“Alright. As soon as the films are done, let me know. Pete Walter is on his way.” Pete was the executive facility director of Chase Medical.
“Thank you,” Wes said.
The sound of singing grew louder. “Let 'em run, let 'em hide, let them eat before they die.”
“Um, Tuck, that’s her. I better go.” Wes was amused until he was able to hear the actual words.
“You told them to let me pee all by myself,” she said.
“I did. You are a good patient.” The corners of Wes’s lips turned up.
“I am?” she yawned.
“Wes, you still there?” Tuck asked. “Did they give her something?”
Wes repeated the question.
The resident nodded. “Five milligrams of morphine.”
“Morphine on board,” Wes said.
“Oh, boy. I’m sending you her consent for ER treatment and admission. Um, Wes, her power of attorney and consent to treat names you as proxy. No next of kin.”
“I don’t understand.” Wes stared at Eleanor.
“There’s a notation signed off by HR. Maybe Pete will know.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” He scratched his temple.
* * *
“Hmm,” Eleanor groaned. Her eyes opened to blackness, and she immediately called out, “Help.” A drum was pounding in her head. She heard two men speaking in the corner.
One man had a Boston accent. The other man’s voice she remembered from the car, ambulance and emergency room.
“Ellie, you’re safe. It’s Wes,” he said, turning at the sound of her cry. “How are you feeling?”
“What happened? Oh, God, I can’t see.” She flailed her hands frantically.
“Hi, Ellie, it’s Pete Walter. Do you remember me?” His gravelly voice was comforting.
“Orientation?” She didn’t sound sure.
Pete wrapped a BP cuff around her upper arm and helped her slide a thermometer under her tongue. “That’s right. You had an accident. Your eyes were filled with glass. The eye doctor cleaned the glass out, but we need to keep them covered to heal.”
“The other man? Wes? Thank you for being so kind. Pete, my boss, Wes….”
“Ellie, it’s okay, I’m Wes Crockett.” He took her hand.
“Oh god.”I’m going to lose my job. Oh, God, he’s seen my fat naked body.
Pete grabbed a bucket. “Ellie, if you need to throw up, here’s a bucket.” He took her hand and placed it on the edge.
She pushed it away, shaking. “Not nauseated. Mortified.”
Pete looked at Wes. “Someone care to explain?”
Wes squeezed her hands with his. “Nothing to explain. Curly, you’re still a little confused. You did nothing to be mortified about.” His words and tone soothed her.
