Ever have a moment where you wonder if you're sane? I mean, what exactly is the definition of sanity? I could vaguely recall someone famous saying that insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. I have those moments all the time. The quick flurry of squeaks on the linoleum made me look up from my report sheet covered in scribbles to see Danica streaking down the hallway. "What's your hurry?" I asked, jokingly.
"He THREW his cup at me! Threw it! I am NOT going back in there!" Her dark brown eyes were wide, and her chest was heaving from her run down the hallway. "What are you talking about? He was lying in the bed asleep ten minutes ago when I made rounds?" I knew exactly who she was talking about, and even though a part of me wanted to bust out laughing, something told me she wouldn't find it near as funny as I did. I folded up my scribble sheets and shoved them in my pocket as I started down the hallway to see what Mr. Crabby Pants was up to.
The door was wide open, and I could hear him yelling as I walked in. Elaine, the day nurse, was talking to him, trying to get him to realize where he was. Nursing lingo was 'reorienting'. A nice way of saying "Hey, crazy man, you're in the hospital, so stop being a pain in the butt!". He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to push himself up, without much success. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he was bound and determined to get out of that bed.
Not only was Elaine in the room, but two more aides were in there as well, all ready to catch him if he started to fall. In the hospital, one of the worst things that can happen is for a patient to fall. That's usually when the family, especially the ones that are nonexistent up until that point, wants to holler 'lawsuit' because we weren't paying enough attention to their loved one. Then you can't get rid of them.
I took a few seconds to check him out. He was pale, and even his best effort to support his own weight was a complete failure. But he was breathing okay, albeit a bit heavy and I didn't foresee him laying down quietly any time soon.
"I gotta get outta here! Please, just help me get out." For as weak as he was, he still managed to holler loud enough. I spotted a wheelchair close by, and dragged it over behind Elaine. "Let's just put him in this and park him by the nurse's station. Maybe that will calm him down a bit."
It took the four of us about ten minutes to get him in the wheelchair. But once we parked him by the station, he seemed to calm down. He just sat there, looking at everybody. Before Elaine could even make it out the door, he was fast asleep. I smiled. Lots of times, old folks are just terrified of being left alone. As long as he was quiet and calm, he could spend the whole night in that chair. Didn't bother me one bit.
Janine was working with me tonight, and she had parked herself in a chair right next to Mr. Crabby Pants, just in case. "Tell you what, " I said as I started opening the med drawers, "You hang tight with my friend there for a while, and I'll take care of everyone else." She rolled her eyes at me, and nodded.
Getting the meds ready for 2100 rounds was the easy part. Check the charts, make sure the order hasn't been discontinued, double check the computer screen for time of admission, separate into little cups for my trek down the hall. This part was calming, because it was all facts. Just facts. No emotions, no interactions. Just me and my facts. This was my fifteen minutes of decompression where I could put aside whatever I had heard about my patients in report, and just think. Think about what was wrong with them, how these meds would affect them, what I needed to look for, if there were labs I needed to check before handing over the little cup of pills. Tonight, it took me less time than usual to get everything ready. I signed off on all of Mr. Crabby Pant's meds, and handed them to Janine. I had taken care of him last night, so I knew he could only swallow one at a time, which wouldn't be a bad thing, except I had six other patients to give meds to. One last check to make sure I had everything I needed, and off we go down the hall.
I'd learned the hard way that trying to do an initial assessment, then come back and pass meds was not conducive to making good time, so I had gotten into the habit of doing my initial assessment during med pass. It was kind of like double dipping, listening to the patient talk while I made mental notes on their status. Flush the saline lock, look to see if their IV fluids were almost out, how much time left on that antibiotic, was there a flush in the room, check for pedal pulses, look at pupil reaction, ask if they are having any pain. All things that had to be checked. I had a pretty good group tonight, with the exception of Mr. Crabby Pants currently parked at the nurse's station next to Janine. And even he wasn't that bad, just needed a little more attention than the rest. I finished my rounds, and headed back to the station. I knew from the last few months that if I could get the bulk of my charting done before I took a break for dinner, it would be a pretty good night.
What I didn't know was that Allen had been called in to cover part of the shift. Crap. I did my best to ignore him, averting my eyes from the way the sleeves of his scrub shirt clung to his biceps like a second skin. The dormant part of my dirty mind was busy stripping the scrubs off of him while the focused part of my mind was on my charts. My thought process was interrupted by a sheriff walking on to the floor. I'd gotten to know some of the cops in this area from the times I'd been floated down to ER, but this one wasn't someone I recognized. He was short, stocky, and had a belly that said he could down more beers in one sitting than the partner probably waiting in the squad car outside the front door.
