Page 4 of No Greater Love
I knocked once and entered to find Mr. McAllister looking considerably less helpless than his request had suggested.
"Oh," he said, his tone shifting immediately. "I thought... well, I was expecting..."
"You said you needed help with the urinal," I said pleasantly, moving to the bedside table where the urinal sat. "I'm happy to assist."
"Actually, I think I might be able to manage after all," he said quickly.
I tilted my head, maintaining my helpful expression. "Are you sure? You said you couldn't do it yourself. I really don't mind helping. It's no trouble at all."
"No, no," he insisted, reaching for the urinal himself. "I'm feeling much stronger now."
"Wonderful," I said. "Recovery can be unpredictable that way. I'll be right outside if you change your mind."
I stepped back into the hallway, where Tasha was watching from the nurses' station. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight nod of approval.
No woman should have to deal with that kind of manipulation disguised as patient care. It was predatory behavior, plain and simple, and I'd seen enough of it over the years to recognize it immediately.
"Hey," I said, approaching her at the desk. "If anyone asks you to do something like that again, come get me. I don't tolerate that."
Tasha's lips curved in a small smile. "My prince charming," she said.
"Oh, no," I replied quickly, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I'd do that for anyone. Any of the nurses. It's just... it's not appropriate."
“No,” Tasha said, “I got that. I was just being a smartass.”
"Oh," I said, then paused, realizing I had no idea how to respond to that. "Right. Well. Good."
She grinned at my obvious discomfort before heading back to her patients, leaving me standing there feeling oddly off-balance.
I made my way to the triage desk, settling into the familiar rhythm of assessments and decisions. Everything was going as well as it could for triage.
Then came Mr. Shifflett.
"What's going on today, sir?" I asked, clicking up a fresh assessment form on the digital greaseboard.
"I'm having kidney pain on my left side, and I’m pissin’ blood," he replied without looking up from his phone. He plopped himself down into my assessment chair and held his arm out automatically when I approached with the blood pressure cuff, but his eyes never left his screen. "I'm pretty sure it's another kidney stone."
"You have a history of kidney stones?" I asked, wrapping the cuff around his bicep.
He nodded, thumbs flying over his screen. I waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed completely absorbed in whatever he was typing.
"How many days have you been having symptoms?" I asked, fingers poised over my tablet.
Silence. I glanced up to see him completely engrossed in his phone, either not hearing me or choosing to ignore me.
"Mr. Shifflett?" I tried again, keeping my voice polite but firm.
"Yeah, what?" he said, still not looking up.
"How many days have you been having pain?"
"Oh." He seemed to consider this briefly, his typing slowing momentarily. "I don't know... probably a couple."
"On a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain you've ever?—"
"Eleven."
I made a note without comment. "Any allergies I should know about?"
