Sunday, May 22, 2011 (*From the song, “One of us,” by Eric Bazilian, originally released by Joan Osborne in March of 1995.)
“You’re late.” Shirley looked up from the charts she was reviewing, pretending to be the mean supervisor, watching her friend adjust the scrubs nurses wore in their section, and then use a scrunchy to wrap her shoulder length hair into a sloppy bun.
“Walter needed a quickie,” Denise giggled back, her arms up and hands still working on the back of her head, “which, thank goodness, turned out to take a little longer than he expected and I missed the early bus.”
“Go, Walter,” Shirley commented approvingly, her usual enthusiasm lost in what she was reading about the critically ill woman waiting for a room in the temporary patient area behind the glass walls across from their nurses’ station.
“What’s going on in there?”
“The patient is Emma Gold, 86. Medics brought her in an hour ago. It’s congestive heart failure she’s had for years. That’s her husband sitting in the chair next to her. I called her daughter. She and a brother are on their way over, but they’re an hour away.”
“She’s not going to make it, is she?” Denise could tell from the description of Mrs. Gold’s condition, but more by the way the flesh on the sides of her friend’s mouth lay heavy, without the slightest hint of optimism.
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