“Yeah, I’ll need an assist from …” At that moment, Grace emerged from behind the curtain of another room. “Nurse Young,” I said loud enough for her to hear me.
“You got it,” the ED nurse agreed. “Nurse Young, you’re assisting Dr. Reynolds with this patient with a head wound.”
“But I’m already helping with the ortho patient. He’s getting ready to go up for surgery.”
I narrowed my gaze at her obvious desire to continue to avoid me.
“Dr. Graham is competent enough to complete the surgery without your assistance, I assure you.”
Her eyes threw daggers my way but she gave no more protest as she passed me, through the curtain of the patient I’d be stitching up. Truth was, I didn’t need her assistance for some stitches. Graham probably could’ve used her help more but screw him. He could find another surgical nurse.
“Hello, Mr. …” she looked down at the patient’s chart. “Odeski. This is Dr. Reynolds and I’m Nurse Young. We’ll be stitching up that wound for you.”
“It hurts like hell,” the fifty-seven-year-old man grumbled, in obvious discomfort.
“We’ll try to give you something for that. Doctor?” She gave me her most professional, stiff smile.
“Mr. Odeski.” I nodded and quickly prepared to stitch this patient up and send him on his way. He was lucky that aside from a sizable gash he hadn’t sustained any other injuries in the accident. Apparently, he was cleaning the gutters of his home, and slipped from the ladder, hitting his head.
“Next time I’m going to leave cleaning the gutters to my damned son, like my wife suggested.”
Grace giggled, as she wiped the area of his wound, disinfecting it. “I think that would be a good idea, Mr. Odeski.”
I didn’t say much as I slipped my hands into gloves and picked up the tools I’d need, which had been neatly laid out by Grace on the table. I gave the man something to numb the area and waited a few minutes for it to kick in. After checking to ensure he was fully numbed, I worked to stitch up the gash.
“Is this going to leave a scar?”
I frowned. “A faint one, possibly.”
“Oh drats!”
Grace’s eyes widened, “You want a scar, Mr. Odeski?”
“Hell yeah,” he stated firmly.
I looked to Grace, whose confused expression mirrored mine.
“Why?”
“I’ve gone almost fifty-eight years without any battle scars or serious wounds. I wanted people to look at my scar and wonder why type of melee I was in that caused it.” He chuckled deeply.
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Just your luck you got one of the best plastic surgeons in the state to do your stitches,” I affirmed right as I clipped off the end of the final stitch, placing the tools into the bin, and standing, looking over my work, feeling satisfied.
“And humble, too,” Grace mumbled sarcastically.
“You sound sure of yourself, young man.”
“Piece of advice, Mr. Odeski?”
He nodded.
“Don’t ever let a surgeon thatisn’tthis damn confident cut into you.” I snatched off the gloves I wore and tossed them into the hazardous waste bin. “You should be able to go home after about an hour of observation. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I waited and followed Grace out of the room, feeling pissed off all over again when she didn’t even spare me a passing glance.
“Let’s talk,” I growled, taking her by the arm and leading her in the opposite direction of the main area of the ED. Grabbing the door to the first room I saw, I twisted the knob, feeling satisfied when it opened. I practically shoved Grace inside of the closet before slamming the door behind us.
“Are you serious right now? We’re at work!” she whisper-yelled.
