Page 6 of No Greater Love
"Won't need it," I said without looking at him. "But thanks anyway."
I felt his eyes on me as I slid the 22-gauge needle into that impossibly small vein, felt the tiny pop of entry, watched the flash of blood in the chamber. Perfect placement on the first stick.
"There we go, Mrs. Kellerman," I said, taping down the IV with satisfaction. "All done."
"Oh my God," she breathed, staring at her hand like I'd performed magic. "I barely felt that. You're amazing!"
I waited for the acknowledgment. The impressed look. The grudging respect that always came when I pulled off something the others couldn't.
"Nice work," Nathan said, already moving to hang Mrs. Kellerman's antibiotics. "That was textbook technique. Saved us from having to call for a midline."
That was it. No amazement. No ‘how did you do that?’ Just ‘nice work’ like I'd done something any competent nurse could manage.
"Textbook," I repeated flatly.
"Perfect angle, good vein choice, excellent patient communication," he said, checking the IV flow rate. "Mrs. Kellerman, thanks to Tasha, you're all set. This should run for about an hour."
I stared at him as he moved on to his next patient, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd just dismissed what was genuinely impressive work.
Textbook.
Like anyone could have done it.
* * *
Thursday brought Mr. Taylor, seventy four years old, readmitted for complications related to his gallbladder surgery, who'd been holding in our ER for a day and a half waiting for an inpatient bed to come free. The kind of patient who thought nurses were just there to fetch things and fluff pillows—which was apparently all the MedSurg nurses upstairs did, considering how reluctant they were to actually take report and get this man out of our trauma bay.
Because nothing said "efficient patient flow" like having a stable patient taking up space while we tried to manage actual emergencies around him. But here we were, providing what was essentially hotel service while waiting for the floor todeignto accept their admission.
"You're very gentle," he told Nathan as he helped him to the bathroom. "Not like some of these girls who just want to rush through everything. You really care about doing a good job."
"That's very kind of you to say, Mr. Taylor," Nathan replied, steadying the man's elbow. "All the nurses here are excellent. We all want you to get better."
Mr. Taylor harrumphed. "Well, you're different. More professional. You take your time, explain things properly."
"Yes," I said, my voice perfectly pleasant as I approached with his medications. "Nathan's very... nurturing."
I put just enough emphasis on the word to make it sound like something between a compliment and an observation about his maternal instincts.
Nathan glanced at me, that same mild, unreadable expression. "Thank you, Tasha."
Thank you. Not 'what's that supposed to mean?' or 'are you questioning my competence?'. ‘Thank you’. Like I'd given him a genuine compliment.
Mr. Taylor, oblivious to the subtext, nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! That's what I was saying. Very nurturing. You'd make a great father someday."
"I have a daughter, actually," Nathan said, helping Mr. Taylor back into bed. "She keeps me on my toes."
"Well, she's lucky to have you," Mr. Taylor said with the authority of someone who'd decided Nathan was his new favorite person.
I watched Nathan tuck the blankets around Mr. Taylor with the same methodical care he brought to everything, and felt something twist in my chest. Not anger, exactly. Something more complicated.
"Your pain medication is here, Mr. Taylor," I said, holding up the small cup of pills.
"Oh," Mr. Taylor said, taking the cup without really looking at me. "Thank you, dear."
Of course. Not ‘thank you for going through my medications with a fine-tooth comb to make sure the resident's NSAID order wouldn't cause me to bleed internally.' Just ‘thank you, dear’.
Nathan caught my expression this time, something shifting in his face. "Tasha spent time reviewing all your medications to make sure nothing would interact poorly," he told Mr. Taylor. "She probably prevented some serious complications."
