He looked up his eyes like two chips of flint. “Who are you?” he growled. “It wasn’t a question, it was a challenge. I’m Sarah. I’m your nurse for the night shift.” “Sarah,” he mocked, spitting the name out like a curse. “I don’t need a Sarah. I need a doctor. Or better yet, I need a coreman who knows how to wrap a leg without cutting off the damn circulation.
Get out. Sarah didn’t move. She walked to the counter and set the tray down. The doctor will be here in 2 hours for rounds. Until then, you have me. And your leg needs to be flushed, Colonel. Don’t you use that rank with me. Graves snapped. You didn’t earn the right to say it. You’re just another civilian paycheck player.
You think because you wear scrubs, you know about pain. You know nothing. He leaned forward, the heart monitor spiking as his blood pressure rose. I have been fighting this infection for 10 years. I have had better medical care in a muddy hole in Helmond Province from a 19-year-old kid named Private Miller using a dirty rag than I have had in this entire multi-million dollar hotel you call a hospital. So, do me a favor, Sarah.
Get someone else. Get me a man. Get me someone strong enough to do what needs to be done. It was sexist. It was cruel. It was the lashing out of a man who felt his control slipping away. Most nurses would have walked out. Most would have reported him. “Sarah just turned around, picked up a pair of shears, and looked him dead in the eye.
” “Private Miller,” she said softly. “Miller was a good kid from Ohio, right?” The room went silent. The only sound was the hiss of the oxygen tank in the corner. Graves narrowed his eyes. How the hell do you know about Miller? The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy and electric. Colonel Graves forgot his pain for a split second.
His mind racing back to 2009 to a dusty outpost in the middle of nowhere. I read your file, Colonel, Sarah lied. She kept her face impassive, a mask of professional detachment. It mentions your history. Graves scoffed the tension breaking, but the anger remaining. My file, right? You read a piece of paper.
You think reading a report tells you about the smell of burning diesel. You think it tells you what it’s like to hold a kid’s intestines in your hands while you wait for a bird that isn’t coming? He winced, clutching his thigh. The infection was throbbing a red-hot poker driving into his femur. I’m not doing this with you. Graves grunted.
I want a new nurse now. I don’t want a female. I don’t want a civilian. I want someone who can handle this without fainting at the sight of necrotic tissue. I don’t faint, Sarah said, stepping closer to the bed. Get out, Graves roared, swiping his hand at the bedside table. A plastic picture of water went flying, splashing across the floor and soaking the hem of Sarah’s scrub pants.
The door to the room burst open. Two orderlys and Brenda rushed in. Colonel, that is enough. Brenda shouted. Sarah, get out of there. We’re calling security. We’re going to sedate him. No, Sarah said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise like a knife. She held up a hand to stop the orderlys. No security, no sedation.
He doesn’t need to be drugged. He needs his dressing changed. He just threw a picture at you, Brenda cried. He missed,” Sarah said calmly. She looked at Graves. He was breathing heavily, his face pale sweat beading on his forehead. He looked less like a warrior and more like a frightened cornered animal.
“Everyone out,” Sarah ordered. “Sarah, I said out. Give me 5 minutes. If he hasn’t calmed down, you can call security.” Brenda hesitated, then signaled the orderlys to retreat. The door clicked shut, leaving Sarah and the colonel alone again. Graves looked at her confused. He expected her to run. He wanted her to run.
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