I got called in to work another extra shift tonight. Everyone keeps calling in sick. More overtime for me. When the house supervisor made his early rounds, he mentioned that Garden Park was diverting patients to us- that their ER is closed. Like we don’t have enough drunks and crazies down there already. The supervisor never did come back on his late rounds. I never saw him again.
Our census is still low on pediatrics. I had a three year old with a dog bite that could go home as soon as his anesthesia finished wearing off. I started the discharge paperwork for the parents. They’re young. The mother was cussing out someone on her phone.
“What kind of dog was it?” I asked the dad, while I took the kid’s IV out. The little boy was still groggy, and didn’t fight me when I peeled the tape off his hand. It made my job so much easier.
Dad didn’t answer. He was staring out the window, towards the parking garage. He was holding his arm. I think he got bit too.
The three year old started to moan. I gave him another dose of Lortab elixir. That way they wouldn’t have to fill his prescriptions until morning.
The code alarm beeped over the hospital intercom. “Attention in the hospital: Code Z. We are under Code Z.”
I looked down on the back of my ID badge at the code list. I couldn’t remember a Code Z… Damn policy changes. Nobody ever tells us…
“It wasn’t an effing dog,” the mom said, snapping her cell phone shut. “I told them downstairs.”
Dad was looking at me with a hungry look. The three year old was awake now and starting to snarl.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Let me just go get a wheelchair for the little guy. I’ll be right back.”
I found my co-worker munching on the nursing assistant at the other end of the hall.
I took the kid’s bottle of Lortab, a handful of saltines, and all the Jellos from the fridge and locked myself in the staff bathroom.
I’m typing this on my Moto Q. I’m hoping security will make it up here eventually, if they haven’t been eaten yet.
If anyone reads this, PLEASE BRING ME A PLASTIC SPOON.
(And maybe a blow torch.)