Will winked. “I know, right?”
“I think there’s more to it than you just asking and him agreeing. I bet you had to bribe him with something…”
He didn’t even deny it—just shrugged shamelessly. “Mavericks tickets.”
“I knew it!” I pointed at him with my index finger. “How good are the seats?”
“Well, it’s when they play New England, and they’re box seats.”
I let out a low whistle. “Sheesh…must be nice to just have tickets like that lying around.”
“It probably helps that my brother-in-law is best friends with the owner, and my sister runs their marketing department, and I didn’t have to pay for them.”
“Friends in high places kind of thing?”
“Something like that,” he said. “But I think it’s more like ‘friends with equally low morals in high places.’”
I shook my head. So his friends were obviously good people.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Is what a yes?”
“Are you going to come with me?”
“Come with you?”
Come with Will? Yes. Yes. I’d love to come with Will, preferably with his penis inside of me.
“To the hospital,” he explained.
Holy hell. I really need help. Maybe I could look up a number for a hotline at the hospital…
“Oh! Oh, right,” I stuttered. “Yeah…sure… I mean, you didn’t really give me any other option since I’d have to deal with Dr. Elders for the rest of the day.”
“You don’t like Dr. Elders?”
I glared at him. “He’s old. He’s mean. And he pretty much hates everyone.”
“He’s basically the male version of Marlene,” he whispered conspiratorially, and I laughed.
“Okay, Dr. Cummings.” I hopped out of my chair. “I’m at your service. Since you can’t live without me and all.”
He grinned and gestured toward the hallway. “After you, Nurse Load-y.”
I flipped him the bird over my shoulder, and his soft chuckles followed me all the way through the office and out the entrance doors.
I’d never had more fun at work, and I wasn’t really even sure I liked my job.
God, you’re in trouble.
After a quick tour of all the things I hadn’t explored the other day, especially the triage area, Will and I settled in, seeing patients in a smooth and orderly fashion. We’d been handling triage for about two hours and had managed to lower the number of patients waiting to be seen from fifteen to two.
Generally, when it came to labor triage patients, they were at the hospital to see if they were in labor. Once we assessed that, they got passed on to the doctor on call. Lucky for Dr. Meadows—who was currently elbow-deep in several deliveries happening one right after the other—only one of the patients we’d seen got admitted to the hospital.
Between playful banter and patient care, Will and I had managed to send the rest home with instructions on when to call the office or come back into the hospital.
While Will finished up charting, I started to review the next patient’s medical file.
Carmen Dominguez. Age 25.
Reason to be seen: Abdominal pain.
Gestation: Not confirmed. Patient believes she is 8-9 months pregnant.
Last prenatal visit: No prenatal care.
Last period: Patient is unsure.
Past obstetric history: One prior pregnancy at age 18 that resulted in a miscarriage at 3 months, and a D&C was performed in Venezuela.
Past surgical history: Appendectomy at the age of 12 in Venezuela.
Past medical history: Unknown.
Relevant social history: Patient recently immigrated to the USA one year ago.
Throughout my nursing career, I’d always made a point of a doing my research on the patient before entering the exam room. Personally, I’d never much enjoyed sitting on the exam table while a medical professional scrolled wordlessly through my chart in front of me. Those types of interactions made me feel more like an item on a checklist instead of an actual living, breathing human with medical questions or concerns.
And today, for these people, it was no different. They wanted someone who read for content, not an asshole who skimmed.
I browsed through the rest of Carmen’s medical chart outside of her exam room, and her lack of medical records and prenatal care put me on high alert.
Sadly, these types of situations occurred more than most people would think. Oftentimes, it had to do with socioeconomic status, poor education, language barriers, financial burdens, and a lack of insurance. But no matter the reason, with obstetrics, it meant possible adverse effects for two patients instead of one.
I stepped into triage room four and found Carmen sitting on the exam table, leaning to the side with a wince on her face.
“Hi, Carmen,” I greeted and clicked the door shut. “I’m Melody, Dr. Cummings’s nurse.”
“Hello,” she responded in a thick Spanish accent. Her eyes watched me hesitantly as both hands rested protectively around her pregnant belly.
“What brings you in today?”
“My stomach has been hurting,” she admitted, caressing it from top to bottom slowly.
“How long has it been hurting?” I asked as I slid on a pair of gloves. Some pain could be natural, as even Braxton Hicks contractions presented mild pain.
“For a few hours,” she responded, and her face started to strain with discomfort.
Oh, man. This might be more than Braxton Hicks.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind lying back on the table, I’m just going to check your belly.”
She followed my instructions, but I couldn’t miss the way her brow furrowed and her mouth pinched into a firm line.
“Is this the pain that made you come in?” I asked and gently placed my hands on her abdomen.
“Sí…Uh…Yes,” she whispered, near agony toning her voice.
Her stomach was tight and firm like a drum. Contractions.
If she was as far into this show as I suspected, Carmen was one tough cookie.
“And you said you’ve been feeling like this for a few hours?” I asked as I glanced at my watch and noted the length. Thirty-five seconds. “Do you remember about what time it started?”
“Uh…before breakfast,” she responded as she worked to catch her breath.
Before I could continue my exam, another contraction started to work its way across her abdomen. Carmen gripped her belly in discomfort, and I gently encouraged her to breathe through it. “Big, deep breaths, Carmen. In through your nose and out through your mouth,” I said and grabbed the fetal monitor and ultrasound gel to place on her belly.
I moved the monitor across her rounded abdomen in search of the baby’s heart tones.
Nothing.
“Is everything okay?” she asked with gritted teeth, and I offered a reassuring smile.
“I promise I’m going to take very good care of you and your baby, Carmen,” I said calmly. “Now, I just want you to turn on your left side and focus on making sure you’re giving your baby lots and lots of good oxygen, okay?”