Page 63 of Broken on the Mountain
I'm good at waiting for people who come back.
Chapter Thirteen
Piper
The harsh lights of Chicago General's post-op ward blind my tired eyes with their familiar six-forty-five a.m. symphony.
I'm back in my scrubs, hair smoothed into its regulation nurse-bun, diamond studs catching the overhead glare.
Nothing about this Monday morning should feel different.
Except everything does.
"Piper, bed three needs you." Zoe, the new nurse who still flinches at every alarm, catches me at the station. Her eyes are wide with that particular brand of panic that screamsI'm drowning and trying not to show it.
"Good morning, Zoe," I say kindly, smiling because I can see she needs the warmth of a Stone River morning greeting.
She sighs and shakes her head. "Sorry. Yes, good morning. How are you?"
Tired. Sore. Confused.
"I'm good, thanks. Let's check out bed three."
I follow her into the post-op room where Mr. Williams, a sixty-something, hip replacement patient writhes against his pillows. His daughter stands frozen by the window, hands twisting together with panic in her eyes.
The scene pulls me forward on instinct.
I move to his bedside, hands checking lines, his IV placement, the pump timing. "Mr. Williams, I'm Piper Whitman. I need you to look at me."
His eyes are clouded with pain and fear.
I crouch so we're level. "We're going to fix this together, okay? But first, I need you to breathe with me."
"Can't—breathe—hurts—"
"I know it does." My voice comes out soft. Stone River soft. "But you can do hard things. In for four counts, out for six. Slow, like you're watching a sunrise you want to savor forever."
I demonstrate, one hand on his wrist to ground him, the other resting lightly on his shoulder.
I close my eyes, and I'm sitting on the rocks by Silver Falls, watching the sun rise for yet another new day in paradise.
I hear Mr. Williams try, but he stutters.
"Keep going," I whisper, still picturing the best view I've ever seen.
He tries again with me.
"That's it. You're doing great." I open my eyes, then glance at the pain med schedule, then up at Zoe hovering in the doorway. "Zoe, can you grab an ice pack and elevate his leg another two inches? I'll talk him through the exhale."
She moves, grateful for direction that's hard to come by in this busy environment. It's not like the slow pace of a small town.
From the second you walk in that door, it's go-go-go into action.
I guide Mr. Williams through another breath cycle, watching his jaw unclench slowly. After a minute, his shoulders drop. "Feels… better."
"That's you being a badass, sir."
His daughter lets out a shaky laugh.
