"Did you?" I asked, deadpan.
"I was tempted. The psychic probably has better availability than cardiology." She rubbed her eyes. "How's the new kid doing?"
"She's got good instincts," I said, glancing at Chloe, who was pretending not to listen while clearly hanging on every word.
"Good. We need more nurses who can handle the weird stuff without losing their minds." Carly started to walk away, then paused. "Oh, heads up — Bay 3 just got interesting. Might need you in a few minutes."
"Interesting how?" I asked, but she was already heading toward the medication room.
I turned to Chloe. "In ER speak, 'interesting' is never good."
Sure enough, ten minutes later, the charge phone rang. Carly's voice was strained. "Jimmy, can you and your new shadow come give me a hand in Bay 3?"
We walked in to find a man in his late forties on the gurney, his face a mask of pain and profound embarrassment. He was curled on his side, clutching a pillow to his abdomen.
"Mr. Smith here had an accident," Carly said, her face a perfect, professional blank. "He tells me he … fell in the shower."
"On a bottle of shampoo," the man added, his voice a pained squeak.
I looked at the X-ray pulled up on the monitor screen. A full-sized bottle of shampoo was lodged, impossibly, in his rectum.
"I see," I said, my voice betraying nothing. "Well, let's see what we can do to help you get fixed up, Mr. Smith."
Chloe stood frozen by the door, her mouth slightly agape. I gave her a look that said,Not. A. Word.
Later, after we had successfully assisted the doctor with the, ahh …extraction, and Mr. Smith was resting comfortably, Chloe finally spoke.
"There is no way," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "There is no way he just fell on that."
"The physics alone are staggering," I agreed quietly. "The aim required would get him into the Guinness Book of World Records. But you know what we do here, Chloe?"
She looked at me, the lesson from the "roofing nail" incident starting to sink in.
"We don't judge," I said. "We don't laugh. We don't share the story in the breakroom. Because we want Mr. Smith, and every other Mr. Smith out there, to feel safe enough to come to us when they've made a mistake, or done something they're ashamed of, or just found themselves in a situation they can't get out of alone. Our job is to fix the problem, no questions asked."
I could see the understanding dawning in her eyes. This was the real work of the night shift. It wasn't just about medicine. It was about creating a small, brightly-lit island of non-judgment in the middle of a dark and complicated world.
"Does this happen a lot?" Chloe asked as we headed back to the nurses' station.
"More than you'd think. People are creative, and sometimes creativity meets poor judgment. Our job isn't to figure out how they got into these situations. It's to get them out safely."
The rest of the shift settled into a more predictable rhythm. A woman with chest pain that turned out to be anxiety. She was convinced she was dying, tears streaming down her face as she clutched at her hospital gown.
"My heart won't stop racing," she gasped. "Something's wrong. Something's really wrong."
I pulled up a chair beside her bed — not standing over her, not hovering by the door, but sitting at her eye level. "What's your name?"
"Patty."
"Patty, I want you to breathe with me. In through your nose, hold it, out through your mouth." I demonstrated, exaggerating the slowness. "Your body thinks you're in danger, but you're safe. We're going to remind it together."
For twenty minutes, we sat there breathing together. I told her about the physiology of panic — how her body was doing exactly what it was supposed to do, just at the wrong time. By the end, her heart rate had dropped from 140 to 85, and she was managing a shaky smile.
"Thank you for not making me feel crazy," she said.
"You're not crazy," I told her. "You're human. There's a difference."
A teenager with what his mother was convinced was appendicitis but was actually gas. The relief on both their faces when the CT came back clear was worth the radiation exposure.
