The memory stings all over again. His sharp tone and the way his frustration lashed out like a whip won’t leave me alone. I know it wasn’t about me—it never is with patients in crisis—but that doesn’t mean it didn’t cut deep.
“Did he apologize?”
“He did, but it didn’t feel heartfelt.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Then I don’t like him.”
I let out a sad laugh in reply. The truth is, I don’t usually let patients get under my skin. You learn early on in this job how dangerous it is to carry every story home with you. But withTeddy, it’s different. Whatever it is, I can’t seem to tuck him neatly into the ‘just another patient’ box. That scares me as I’m well aware of where that road can lead.
“Tell me what happened,” Mom says.
“I walked in while he was spiraling, and got caught in the fallout.”
She lifts one brow while her gloved fingers separate another lock with practiced ease. “That’s not your fault.”
“I gave him a piece of my mind, if that counts.”
Her lips twitch, pressing back a smile. “Now that’s my girl.”
“Told him he didn’t lose his hearing, so he could hear me say he was being a dick.”
“Language!”
Her reaction makes me scoff. "Please. You’re ten times worse when it’s rush-hour traffic."
“Fair.” She finishes another section, gently tilting my head. “So what now?”
I sigh and stare down at my hands again. “Who knows. I’m still assigned to his care. A part of me wants to ask for a transfer. The other part…”
“Wants to stay.”
“Not because I’m some Florence Nightingale, but because I feel like he needs someone steady right now. Someone who won’t give up on him when he pushes back.”
I don’t know why it matters so much. Maybe because he’s more than just another chart in the system. He’s someone who has the whole world watching, yet he’s still completely alone inthat hospital room except for a few visitors. The thought of him sitting in that kind of solitude upsets me.
Mom is quiet, her fingers steady as she finishes applying the bleach. “You’ve always been the nurturing type. When you were five, you brought home an injured pigeon and demanded we build it a hospital in a shoebox. You refused to give up, even when the vet said it probably wouldn’t make it through the first night.”
“Mike lived for three weeks!”
“You fed it with a medicine dropper and named it after the guy who owns the pizzeria around the corner.”
“He was a very New York pigeon.”
We share a laugh and she leans down to meet my eyes. “Sweetheart, some people are born with the need to care for others. That’s not a weakness. It’s bravery. It also means it’s going to hurt more when you run into the walls patients have built to protect themselves.”
I blink fast, not liking the sudden burn in my eyes. “Am I making a huge mistake staying on the case?”
“No.” She considers my question before adding, “You’re strong enough to recognize your own limits. Maybe he needs someone to keep showing up outside his normal circle.”
Her words settle deep in my chest. Maybe that’s why I can’t walk away. Because I know what it’s like to feel lost and angry and helpless. If our roles were reversed, I’d pray someone would stay.
“You’re right,” I rumble.
“I love when one of you kiddos admits it.” Mom claps her hands. “Alright. The timer is set. Twenty minutes and we canwash your hair before adding the color. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll look less like a sleep-deprived raccoon and more of a punk-rock goddess.”
“How rude! I’m not sleep-deprived.”
“Your undereyes tell another story.”
