writers_muses | 52.1.B. Nothing to report?
52.1.B. “It's like there is nothing to report.”
[Continues Riley's NEEDLESTICK PLOT]
“… and then we piled all the boxes on top of each other and they were in like a pyramid shape and had like long piece out the side that was going to be steps. Then George thought that we could, like, throw a sheet over it and pretend they weren’t boxes, but really, like, a car or something but cars don’t have sheets, so we had to pretend. Then Paul said we should put sand on it which was, like, stupid, because it made it slippery but it was really cool and…”
Riley kept a polite smile on his face as he nodded, only half listening to the ten year old lad’s take on why he had landed in the ER with a suspected fractured wrist. He nursed the boy’s hand carefully in his own as he felt the base of the wrist to try and find any dislocations. “Can you try and squeeze my fingers, Ryan?” he asked, halting the childhood rambling briefly. The mother stood off to the side, anxiously chewing on her lip. She’d only just stopped apologising profusely to Riley for not being a better mother, but he’d tried to assure her young boys always got banged up and in to mischief. Ryan tried to do as he was asked but cried out in pain with even the slightest flex of his fingers.
Riley patted Ryan’s back and collected a pillow from a seat nearby seat. He set it into the boy’s lap and placed the injured arm down on to it. “I think we definitely have a break there. I’ll have to request an x-ray to make sure, but after we confirm, we’ll set it in a cast and he’ll be as right as rain in about six-”
“Dr Browne?” a soft female voice interrupted him.
Riley turned and found one of the ER student nurses there. She stepped forward and held out a slim white envelope to him. “The Infectious Diseases Clinic just asked if we could deliver this to you as a matter of urgency. Must be some patient results you were waiting on,” she assumed with a shrug and a smile.
Riley felt like the linoleum floor tipped underneath his feet as he stared at the envelope in her hand. His ears suddenly felt like they were blocked, similar to the feeling you got when an aeroplane took off, and a coldness crept down his back. Less than twenty hours earlier he’d sat in that very Clinic to have three vials of blood drawn for the final HIV test. They said the results wouldn’t be back until that coming afternoon, but somewhere along the line there had obviously been a fast-track. The pleasure of being a staff member, apparently.
He’d come to work that day for a distraction, and the busy ER shift had so far offered that… until now. These weren’t patient results. Patient results would be left for him - opened - at reception and in the patient’s file, but being a student, this woman probably didn’t realise that protocol if she’d been asked to specifically hand deliver the letter to him. Patient results wouldn’t be proffered in a sealed envelope with his name that declared STRICTLY PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL on the front in garish, large red letters.
This was it. The fate of his whole life was in that envelope.
He grabbed it and shoved it deep in the pocket of his lab coat with a tight, forced smile. “Thank you, nurse,” he said dismissively and turned his attention back to his patient. Fate - and his life - could wait.
Word Count | 599
[Continues Riley's NEEDLESTICK PLOT]
“… and then we piled all the boxes on top of each other and they were in like a pyramid shape and had like long piece out the side that was going to be steps. Then George thought that we could, like, throw a sheet over it and pretend they weren’t boxes, but really, like, a car or something but cars don’t have sheets, so we had to pretend. Then Paul said we should put sand on it which was, like, stupid, because it made it slippery but it was really cool and…”
Riley kept a polite smile on his face as he nodded, only half listening to the ten year old lad’s take on why he had landed in the ER with a suspected fractured wrist. He nursed the boy’s hand carefully in his own as he felt the base of the wrist to try and find any dislocations. “Can you try and squeeze my fingers, Ryan?” he asked, halting the childhood rambling briefly. The mother stood off to the side, anxiously chewing on her lip. She’d only just stopped apologising profusely to Riley for not being a better mother, but he’d tried to assure her young boys always got banged up and in to mischief. Ryan tried to do as he was asked but cried out in pain with even the slightest flex of his fingers.
Riley patted Ryan’s back and collected a pillow from a seat nearby seat. He set it into the boy’s lap and placed the injured arm down on to it. “I think we definitely have a break there. I’ll have to request an x-ray to make sure, but after we confirm, we’ll set it in a cast and he’ll be as right as rain in about six-”
“Dr Browne?” a soft female voice interrupted him.
Riley turned and found one of the ER student nurses there. She stepped forward and held out a slim white envelope to him. “The Infectious Diseases Clinic just asked if we could deliver this to you as a matter of urgency. Must be some patient results you were waiting on,” she assumed with a shrug and a smile.
Riley felt like the linoleum floor tipped underneath his feet as he stared at the envelope in her hand. His ears suddenly felt like they were blocked, similar to the feeling you got when an aeroplane took off, and a coldness crept down his back. Less than twenty hours earlier he’d sat in that very Clinic to have three vials of blood drawn for the final HIV test. They said the results wouldn’t be back until that coming afternoon, but somewhere along the line there had obviously been a fast-track. The pleasure of being a staff member, apparently.
He’d come to work that day for a distraction, and the busy ER shift had so far offered that… until now. These weren’t patient results. Patient results would be left for him - opened - at reception and in the patient’s file, but being a student, this woman probably didn’t realise that protocol if she’d been asked to specifically hand deliver the letter to him. Patient results wouldn’t be proffered in a sealed envelope with his name that declared STRICTLY PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL on the front in garish, large red letters.
This was it. The fate of his whole life was in that envelope.
He grabbed it and shoved it deep in the pocket of his lab coat with a tight, forced smile. “Thank you, nurse,” he said dismissively and turned his attention back to his patient. Fate - and his life - could wait.
Word Count | 599