Page 178 of Bad Blood

“I’m a little busy.” I lean my head toward the computer beside me.

“Guess these can wait.” He reaches for the files, disappointed.

I slide my hand across them, blocking him. Maybe this will work out after all. Liam’s chart has to be in the stack. “I can take care of them. These need signatures? I’ve got a couple of minutes.”

“Chemo patients from the week. I updated all of them.” He edges away and smiles at me before he turns.

This is going to be easier than I thought. If he’s already put all of Liam’s info into the computer, I’ll be able to check it before anyone gets suspicious.

“I’ll get them back to you before the end of the day.” Pretending to go through patient’s charts will be an excellent distraction from my sneaking around on the computer.

“Thanks,” he says as he retreats to the other side of the nurses’ station and into a conversation with Monique. I exhale and open the first file, trying to calm the shaking in my hands. My body is going to give me away.

With a cautious glance around the room to ensure the nurses are occupied, I shift my focus from the file to the computer screen.

Blakely, Liam—I type it in the program and return to a different patient’s chart to make sure we have the proper chemo scheduled before I sign at the bottom. Subtlety is not my strong suit, but I need this to work.

The buzz of an overhead page is the perfect distraction, and I shuffle to the next file, staring at the computer screen as I pretend to scribble something in the chart.

The information from Liam’s visit is one click away. The sound of footsteps fills my ears, and I divert my attention to another file. Nothing out of the ordinary. I sign at the bottom of the page, glance up, and smile at the passing nurse.

The three of them are still behind the curtain, but Liam’s infusion must almost be done. I don’t have much time. There’s no way Kline will stay with him longer than necessary, and every second I have to pretend to be signing charts is time wasted. As soon as the nurse passes, I grab the mouse and click on the report.

With a quick scan, I get nothing I didn’t already know.

My chair rolls across the linoleum as I lean back, pulling my fingers to my mouth. I nibble on a hangnail and stare at the screen. Kline needs to dictate his findings. I huff out my annoyance and click on the screen to exit when the movement of the mouse refreshes the screen.

It’s here.

That means I have seconds before he could come out of Liam’s room.

I lean forward, rolling my chair closer as I pull myself forward using the countertop and click the report.

CHIEF COMPLAINT: This is a 19-year-old male who presents today in follow-up for an infusion of vitamins status post two weeks of chemo treatment.

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION: He confirms a syncope incident last week where he was brought into the ER by ambulance. A laceration was tended to, and he was sent home to return for suture removal in seven to ten days. He denies any further episodes. A brief review of systems is negative for palpitations, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, constipation, abdominal pain, neural sensation changes, muscular changes, and increased bruising or bleeding.

I skim over his physical exam and the lab findings, then jump to the plan.

PLAN: We obtained a blood sample to send for secondary testing.

. . . Blah, blah, blah. The sound of a curtain being pulled along the rail captures my attention. I stare at that side of the floor, my heart in my throat, and search for a familiar face.

But there’s no Kline.

We’re waiting to confirm the DNA.

. . . Yada, yada, yada. I skip the rest, worried I’m about to get caught, and read the plan. Seconds ticking away.

The patient will return tomorrow for another infusion. The transfer of his care is optimal considering the current situation, as discussed with the patient. Will continue with the plan as previously outlined. Consult Dr. B. Fields if there are questions

I click out of his file, log out, and shut down.

As I straighten the charts into a pile, they slip from my hands, a few of them tumbling to the floor. I managed to sign a quarter of them. The rest will have to wait. I slide them into the crook of my arm next to my laptop and reach for the ones under the counter—the B and D stickers catching my attention. I flip it open and find Dax’s name at the top of the first page.

This is not good.

“See you guys after lunch.” I race to the end of the counter and shove most of the files toward Phillip, keeping Liam’s and Dax’s. “I’ll finish these then.” I don’t give him a chance to reply.

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