Can't Always Get What You Want (4 page)

I sigh, my feeling heart buoyed up, and crawl into bed with a surprising lightness that I haven’t felt in years.

Chapter 3

Dear Doctor

I love Canadian summers. After long, dreary winters that sometimes last longer than six months, I have come to appreciate the warmth and sunshine when I can get it. Even if it is blinding me and waking me up
WAY
earlier than I’d like on a Sunday morning.

Since I don’t start work until 3
P.M
. today, I’m meeting Samira at a local coffee shop called Adrian’s. They serve great coffee, fresh home-cooked food, and always seem to have an extra couch or two to sit on.

“You look tired,” she says before I even sit down.

I laugh. “Good morning to you too.”

“How was the concert? Did you stay out too late?”

“No. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

A mischievous grin creeps across her lips. I need to stop this before she can launch into an endless stream of teasing and questioning.

“Okay, lady, first things first: let’s see that rock,” I say. I don’t have to ask her twice. She thrusts her engagement ring under my nose.

“Sam!” I gasp. “It’s the size of a small child! You’ll have to start lifting weights just to keep your arms symmetrical.”

“Oh stop it.” She laughs, and flashes it around in the sun.

“Did you and Narayan make use of the hotel room?”

She leans toward me, looking impish.

“Let’s just put it this way: Nar is walking around funny today.”

“T.M.I., darling. T.M.I. All creepy details aside, I’m glad to hear things went well,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, absentmindedly smiling at her new “precious.”

After ordering coffee and lunch specials, we return to the subject at hand: love and marriage.

“When’s the big day?”

“The third weekend in September.”

I stare at her. “Of this year?”

“Of course.”

“But, that’s only three months away!”

“Plenty of time,” she says, through a mouthful of salad.

“Why the rush? Are you…” I motion a rounded belly.

“No! And as if I could keep
that
from you. No, Narayan’s grandma is going back to India in October, and he really wants her to be here for the wedding. I’m not worried about it. Three months is plenty of time.”

She seems calm and unaffected, as if she hasn’t a care in the world.

If I were her, I’d have pissed my pants by now.

“If you say so. Well, I’m here to help you. Just let me know what you want me to do.”

“Thanks. Now, enough about me. I’m dying to know what happened last night with you and Brett.”

I can’t quite hide my smile.

“I knew it!” she shouts.

“Shh!” I say, while chuckling. “We had a good time. I’m glad he liked the music. It would’ve sucked being there with a killjoy.”

“And what do you think of him?”

“He seems like a nice guy. Very courteous.”

“And smoking hot,” she adds.

I smirk. “Can’t say I disagree.”

She squeals cheerfully. For the second time this weekend, I feel like we’re teenagers again, talking about the boys we like.

Is that weird?

Then again, Sam hasn’t been able to talk to me about guys in years. Maybe she’s making up for lost time.

“He isn’t what I expected,” I say.

“Oh?”

“Well, you made him sound so standoffish. I thought talking to him would be like pulling teeth, but he wasn’t like that at all. In fact, I haven’t talked so easily and just been myself with anyone so quickly since…”

I stop and collect myself.

“It feels like I made a new friend.”

“Wow,” Samira mouths back, her eyebrows arched.

“Soph, he doesn’t even like mingling with people at his
own
company parties. Brett usually takes a long time to warm up to people. It’s rare for him to open up to anyone right away.”

Huh.

Why do I suddenly feel all warm and fuzzy inside?

“So are you meeting again?”

“I think so. When I asked if we could meet up for coffee or something soon, he said he’d ‘love that.’ ”

Samira can barely contain her excitement. She looks like a quivering puppy, ecstatic that her master has come home. I half expect her to start chasing her tail and piddle on the floor.

“That’s great, Sophie,” she says, dreamily.

—

Lunch flies by and before I know it, it’s time for me to go to work. I walk back to my car, while Sam heads toward the nearest bridal store for whatever it is that brides need.

Seriously, what the
hell
is she thinking, getting married with only three months to plan everything? I mean, there’s a LOT to organize.

Trust me, I know.

I watch
Four Weddings
on TLC faithfully. That makes me an expert.

It’s a quick fifteen-minute drive from my neighborhood to the hospital. It was built four years ago on the southeast side of the city. As far as hospitals go, it’s still in good shape (unlike older hospitals, which have dinged-up walls and smell like feces and disinfectant).

Once inside, I sit down with a cup of the brown sludge the day staff pass off as coffee.

“Oh, Sophie, I’m so glad you’re here!” Ginny says. She’s the charge nurse tonight. “We just got another sick call, so if you weren’t here, we’d be short two nurses.”

I groan inwardly, and put on a polite smile.

“Who am I with tonight, Gin?”

“Give me a minute. I need to rework the patient assignments, since we’re short.”

Once everyone files in, we take report on what happened on the previous shift, and figure out who will take care of whom.

Usually, I have seven patients each shift. Tonight, I get ten.

Grabbing my med sheets, I head down the hall to check on my patients.

The last room I check on is the one I’m looking forward to the most. Larry has been on our unit for a couple of weeks now. He is loud, brash, and has a deep, infectious laugh. He seems like he’d be the perfect grandpa.

He’s resting in bed, eyes closed, so I decide to tiptoe out of the room. I note that his skin is more jaundiced than when I saw him last week. His catheter bag is full of dark, tea-colored urine.

I flick my eyes over my assignment sheets.

Lawrence Woloshyn. Male. 63 years old. Liver CA.

I’m almost to the door when I hear him growl out, “Hey, you! Come on back here.”

I turn around and see him grinning ear to ear.

I smile back. “You think my name is, ‘Hey, you!’?”

