Page 19 of Not Like Christmas At All
Taking a seat on the couch, she kicks her feet up on the small coffee table, closing her eyes as she leans back, settling in. “That’s the spirit, my dear. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
“I won’t let you down.” The quiet clink of metal resounds as I push my locker shut, then leave the room with a slight pep in my step, feeling giddy from the idea of making today as warm and vibrant as possible. No one said we had to spend Christmas in the hospital without having a little fun, right?
Aside from the tree and pitiful looking garland in the lobby, there isn’t an ounce of Christmas magic to make the patients feel like today is a day worth celebrating. I can’t imagine there aren’t decorations hiding in a closet somewhere in this hospital, and it’s now my personal mission this morning to try to find them.
Pushing the door a little too excitedly, it swings open, and I ungracefully collide into Doctor DeAngelo, slamming against his firm chest. It scares both of us, and as I gasp, he takes a quick, wide step backward.
“Oh my gosh, sir! I’m so sorry!”
“In a hurry, Nurse Nikolaou?”
Running my hands down the front of my scrubs, I laugh nervously. “Um, sort of. Do you know where I could locate some holiday decor?”
“Here?” He arches a brow in interest. “No. Aside from the large tree in the lobby, I’ve never seen this place decorated.”
Heart sinking in disappointment, he confirms what I already suspected—this place has always had a lack of festivity.
“Thank you, Doctor. So sorry for slamming into you.”
“Not a problem, Nurse Nikolaou.” His watch beeps, drawing his attention to his wrist. He’s already lost in thought when he mutters, “Merry Christmas,” and continues on his way.
Surprisingly, I’m able to dedicate the next hour to searching for decorations, and just when I’m about to give up, I locate a janitor's closet near the morgue with two commercial-sized boxes labeledChristmas.
“Jackpot,” I whisper to myself, tossing the top to one of the bins off to the side. It’s a jumbled mess full of lights, garland, inflatables, and window clings, but I’m optimistic I can work with the forgotten treasures.
Looking around, I search for anything that might help me bring the bins upstairs—a hand truck, utility cart,something—but there’s nothing. Sinking to my knees, I resort to sorting through the outdated decor right here in the closet, knowing I can only bring what I can carry.
The strands of lights are rolled nicely, so I loop as many as I can around my arm, wearing them like an oversized cuff that I push up by my shoulder. The brightly colored window clings lie flat against their plastic backings, shaped like ornaments and Christmas trees. There’s a few boxes of inflatables—the giant Santa, a gingerbread man drinking hot cocoa, and a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat look like the best options to bring upstairs. There’s no way this trio won’t make the patients laugh a little.My gaze catches on a few wooden hanging signs as I scoop everything into my arms… I can always come back for more.
I wobble my way down the long corridor and wait as patiently as possible for the elevator. My plan of attack is to decorate the main halls of the children’s wing, labor and delivery, and the ICU, then head back down for more.
I’ll make as many trips as I need to if it means adding some extra happiness to the halls.
A rush of excitement trickles through me with every sparkling strand of tinsel I hang and every small detail I add to the halls of the hospital. The inflatables are inflated, and the garlands hung on pillars around the nurses’ stations. Window clings have been placed, and I even went so far as to have a delivery service bring me paint markers to decorate the glass. Everything feels more cheerful already—like the Christmas magic is seeping into the bones of the building. The only thing left to do is to hang the lights, which should be easy, since the Chief gave me permission to hammer small nails near the ceiling to hang them.
It took a little convincing, but eventually I wore her down with promises to remove them within a week and to make sure to fix any noticeable holes. Virtually a nonexistent price to pay for the endorphin rush hearing the wordssure go aheadinvoked.
The morning’s been filled with praise from my co-workers and words of encouragement from the loved ones of patients visiting. I’ve been spurred on by the smiles and filled with the Christmas spirit with every twinkling light shining from the strand of bulbs.
Now, as I balance on a rickety ladder leaned against the wall down in the ER, I work to hang the last of the lights. The San Diego sky is dark and dreary as I peek out the windows I’mbalanced between, the snow still falling, covering the parking lot in a downy of white.
My head shakes on its own accord, still in complete disbelief that for the first time inforeverwe’re having a white Christmas.
Thethud, thud, thudof my hammer echoes through the halls as I secure the final nail before I spread my feet just a little wider on the rung of the metal I’m standing on, settling in a wider stance so I can unravel the lights.
“Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” is stuck in my head, and I can’t help but laugh in agreement that this Christmas is not like Christmas at all—stuck at the hospital, snow falling outside—but I’m riding the high of my decorating binge, andnothingcan put a damper on my mood.
“What the hell are you doing up there, Genesis? You’re going to fall!” Lincoln's alarmed baritone thunders from below me.
Startled, the strand of warm LEDs falls from my hand, swinging from where they hang limply over the one nail I managed to secure them on. Beneath my feet, the ladder wobbles.
“Jesus, Lincoln!” My hand slaps against the wall as though it’d be enough to hold me steady. “What the hell?”
He releases a low rumble, his fingers curling around the side of the ladder. “‘What the hell’ is right.”
Swallowing thickly, I snap out of the stupor he’s put me in, ignoring the relentless beat of my heart, and pick up the Christmas lights again. “What are you doing here, Doctor Stokes? You told me you were off today.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Nurse Nikolaou.” There’s sarcasm in his voice, and I sneak a glance down. The storm outside is nothing like the storm behind Lincoln’s fire-filled stare, his normally bright blue eyes dimmed with anger.
