“You’re going to be late,” she says.
I look up at the clock, seeing I’m already five minutes late. “Shit. I’ll catch you in a bit. I have to prep my patient for surgery.”
“You’re floating all the way up to Orthopedics today. How unusual for you,” Daisy says with a snarky attitude. “Oh, you must be doing that for that hot little badass from Boston?” She smirks at me and chuckles.
I point at her, trying to hide my smile in return. “Shut it.”
Just as I make my way upstairs to the waiting area of Orthopedics, I spot a nervous Scarlett fidgeting in her seat next to Brendan.
I grab her charts from the desk. “Come on back, darlin’.” The moment I call her darlin’, I realize how many times that pissed her off yesterday. Oops.
Brendan stands up too. “Can I come back with her until you’re ready to start?”
“Of course,” I say, waving him on.
“Sorry for calling you that,” I tell her.
“It’s fine,” she says. Scarlett is much quieter this morning than she was last night. I know she’s scared. That’s common. “You work upstairs here too?”
“I float around since the hospital is small.” Well, not usually to Orthopedics, but someone owed me a favor and I called it in for today. I bring her into a patient room and hand her a johnny. “Okay, so when was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”
“Last night before I went to bed. That’s what you, and the discharge papers, said yesterday,” she answers.
“Perfect. Right now, I’m going to need you to undress and put this on. The ties should go in the back. Also, you’ll need to remove all jewelry, contacts if you wear them, and there’s facial cleanser in the bathroom over there. We ask that patients remove cosmetics to keep the surgical area sterile. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes unless you need any help or have any questions?”
“No, I think I know how to take my clothes off, but I appreciate the offer to help,” she says, raking her fingers through her loose hair.
I did sort of just inadvertently offer to help take her clothes off. That’s not what I was intending though.
Everything I’m saying sounds robotic from memorization and saying the same statements over and over each day, but maybe I should think about what I’m saying on repeat sometimes. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes then.”
As usual on a Monday morning, this floor is fairly quiet and Scarlett is the only scheduled surgery until this afternoon, so I head to the coffee station for a cup to get me through the first half of this shift.
I give Scarlett about ten minutes before I head back and knock on the door of her room. “Come in,” Brendan says.
Scarlett is sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling and crossed. Her hair is loose and her face is clean of all makeup. She doesn’t need to wear makeup. She looks great without it. I still don’t understand why women put themselves through all that extra effort when they’re more beautiful without all the fakeness plastered across their faces.
“The anesthesiologist will be in shortly, but for now I’m going to get your IV set up.”
Brendan is sitting in the corner of the room again, but with his head between his knees this time. “Bud, if you have a weak stomach, you might want to go take a breather for a minute,” I tell him.
“I’m fine,” Scarlett tells Brendan. “You can go.” If I were with her, and I heard the way she just basically said, “I’m fine,” I wouldn’t be moving an inch. Brendan isn’t attached like that though. However much he cares about her, he still stands up and excuses himself.
“Do you have a fear of needles, or are you cool?” I ask Scarlett. I like to ask in case I have a patient who may black out or get sick.
“No,” she says. “I have a couple of tattoos. I’m sure an IV can’t be much worse.”
“A tattoo is definitely worse,” I assure her. Her eyes spark open and she eyes me with wonder. The same thing I’m wondering about, most likely. Where are the tattoos? “How is your pain level today on a scale from one to ten—one being the lowest, and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”
“A five,” she says.
“We’ll take care of that today. Let’s get that number a little lower for you.” I take a pair of gloves from the box hanging on the wall and pull them on before preparing the IV. “I’ve been told I’m one of the best vein locaters in the town.”
“Did you get an award for it?” she asks.
“I did. I have it hanging on my wall at home.”
“I’ve been told I have hidden veins,” she says.
