Epic Sins (Epic Fail #1)(13)
I wish I wasn’t her obligation. Her burden. I absolutely hate it. Which is exactly why I’m saving every dime that I earn, so I can get my own place and let Aunt Peggy finally live her own life, instead of feeling the need to take care of me.
“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job. Someday you’ll get to do this for a husband and kids.” Today, we’re wearing our pink teddy bear scrubs. Our unit coordinates our scrubs each day of the week, and today is pink teddy bears.
“Right,” I say sarcastically. “And don’t forget the little detail of a husband. Or lack thereof.”
“There are dozens of men patiently waiting for you to wake up and dive into the dating pool.”
“Dozens?” I say, raising my eyebrow and giving her my best smirk possible. “Now that’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“You don’t even know how stunning you are, do you?”
I laugh heartily. “Seriously, these teddy bear scrubs are super hot. Step aside and let me break all of the hearts of the countless men waiting for me outside.” I giggle, laughing harder than I have in a long time. Cassie is kind and my best friend, but she’s seriously delusional. I haven’t been out with a guy in ages. I honestly can’t remember when someone has even shown interest in me. My last boyfriend broke up with me almost two years ago, when it became apparent to him that my career was an important part of my life. He wanted me to himself, all of the time. I was working nights and weekends and barely had time to sleep. I was exhausted. He was exhausting.
“Just wait, Sam. He’s out there, waiting. Ready to sweep you off your feet and give you the life you deserve.”
“You’re drunk,” I say to her. “What guy is out there, ready to fall in love with a hot mess of a nurse? I’ve got too much baggage, Cassie. It’ll never happen for me.”
“I promise you that it will. You’re too special to not have that kind of love in your life. You’ve got a great head on your shoulders, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re a beautiful person.” She grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door of the on-call room. “Break is over. Dr. Hagan will be doing her rounds in a few minutes.” My adrenaline kicks in, and I realize we have a long, trying day ahead of us.
This week has been exceptionally difficult here at work. The neonatal intensive care unit is at capacity. The last baby admitted to our unit is a baby boy, born eleven weeks premature. He’s barely three pounds and it’s been touch and go for the past several days.
I hop on alternating feet as I cover my Dansko clogs with blue sterile booties. We take turns scrubbing our hands in the sink in the outer room of the NICU and slip into sterile gowns. The change of shift is always hectic, and we ask that the families vacate the room while we discuss with the doctors and nurses their medical updates. I see the young mother of the eleven-week-old preemie, Olivia, looking pale and drawn. She’s curled up in a chair next to her son’s incubator, her hand pressed up against the clear casing.
I nod toward her and raise my eyebrow to Becky, the overnight nurse. “Rough night?” I ask softly, not wanting Olivia to hear us.
“She won’t leave him. And for once, I can’t force her to. His neuro scans came back a little while ago and he has two brain bleeds. One is a grade two, but the other is grade three. Dr. Hagan wants to run a new scan in a few hours, but she’s very concerned. To top it off, his bradycardia episodes are getting worse and they are going to intubate him again.” Seeing babies with breathing tubes is very scary, but so vital for their long-term prognosis. Every time he stops breathing or his heart rate slows, he could be doing more damage to his organs and brain.
My heart drops for this tiny little life. Olivia is only twenty years old, just married last year. Her husband is deployed and has been in Afghanistan for the past five months. She moved up to Pennsylvania to live with her mother so she wouldn’t have to be alone. The baby wasn’t due for several more months, and her husband would have been home for his birth. Now he’s here, way too early, and desperately struggling to live.
We see babies like this every day. Premature, not ready for this world. We do everything we can to make sure they get the care that they need so they can thrive and grow and go home.
“She named him today,” Becky whispers as her eyes glisten. “Benjamin.”
I suck in my breath and grab my chest. My father’s name. “Ben,” I say softly and hear my mother’s voice screaming his name. “What did you do to him? Ben? Can you hear me?”
“Are you okay?” Cassie asks, concern sweeping over her face.
“I’m—I’m okay,” I stammer and reach for the charts we’re about to review with Dr. Hagan.
“You sure? You don’t look so good,” she says and places her hand on my arm.
“Yup,” I force out my breath, regaining my composure.
“Are you ladies ready?” Dr. Hagan enters the room. The overnight nurses, Becky and Marcie follow close behind her, detailing the stats for the five babies in the NICU. Cassie and I listen intently, quietly cataloguing the precious details. I watch Olivia closely when we near baby Benjamin’s incubator. She stares at him with fear in her eyes. She’s too young to be dealing with the hardships in front of her and what may lie ahead with her son. A grade two bleed is bad, but a grade three bleed is worse. Ben could have permanent damage or worse.