Page 63 of Under Southern Stars
“Five minutes,” I remind Karen, who nods enthusiastically.
“That’s all I need!”
Fifteen minutes later, my radio crackles again: “Sophia? It’s Tasha. I’ve got five new walk-ins and you’ve sent two squads out here on top of that. Where the hell is Nate?”
I was in the middle of reviewing labs, but now my head snaps up. “What!? He’s not back yet?”
“Would I be asking if he was?” Tasha’s stress is evident even through the crackling connection.
I march to the charge desk. “Maria, where did they go? Conference Room B?”
Maria nods, not looking up from her computer. “Last I heard. Want me to page him?”
“I’ll handle it.”
I stride down the hallway, my irritation building with each step. Five minutes, she said. Five minutes during a relatively quiet period was manageable. But now we’re picking up, and I need my most experienced triage nurse back where he belongs.
As I approach Conference Room B, I can hear Nate’s voice—still professional but with an edge I rarely hear from him.
“—believe the data needs more context. You can’t just look at raw wait times without considering—”
“The numbers are quite clear, Mr. Crawford.”
I push the door open without knocking. Nate sits across from Karen, whose smile tightens when she sees me.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “It’s been fifteen minutes.”
“Miss Mitchell,” Karen says, maintaining her plastic smile. “We’re discussing some concerning patterns in Mr. Crawford’s triage metrics.”
“What’s she talking about?” I ask Nate directly.
“Apparently my wait times are too long,” he says evenly. “I’ve been trying to explain that I often get assigned the busiest shifts, and I tend to be more thorough with certain high-risk populations.”
“Nathan,” I say, using my charge nurse voice, “you’re needed back in triage. The department’s picking up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He starts to stand immediately, but a hand shoots out from across the table to grab his wrist and stop him.
“Excuse me,” Karen interjects, “but we’re in the middle of a productivity consultation. I just need a few more—”
“Don’t. Touch. My. Nurses.” The words slipped out of me in a low, venomous tone that made both Karen and Nate freeze instantly. Everyone in the room could feel the temperature drop ten degrees.
Karen’s eyes widen, her corporate smile faltering as she slowly withdrew her hand from Nate’s wrist.
“The hospital is paying me to run this emergency department,” I cut in. “If anything goes wrong, if anyone dies, that’s on me. That’s why they pay me that stunning extra dollar an hour to be a charge nurse.”
“I understand your concern, but—”
“I’m short-staffed, we’re getting busy, and you’ve just taken my most experienced triage nurse away for three times longer than you promised. If you want to pull my nurses for extended consultations, hire me more people.”
Karen’s smile doesn’t waver. “I understand hiring more staff is frequently the only solution that employee focus groups can articulate to improve workflow efficiency,” she says, her tone like she’s explaining to a five-year-old why they can’t have ice cream for dinner, “which isn’t surprising as they are often too involved in the problem to understand that’s an unreasonable expectation.”
Nate’s eyes widen almost comically. He shoots me a look that clearly says, “Can I please leave, now?” and then prudently edges toward the door.
“You’re dismissed, Nate,” I say, not taking my eyes off Karen. “Head on back to triage, please.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” he says quickly, literally sprinting for the exit.
As the door closes behind Nate, I feel my blood pressure rising. Great plan, Sophia. Now you have to shut this jackass down properly. I check my watch; we have multiple patients waiting, but I’m not letting this go.