“Pfft, there are so many of you around here, it’s hard to keep track. I want to say some Italian name though, like Sofia.”

“Close,” I say, feeling pleased. “It’s Sophie.”

“So Sophie,” he says, “think you could sneak me some whiskey?” He winks twice.

“You’re up to no good, Larry.” I laugh. “Your sugars would go through the roof.” He is diabetic, and alcohol shoots his sugar levels to the moon.

“Aww, come on. Let a dying man have a shot of liquid courage,” he pleads.

I give him a cheerless smile. “I can’t make any promises. I wish you weren’t sick, Larry.”

His usual jokey expression melts away for a moment.

“Me too, kiddo. Me too.”

—

Okay, now the fun begins. Supper meds.

Doling out medications wouldn’t be so bad if that’s what my sole focus was for the hour surrounding the scheduled med time. But something always comes up. Like stat orders. Or new admits. Or, my personal favorite, “Hey, Soph? Your new admit just had diarrhea. In bed.”

By some miracle, our understaffed shift goes okay.

“Hey, can you help me get Leonard back into bed?” Natalie asks toward the end of our shift. She’s one of our nurse aides. She’s a hard worker, so I like having her around. Plus she always shares funny-dirty stories about herself and her boyfriend. Being around her is…interes
ting.

“Sure.”

“How was the concert on Saturday?” she asks.

“Great! The weather was perfect, the band was awesome.”

“You went with Sammy, right?”

Natalie also works on the pediatric wing, so she knows Samira too. I hope she doesn’t share her dirty stories around little ears. I’d hate to have to explain to Little Johnny’s parents how he learned such colorful language.

“No, actually. I went with a guy.”

“Really? Okay, tell me everything.”

I spend a few minutes talking about Brett.

“Did you blow him on the way back to your car?”

“Eww! No, I did not!”

Natalie stares wistfully into the distance.

“I would have.”

Sometimes I wonder about Natalie.

“Are you meeting him again?”

I nod. “Supposed to. I just haven’t heard from him yet. I’m not worried about it, though; we just met yesterday. I’m only looking for a friend, anyway.”

Am I?

I’m certainly thinking about Brett a lot. Will he call me first? Or should I call him? Will he think I’m some clingy, batty woman if I make the first move? I hate the politics of male/female friendships. So flipping confusing.

We collect the mechanical lift from the hallway, and go into Leonard’s room. He’s slumped in his wheelchair, eyes hooded over and snoring faintly. He’s a big man, and it takes some considerable effort getting the sling securely under his body.

What did nurses do before mechanical lifts were invented? Or rubber gloves? Umm, scratch that last one. Maybe I don’t want to know.

—

As we return to the front desk, Natalie fills me in on her risqué weekend with her boyfriend, Kelly. I won’t dish all the details, but it ended with them waking up in their neighbor’s garden. Naked. Well, Kelly wasn’t completely naked. He had a gardening glove on over his “parts.” Neither of them were sure how it got there.

Once I’m safely in my car at the end of my shift, I check my phone and notice a text from Brett. He’d sent it just after my supper break.

Hey Soph. You free to hang out tonight?

Soph?

We’re on short-form name status already?

What could I possibly shorten Brett’s name to? Et?

Maybe I’ll make it longer, like Brettwick, or Brettington.

Hi there, just got your text. I was at work tonight. Could we meet up after my shift tomorrow? I’m done at 3:15 PM.

I don’t expect him to write back, since it’s almost half past eleven. But on my drive home I hear my phone buzz. That’s got to be him. I feel
sooo
tempted to just peek at my phone. But, I’d rather not end up road pizza, so I restrain myself until I get home.

Where do you want to go?

There’s a Starbucks next door to the hospital. Want to meet there?

I haven’t even unlocked my front door yet, and my phone buzzes with a reply.

That’s not very Canadian of you. I’m sure Tim Hortons misses you terribly.

Ah! The cheeky bugger.

I’m a terrible Canadian. I don’t ski, skate, or do any winter sports beyond tobogganing. And snowball fights. And hey, I’m a sucker for overpriced, girlie espressos. But, I could drop in on Timmy. You know, for old time’s sake.

A few seconds later…

I can teach you how to skate.

Oh? This is getting interesting.

I’m halfway through typing some self-degrading text about me not being any good at any sport, nor coordinated enough to attempt standing on anything weird (unless it’s four-inch-high heels), when I decide to take a different tack.

I may take you up on that. There’s a Tim Hortons beside the hospital.

Cool. Do you want me to meet you at work, and we’ll walk over together?

He wants to walk me over?

Sure, that sounds good.

Great! See you tomorrow.

I can’t wait.

Chapter 4

Sympathy for the Devil

All hospital shifts (day, evening, or night) pretty much start the same. Cup of coffee, listen to report, and figure out my patient assignment. But that’s where it abruptly changes. The first two hours of a day shift feel like a race against time.

Picture this: six nurses competing to use our unit’s
single
computerized med cart to take out meds for forty or more patients. Each patient receives five to ten different prescriptions each morning. It’s a bit like six rabid dogs fighting over a soup bone. A lot of chaos and growling.

I draw my first patient’s meds and tiptoe into his room.

“Hi, Mr. Jacobs,” I say quietly.

He’s still out of it, blissfully asleep.

“Good morning, Mr. Jacobs,” I say, a bit louder. He wakes up this time, startled.

“Get outta here! I’m sleeping!” he bellows, and turns toward the window.

“Sorry to wake you, but it’s breakfast time. And I’ve got your pills.”

He doesn’t move. Going round to where he’s facing, I try to get some eye contact.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask.

“No! Thanks to you people. In here all night, taking my blood pressure, sticking needles in my arm. I just want some GODDAMNED SLEEP!”

I take a deep breath.