He stopped to talk to Allen, and I kept one ear open, hoping we weren't getting a patient who was under watch. And if we did, I hope Allen got stuck with them. It would serve him right to have to deal with that headache all night. I didn't mind having cops around when my patient was a criminal, but it depended on the cop. Some of them were okay, and others were just jackasses in pants with a gun. So I was surprised when Allen turned his head and pointed me out to the cop, who proceeded in my direction belly first. Actually, waddled is more like it. I had a brief mental image of this guy trying to chase a crook through the streets, huffing and puffing. It was kind of funny.
"Annabelle Gray Houston?" he asked, eyeballing me. Shit. Fucker used my whole name. No one knew my whole name, and with good reason. It was embarrassing. I didn't have to answer, because he looked down at my badge, which read in plain lettering 'Annie Houston'. He threw a manila envelope on top of the charts I was working on, and said curtly "You've been served". The big bellied bastard gave me the courtesy of a self satisfied sneer before he turned and walked back towards the elevator. I had a hunch that I knew what this was. The envelope sat there on top of my charts, looking innocent, but I knew what it wasn't. I took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself as I opened it.
But no amount of mental preparation would have gotten me ready for what I read. Jimmy had filed for divorce in Sweetwater County, where his parents lived. A county that was three hours away. According to the papers in my hand, a summary judgment of divorce had been granted to one James LeRoy Houston, and in the section under terms, I had been ordered to pay all of his attorney's fees, as well as repay him for putting me through school. According to the documentation provided to the court, Jimmy had taken out loans in both our names, supposedly for my tuition. There was another section marked notification, and apparently, that sack of shit had published his intent to divorce me six months ago in his parent's hometown. My lack of response allowed the judge to grant the divorce under his terms, which meant I didn't have a prayer. I skimmed the rest of the text, and when I got to the bottom, I think I felt my heart stop.
Because I now made more money per month than Jimmy had during my school years, the judge had ordered me to pay fifteen hundred dollars per month in alimony until such time as all of the loans had been paid back to Jimmy, with a lump sum of ten thousand dollars due immediately. Ten thousand dollars, the exact amount of the sign on bonus I had gotten when I started. The money I had refused to hand over to Jimmy because I wanted to save it to buy a house.
The school loans alone were over sixty five thousand dollars. The legal justification was spousal abandonment. Beneath the payment section was a list of property that had been split. I felt a hollow sickness build in my gut as I read the list. His SUV had been in his parent's name, while my Honda was in mine. I had traded my old car in shortly after we got married, and now it seemed I had ten days to deliver the vehicle and keys to his parent's house in Sweet Water, along with my engagement ring, and a list of other jewelry that had been given to me over the last few years. I scanned the list in astonishment. I would be allowed to keep my clothes, and 'tools of my trade', meaning my stethoscope and scrubs. All furniture and household items were now the sole property of James L. Houston. If the vehicle and the property were not delivered in 'a timely manner', criminal charges would be filed, and reported to the state Board of Nursing.
I knew what hyperventilation was, but I had never experienced it until now, and I could feel my chest pounding. My mind ran in a thousand different directions. The lump sum would wipe out my savings, and the monthly payments would leave me no more than a few hundred dollars a month to live on. I looked down at the name of the judge who had granted this ridiculousness, and saw that it was the Honorable Judge Ephraim T. Sully. His uncle. Fuck. I knew that Jimmy's parents, in fact, his whole family hated me, but even I couldn't fathom hating someone strongly enough to ruin their life this way. Uncle Ephraim knew the law better than Constance knew her way around the makeup aisle at Wal-Mart, so appealing this thing was already out of the question. There was no doubt in my mind that he would have made sure every 'I' was dotted, and every 'T' crossed before he filed this.
I looked up at Janine, who was still sitting next to my troublemaker patient, her eyes intently on me. I shoved the papers angrily back into the envelope. My hands were shaking, and I was so mad I couldn't even make myself focus enough to put them all back into the envelope neatly. My legs felt shaky as I stood up, holding the mangled envelope in my hands. I could feel the eyes of my coworkers follow me down the hall towards the exit.
I stepped outside into the cool night air, felt the wind lash at my face, laced with harsh rain that smelled of gasoline and disinfectant. Everything I had worked for, fought for, was now his. I wouldn't be able to stay in my apartment, because I couldn't afford it now. No car, no home, nothing. I had nothing. Did one bad decision merit this type of punishment? Because that's what this was. This was Jimmy's way of punishing me for not being what he wanted me to be, the little trophy wife who darned his socks and cooked him meals. I was back at square one. Alone, broke, and soon, homeless.
I leaned against the hard brick of the building, letting myself drop to the ground. I could feel the envelope still in my hand, but now it was like it weighed a thousand pounds. I flipped it over in my hands, thinking. And then my brain got tired of thinking, and the tear ducts took over. I folded my arms over my knees, and let the tears come.
I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually, I ran out of tears. I couldn't let him break me. I've started over before, and this would be no different. And there was one thing he couldn't take from me: I was a nurse.
Nurses spend their time helping others to heal, well this nurse was gonna heal herself. I would figure it out, somehow.
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