Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Holding my heart steady, I hopped into my shoes, grabbed my lunch, and nearly skipped my way to work. I couldn’t conceal my excitement from Cindy—she spotted me as soon as I came out of the locker room, a stupid grin on my face.
“What’s got you so happy?” she said, cranky as always.
“I won the lottery,” I blurted out.
“Really?” she gasped. “Are you going to put in your notice?”
“It was only ten dollars,” I sputtered. I was really bad at this lying thing.
“Oh.” Cindy’s face fell. “I was gonna ask you for a loan, but I guess that’s not going to happen.”
“I’ve never won anything before.” I shrugged, attempting to explain why winning ten dollars would put me in such a good mood.
“Well.” She applauded tepidly. “Congratulations.”
I grabbed my clipboard and checked my assignments. There were two new patients who would demand much of my attention. Porter was now a “regular,” and so I was supposed to just drop in on him, making more time for patients who were either entering or exiting treatment. I calculated how much time I would have to give each new arrival to be fair to them, while still enabling me to have a conversation or two with Porter. It was no use hiding it; he had become my favorite patient.
I forced myself to attend to my new arrivals, giving them just as much of my time as they deserved. There was a woman who was contending with anorexia as well as addiction, and a man who had attempted suicide. Two desperate people who had landed here after losing their own personal battles. I sat with each of them, watching them go through the tremors of withdrawal.
The woman cried, feeling like she had let down her family and failed in her role as a mother. They were always hard to see, the mothers. They came in with the weight of the world on their shoulders, and I could see the destruction their addiction had wrought on their children and their families. They knew how much their babies were hurting, and it wasn’t that they didn’t care but that they felt helpless.
My experiences with mothers in the Westview Hospital had taught me a lot about my own situation. They did love their children, but they sometimes didn’t believe their children loved them. They didn’t think they could be loved. They considered themselves pariahs, as the police and their husbands and the general public viewed them. There was no fight left in them to stand up for their children, and that in itself was horrible to witness.
I made sure my first regular check-in was with Porter, picking up his medication from the pharmacy with a smile. Speeding up my steps to just above my normal pace, I hurried to room 204C. With any luck, he would have improved enough to move out of the locked wing and down onto the communal floor soon. I would have to be careful not to show favoritism or to engage in any affectionate banter, but then I would be able to see him more often. I knocked on his door to announce my arrival and slipped inside.
He looked up and smiled, a mixture of approval and relief shining through. I blushed; I couldn’t help myself. When anyone is that happy to see you, it warms a part of your soul. I took two steps toward him, holding out the little cup of pills.
“I thought you had quit,” he rumbled.
“It was my weekend,” I explained.
“The other nurse was more intrusive,” he said. “She forced me to finish all of my meals.”
I looked away. Everyone had different styles of nursing. Mine was gentle, but there were others who believed in tough love. I had a pretty good idea who had been seeing him in my absence, and yes, she wouldn’t put up with any leftovers. It was good news that he had been able to keep down entire meals, though, so I couldn’t find any fault in her ways.
“I’m glad to hear you could keep it down,” I said.
He sat straight up on his bed, as if listening for hidden meaning, ready to rise to his feet if necessary. I took my habitual spot in the chair, and then we were very close, our knees almost touching.
“Tell me about the real world,” he asked.
“I don’t know if you’d call it the real world, but I had a quiet weekend. I read some, I did some cooking, I watched a few movies.”
“What movies?”
“Mostly romantic comedies,” I answered.
“Have you ever seen Notting Hill?” he asked, straight-faced.
“I love Notting Hill!” I gasped, unable to believe I had actually stumbled upon a man who enjoyed that sort of thing. “Do you like comedies?”
He nodded. “Takes some of the pressure off of life. I don’t like movies that are too realistic.”