NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile. Lynne Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ the peacefully sleeping toddler, Polly gazed affectionately at her then drifted to the desk and computer outside the four-bed ward to catch up on her morning charting.

      “How are things going?” Darren, a middle-aged nurse with prematurely white hair pulled back into a ponytail, asked. By the faded tattoo on his forearm, she knew he had once been in the navy.

      “Pretty good. How about you?”

      “Same as always. Work hard, help kids, make decent money, look forward to my days off.”

      So far Polly wasn’t impressed with the general morale of the ward. Everyone seemed efficient enough, skilled in their orthopedic specialties, but, glancing around, there didn’t seem to be any excess energy. Or joy. She found it hard to live around gloom, and had learned early on how to create her own joy, for survival’s sake. Some way, somehow she’d think of something to lift the ward’s spirit, or she wouldn’t be able to keep her hard-earned title of professional people pleaser.

      A physical therapist came by, assisting one of the teen patients who did battle with a walker. Polly gave a cheerful wave to both of them. The P.T. merely nodded, but the boy was concentrating so hard on his task that he didn’t even notice.

      Orientation factoid number four: Angel’s is the friendliest place in town!

      Really?

      Polly turned back to Darren. “Can you show me how to work that Hoyer lift? I’ve got a special patient to be weighed, and I need to change her sheets, too.”

      “Sure.”

      “Sweet. Thanks!”

      “Now?”

      “There’s no time like the present, I always say.” Polly finished her charting and escorted Darren into her assigned room. Together they gently repositioned and lifted Angelica from the bed. The child stared listlessly at them, her pretty gray eyes accented by blue-tinged, instead of white, sclera. “Are you from New York, Darren?”

      “Yeah, born and raised. Where’re you from?”

      “Dover, Pennsylvania.” She smiled, thinking of her tiny home town. “Our biggest claim to fame was being occupied overnight by the Confederates during the civil war.”

      Darren smiled, and she saw a new, more relaxed side to his usual military style.

      “Don’t blink if you ever drive down Main Street, you might miss it.” Self-deprecating humor had always paid off, in her experience.

      He laughed along with her, and she felt she’d made progress as they finished their task. She could do this. She could whip this ward into shape. Hadn’t that always been her specialty? Just give her enough time and maybe the staff would actually talk and joke with each other. She accompanied Darren to the door and sat at the small counter where the laptop was, and prepared for more charting.

      “Yo. Whatever your name is.” Rafael the ward clerk said, peering over his computer screen. “I’ve got some new labs for you.”

      After looking both ways for foot traffic, Polly scooted across the floor on the wheels of her chair instead of getting up. “Special delivery for me? Sweet. I love to get mail.”

      He cast an odd gaze at Polly, as if she were from another planet. When he found her lifting her brows and smiling widely, he quit resisting and, though it was halfhearted, offered a suspicious smile back. “Just for you,” he said, handing her the pile of reports. “Don’t lose ’em.”

      Brooke came by as Polly perused her patients’ labs. “How’re things going so far?”

      “Great! I really like it here. Of course, it’s ten times bigger than the community hospital where I worked the last four years.”

      “We call it controlled chaos, on good days. I won’t tell you what we call it on bad days.” The tall woman smiled.

      Orientation factoid number five: Teamwork is the key to success at Angel’s Hospital.

      Hmm. Maybe the staff needed to go through orientation again?

      “As long as we all help each other, we should survive, right? Teamwork.”

      Brooke glanced around the ward, with everyone busily working by themselves, and her mouth twisted. “Sometimes I think we’ve forgotten that word.”

      Which put a thought in Polly’s mind. As soon as Brooke strolled away, she checked to make sure everything was okay in her assigned room, then went across the ward to a nurse who looked busy and flustered. “Can I help you with anything?”

      The woman glanced up from calculating blood glucose on the monitor. “Um.” Caught off guard, she had to think, as if no one had ever asked to help her before.

      “Anyone need a bedpan or help to the bathroom? I’ve got some free time.”

      The woman’s honey-colored eyes brightened. She pushed a few strands of black hair away from her face. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask my broken-pelvis patient in 604 if he needs a bedpan?”

      “Sweet,” Polly said, noticing a surprised and perplexed expression in the nurse’s eyes before she dashed toward 604.

      Polly took her lunch-break with two other nurses and a respiratory therapist in the employee lounge. They’d all brought food from home like she had. She’d have to count her pennies to survive living in New York City.

      “Is your hair naturally curly?” One of the other young nurses asked, as they ate.

      Polly slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Drives me nuts most days.”

      “Are you kidding? People pay big money to get waves like that.”

      “And people pay big money to have their hair straightened, too,” the other nurse chimed in.

      “Well, I can’t pay big money for anything but rent,” Polly said. The two nurses and R.T. all grinned and nodded in agreement. “That’s why I stick to my hairband and hope for the best.” She thought about her most uncooperative hair on the planet, and as if that wasn’t curse enough, it was dull blonde. Dishwater blonde as her aunt used to call it. How many times had she wished she could afford flashy apricot highlights, or maybe platinum. Maybe get a high-fashion cut and style to make her look chic. Only in her dreams. The last thing she’d ever be described as was chic, and hair coloring was completely out of the question these days.

      She took another bite of her sandwich and noticed everyone zoning out again. The silence was too reminiscent of her childhood, being shipped from one aunt and uncle to another, and how they’d merely tolerated her presence out of duty. The sad memories drove her to start yet another conversation.

      “Do you guys ever go out for drinks after work? I mean, I know I just said I’m counting my pennies, but seeing that it’s my first day on the ward and all, well, I’d kind of like to get to know everyone a little better. You know, in a more casual setting?”

      She saw the familiar gaze of people once again thinking she’d arrived from another universe. “How expensive could a drink or two at happy hour be?” she said. “And wouldn’t we miss the rush hour on the subway that way, too?”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