He stared at me for a second, then looked toward the monitor beside him like he was trying to understand all the numbers flashing across the screen. I could tell he was paying attention.
“How bad was it?” he asked, quieter this time.
I stopped writing for a second before turning my attention back to him. “The vitals?”
He shook his head. “Nah, the surgery. I mean doc came in here talking all that medical terminology bullshit I don’t know nothing about so I’m asking you.”
I could’ve given him the simple nurse answer and said he was stable now and the doctor would go over everything else with him, but the way he was looking at me told me he wasn’t asking just to make conversation. He was trying to put pieces together.
“You lost a lot of blood,” I said carefully. “They had to take you back pretty fast. I’m not a doctor, but from what I read in your chart, they repaired what needed to be repaired, and you’re stable now.” That was the best answer that I could give him without overstepping the doctor or talking in medical terminology which he already stated he didn’t understand.
He looked down at himself again and frowned like he was getting mad all over again. “I feel like I got hit by a fucking Mack truck.”
“Well, you did have an accident as well so that contributed to everything else too.”
He smiled again, but he didn’t let it turn into a full laugh this time. “You don’t sugarcoat nothing, huh?”
“I’m a nurse, not a baker.” I smiled.
He lowered his head for a second, and I could tell he wanted to laugh but decided against it this time. I reached over and checked his IV site, making sure there wasn’t any swelling or redness around the tape before following the line up to the pump. The medicine was running fine, his fluids were good, and for the most part, he looked better than a man who had almost died had any business looking.
“Are you comfortable?” I asked, pulling the blanket back just enough to check the edges of the dressing across his abdomen without exposing him too much.
He watched my hands instead of my face. “It ain’t too bad.”
“That’ doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Williams.”
“Mr. Williams?”
I looked down at the chart again. “That’s what the chart says.” I told him. I then looked at his chart in the screen.
“My name Marvelous.”
“I know.”
“So why you calling me Mr. Williams?”
“Because I’m at work and a lot of patients prefer to be called by their last names.” I explained. “It’s protocol as well.”
His dark eyes were piercing through me, but I kept my face professional as I checked around the bandage. There wasn’t any fresh drainage, no redness spreading past the dressing, and nothing that made me need to call anybody in right away. He winced when I pressed lightly near the side, and I paused.
“Is it sharp or sore?” I asked.
“Sore.”
“Burning?”
“Nah.”
“Pulling?”
“A little when I move.”
“That’s expected.” I pulled the blanket back over him and made another note. “Now give me a number for the pain at this site.”
He took a breath like he needed to think about whether he wanted to lie or not. “Six.”
I glanced up. “You love that number. Is it a real six?”
