.”
“Thanks,” Ginger said and went outside to park her car.
Franklin District Community Hospital was like most rural ERs—small enough that its weekend and evening staff usually came from medical registries. It was a three-bed emergency room with five acute beds and an attached skilled nursing facility, which was staffed twenty-four hours a day with two LVNs and two nurses’ aides. Major traumas in the area were medevaced to Winchester, Virginia. The usual patients in Franklin were small children with bad flus, broken bones of all ages, abdominal and chest pain of all ages. The care was basic emergency and acute care, and since it was such a small hospital, one nurse was on staff on the night shift to serve as triage, nurse, and even cook, if needed. There was one doctor, who generally slept on a bed in the day clinic across the parking lot until needed. The ambulance owner and driver lived in the house across the street.
Which was why, as she slipped across the vast patient parking lot, Ginger wondered how it was the medical staff parking lot was so far away to the left. After all, the ER could handle only one-fifth of the parking spaces allotted for patients. Cold and winded,she stepped back into the bright lights of the ER, locking the door behind her. She found the disheveled doctor scratching her head and yawning as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Her badge read, “Anna Maria D., MD.”
“Nurse says he’s been in here before,” the doctor mumbled.
“She did say that, Doctor,” Ginger replied, taking off her coat.
“You been here before?”
“This is only my third shift here. Last one was three months ago.”
“So you don’t know him.”
Ginger shook her head as she stuck her hands beneath the warm water. It burned her frozen skin.
“You found him?”
“FFDID,” Ginger said. ER term for “Found Face Down In Ditch.” ER personnel had a very dark and dry wit, usually punctuated by acronyms. ER speak, as Ginger called it, was a language unto itself.
“YPPA?” the doctor asked. “Young Practicing Professional Alcoholic.”
“Seems to be,” Ginger said, drying her burning hands.
“All right.” The doctor yawned, putting down the coffee cup. With Anna Maria D., MD, leading the way, Ginger walked to where she and Nurse Thompson had dropped Jacob on a gurney. He was now without a coat, shirt, boots, or pants, lying beneath a heated blanket with an IV stuck in his arm. Taking the chart, the doctor checked the vitals, after which she handed it to Ginger, walked over to the sink, and washed her hands. Then she put on latex gloves, each one snapping into place. Placing the chart on the end of the bed, Ginger did the same. She always felt her snapping latex gloves had less of a commanding sound than the doctor’s.
“Not hypothermic. That’s good. Hey, Jacob. Jacob Esch.”
“Huh,” the kid answered. It was less a word than a grunt.
“Where you from?”
“Oak Flat,” he replied. His mouth moved but nothing else did.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” the doctor replied. “Your chart says you’re from Pennsylvania.”
“Oh. Yah.” He rolled over and retched. With the skill of a practiced nurse, Ginger grabbed the pink plastic container and caught his vomit in midair.
Gently the doctor rolled him over on his back, opened one of his eyes, and flicked her little light on his irises. Ginger could see that they were contracting in the
“
Eewwww-wee
,” Margery declared. “That’s a mess.”
“I know. And I gotta drive all the way home after it sits in here for twelve hours during my shift. I’m the new nurse,” Ginger replied with a grimace.
Margery welcomed her with a wry smile. Together they lifted Jacob out of the backseat and dragged his dead weight through the small waiting room to the closest bed. There, they dumped his body.
“I’ll call the doctor.”
“Thanks,” Ginger said and went outside to park her car.
Franklin District Community Hospital was like most rural ERs—small enough that its weekend and evening staff usually came from medical registries. It was a three-bed emergency room with five acute beds and an attached skilled nursing facility, which was staffed twenty-four hours a day with two LVNs and two nurses’ aides. Major traumas in the area were medevaced to Winchester, Virginia. The usual patients in Franklin were small children with bad flus, broken bones of all ages, abdominal and chest pain of all ages. The care was basic emergency and acute care, and since it was such a small hospital, one nurse was on staff on the night shift to serve as triage, nurse, and even cook, if needed. There was one doctor, who generally slept on a bed in the day clinic across the parking lot until needed. The ambulance owner and driver lived in the house across the street.
Which was why, as she slipped across the vast patient parking lot, Ginger wondered how it was the medical staff parking lot was so far away to the left. After all, the ER could handle only one-fifth of the parking spaces allotted for patients. Cold and winded,she stepped back into the bright lights of the ER, locking the door behind her. She found the disheveled doctor scratching her head and yawning as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Her badge read, “Anna Maria D., MD.”
“Nurse says he’s been in here before,” the doctor mumbled.
“She did say that, Doctor,” Ginger replied, taking off her coat.
“You been here before?”
“This is only my third shift here. Last one was three months ago.”
“So you don’t know him.”
Ginger shook her head as she stuck her hands beneath the warm water. It burned her frozen skin.
“You found him?”
“FFDID,” Ginger said. ER term for “Found Face Down In Ditch.” ER personnel had a very dark and dry wit, usually punctuated by acronyms. ER speak, as Ginger called it, was a language unto itself.
“YPPA?” the doctor asked. “Young Practicing Professional Alcoholic.”
“Seems to be,” Ginger said, drying her burning hands.
“All right.” The doctor yawned, putting down the coffee cup. With Anna Maria D., MD, leading the way, Ginger walked to where she and Nurse Thompson had dropped Jacob on a gurney. He was now without a coat, shirt, boots, or pants, lying beneath a heated blanket with an IV stuck in his arm. Taking the chart, the doctor checked the vitals, after which she handed it to Ginger, walked over to the sink, and washed her hands. Then she put on latex gloves, each one snapping into place. Placing the chart on the end of the bed, Ginger did the same. She always felt her snapping latex gloves had less of a commanding sound than the doctor’s.
“Not hypothermic. That’s good. Hey, Jacob. Jacob Esch.”
“Huh,” the kid answered. It was less a word than a grunt.
“Where you from?”
“Oak Flat,” he replied. His mouth moved but nothing else did.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” the doctor replied. “Your chart says you’re from Pennsylvania.”
“Oh. Yah.” He rolled over and retched. With the skill of a practiced nurse, Ginger grabbed the pink plastic container and caught his vomit in midair.
Gently the doctor rolled him over on his back, opened one of his eyes, and flicked her little light on his irises. Ginger could see that they were contracting in the
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