Read Online Here and Again by Nicole R Dickson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicole R Dickson
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“Did you know, Jacob, that throwing up is the body’s way of getting rid of stuff it cannot process?” The doctor was feeling Jacob’s neck and down his chest to his stomach.
“Huh,” was all he had as an answer.
“Did you know that if you drink fast enough, alcohol can depress the throw-up response and force your body to keep inside what it cannot process?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re a very lucky young man that you are throwing up.”
As she pushed on his stomach, he groaned, at which point the doctor rolled him on his side. Ginger caught the vomit in the dish again.
“I don’t feel lucky,” he muttered, drool oozing from his lips onto the gurney sheet. Ginger grabbed a paper towel and wiped his mouth.
“Well, you are. Now, we will just hope that no police come in here with an emergency tonight because it is also against the law for anyone under the age of twenty-one to drink alcohol.”
“I’ll pray,” he whispered.
“You do that.”
The doctor walked back over to the sink, removed her gloves, and washed her hands again.
“No need to call lab on the blood. Let him sleep a bit and then see if any one of his contacts can come pick him up. He’ll be a real mess tomorrow.”
With that, the doctor stepped away, leaving Jacob, Margery, Ginger, and the bowl of vomit alone in the quiet ER.
“There’ll be no flower sign here,” Margery said, walking toward the nurses’ desk. “Flower sign” referred to patients who have flowers sent to them in the hospital and was ER speak indicating that the patient had someone who cared for them—someone who would come get them. Soon. Nurse T. seemed to feel Jacob was on his own.
“I guess, unless it gets busy, we’ll just leave him?” Ginger asked, placing the bowl of vomit in the bathroom as she passed.
“That’s what we’ve done the last five times he’s been in. Real nice kid. Very apologetic. I think he’ll feel bad about your car,” she said, heading toward the acute care section of the hospital. “We’ve only got one other patient tonight. A regular by the name Jack Wolfe. Sixty-six-year-old white male. He’s COPD, CHP, diabetic, noncompliant.”
Before they entered the room, Ginger could hear him. COPD meant emphysema. His breathing was indeed loud. They opened the door.
“Hey, you got a dollar, Marg?”
“Jack here wants a candy bar,” Margery said with a false smile. “He wants to go down the hall and buy himself one.”
Jack chuckled a little and coughed.
“But Jack has CHF—congestive heart failure—and cannothave salt and is diabetic. He’s also noncompliant, which means he doesn’t take his medicine and so he cannot have a candy bar.”
“I’ll get one when I leave,” he said, winking at Ginger.
Jack was obviously the kind of patient who had lived on his own terms and, as he was coming to the end of his life, wanted to go out the same way. For nurses like Margery, her entire duty was to force compliance to medical orders. If the patient wasn’t going to obey on his own, she would make him while he was in her care. But Ginger was a different kind of nurse. She understood that disregarding orders was a final act of humanity. Sometimes it was a form of dissent. Sometimes it was the right thing to do. For Mr. Wolfe, apparently, it was the right thing to do. Jesse had made the same decision a year earlier, so she winked back now to Mr. Wolfe.
Jack chuckled a little deeper and coughed harder, which caused Margery to glance over to Ginger. She shied away a little. Margery stared more forcefully at her, which then caused Ginger to smile.
“Hmm,” Margery said, pursing her lips tightly as she headed out of Jack’s room.
“The LVNs tonight are Janet and Debbie. Nurses’ aides are Yvette and Brad. If an emergency comes through the door, make sure to get the EMT or police to stay and help until one of those four can come over.”
“Okay,” Ginger replied, following Margery into the nurses’
“Did you know, Jacob, that throwing up is the body’s way of getting rid of stuff it cannot process?” The doctor was feeling Jacob’s neck and down his chest to his stomach.
“Huh,” was all he had as an answer.
“Did you know that if you drink fast enough, alcohol can depress the throw-up response and force your body to keep inside what it cannot process?”
He didn’t answer.
“You’re a very lucky young man that you are throwing up.”
As she pushed on his stomach, he groaned, at which point the doctor rolled him on his side. Ginger caught the vomit in the dish again.
“I don’t feel lucky,” he muttered, drool oozing from his lips onto the gurney sheet. Ginger grabbed a paper towel and wiped his mouth.
“Well, you are. Now, we will just hope that no police come in here with an emergency tonight because it is also against the law for anyone under the age of twenty-one to drink alcohol.”
“I’ll pray,” he whispered.
“You do that.”
The doctor walked back over to the sink, removed her gloves, and washed her hands again.
“No need to call lab on the blood. Let him sleep a bit and then see if any one of his contacts can come pick him up. He’ll be a real mess tomorrow.”
With that, the doctor stepped away, leaving Jacob, Margery, Ginger, and the bowl of vomit alone in the quiet ER.
“There’ll be no flower sign here,” Margery said, walking toward the nurses’ desk. “Flower sign” referred to patients who have flowers sent to them in the hospital and was ER speak indicating that the patient had someone who cared for them—someone who would come get them. Soon. Nurse T. seemed to feel Jacob was on his own.
“I guess, unless it gets busy, we’ll just leave him?” Ginger asked, placing the bowl of vomit in the bathroom as she passed.
“That’s what we’ve done the last five times he’s been in. Real nice kid. Very apologetic. I think he’ll feel bad about your car,” she said, heading toward the acute care section of the hospital. “We’ve only got one other patient tonight. A regular by the name Jack Wolfe. Sixty-six-year-old white male. He’s COPD, CHP, diabetic, noncompliant.”
Before they entered the room, Ginger could hear him. COPD meant emphysema. His breathing was indeed loud. They opened the door.
“Hey, you got a dollar, Marg?”
“Jack here wants a candy bar,” Margery said with a false smile. “He wants to go down the hall and buy himself one.”
Jack chuckled a little and coughed.
“But Jack has CHF—congestive heart failure—and cannothave salt and is diabetic. He’s also noncompliant, which means he doesn’t take his medicine and so he cannot have a candy bar.”
“I’ll get one when I leave,” he said, winking at Ginger.
Jack was obviously the kind of patient who had lived on his own terms and, as he was coming to the end of his life, wanted to go out the same way. For nurses like Margery, her entire duty was to force compliance to medical orders. If the patient wasn’t going to obey on his own, she would make him while he was in her care. But Ginger was a different kind of nurse. She understood that disregarding orders was a final act of humanity. Sometimes it was a form of dissent. Sometimes it was the right thing to do. For Mr. Wolfe, apparently, it was the right thing to do. Jesse had made the same decision a year earlier, so she winked back now to Mr. Wolfe.
Jack chuckled a little deeper and coughed harder, which caused Margery to glance over to Ginger. She shied away a little. Margery stared more forcefully at her, which then caused Ginger to smile.
“Hmm,” Margery said, pursing her lips tightly as she headed out of Jack’s room.
“The LVNs tonight are Janet and Debbie. Nurses’ aides are Yvette and Brad. If an emergency comes through the door, make sure to get the EMT or police to stay and help until one of those four can come over.”
“Okay,” Ginger replied, following Margery into the nurses’
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