“Apparently they’re having problems finding CVOR nurses to work with you.”
“You’re first assist?”
“I am.”
“You can’t possibly be more than thirty.”
“I can be as old as I like.”
That strikes me as an odd thing to say.
“Tell me more about your training.”
“I’m a three-category APRN with four years CNOR and CVOR experience.”
“Which three categories?”
“CNM, NP and CNS. As a nurse leader.”
“And you received your MSN from?”
“Johns Hopkins.”
What she’s saying, she’s an advanced practice registered nurse certified to assist in cardio-vascular operating rooms and intensive care units. She’s also a certified nurse midwife, a nurse practitioner, and a clinical nurse specialist, who happened to receive her master of science in nursing from Johns Hopkins, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Oh, and she did four years at the Cleveland Clinic, arguably the finest heart care facility on the planet earth. If her credentials are to be believed, she is, quite possibly, the most highly-trained nurse in the world.
Did I mention she’s breathtakingly beautiful?
I absorb all this without so much as raising an eyebrow, as if all my nurses share her credentials. Then say, “Do you happen to have any experience with children?”
“If it makes a difference, I’m also a PPCNP.”
“What’s that?”
“A pediatric primary care nurse practitioner.”
“Do tell.”
Melba says, “Did you have any questions for me, Dr. Box?”
“Yes, and please be candid.”
“I’m always candid, Dr. Box.”
“That’s refreshing to hear.”
“Your question, doctor?”
“Have you been warned about me?”
“In what way?”
“In any way.”
“I’ve been told you’re a genius, and that your manner is sometimes unorthodox.”
“Did they mention I’m likely to call you names and curse my patients?”
“The topic was broached.”
“Were you paid not to report any verbal abuse?”
She looks at Rose.
Rose says, “Melba and I signed statements saying we understand we’ll be subjected to intense verbal abuse in the OR including but not limited to coarse, vulgar language and verbal sexual harassment.”
“I’m not supposed to know that, am I?”
“No you’re not. But you asked. And we’re working with you, not Mr. Luce.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t believe in having secrets in the OR.”
“Melba?”
“Sir?”
“I assume you’ve been generously compensated?”
“I have no complaints.”
Rose says, “Melba and I are receiving top pay times two based on our qualifications. We work no holidays and no more than four 12-hour shifts per week. We’re not exclusive to you, but your surgeries trump all others. Unless we’re assisting you, our shifts are daytime only, and we receive three day weekends.”
After picking my jaw up from the floor, I ask, “Who the hell negotiated your contracts? Lucifer?”
“Me,” Rose says.
“And you’ve worked together before?”
“No. But Melba’s top notch.”
“How do you know that?”
“I personally recruited her.”
“What if one of you gets sick?”
“Do you get sick?” Rose says.
“No.”
“Neither do we.”
“Is it just the two of you?”
“You won’t need any additional nurses.”
“With all due respect, you’ve never assisted these types of patients.”
“With all due respect, you’ve never worked with us.”
“There’s no room for error.”
“We’ll hold you to the same standard,” she says, coolly.
God, she’s pretty!
28
I’m home by two, and for some reason I’m incredibly drowsy. I’d take a nap, but don’t want to be up all night. Nevertheless, within fifteen minutes I find myself unable to fight it any longer. I set my clock for four p.m., and lie down.
When the alarm goes off, it’s five-fifteen a.m.
I’m positive I set it for four in the afternoon. But if my alarm clock is to be trusted, I’ve slept fifteen hours straight! I check my computer for the day and date.
I slept fifteen hours.
But there’s more. When I went to bed my eyes were swollen half shut. Now I can see clearly. And my ribs, while sore, feel ten times better than they did yesterday.
I check myself in the mirror and can’t believe the face staring back at me. Other than some slight bruising, I look perfectly normal.
My first thought is Rose’s birch bark tea. Could it have possibly worked?
No. I only drank one cup.
If I drank any at all.
Rose claimed I needed a cup every four hours, and clearly that didn’t happen.
A quick breakfast, shave, shower, and then I’m at the hospital telling Bruce Luce I refuse to meet Dublin and Austin Devereaux before or after the surgery.
“What sort of name is Dublin, anyway?” I say.
“God, I hate dealing with you,” Bruce says. “Why must we go through this every time? Their child’s life is in your hands. They need reassurance. They want to believe in the surgeon performing the operation. If you had a child you’d understand. Believe me, I wish they didn’t have to meet you. I’d love to help the hospital get an advanced radiation oncology wing.”
“You would?”
“Does it surprise you to hear some of us want this hospital to flourish?”
I stroll into the conference room with Security Joe, nod at Nurse Sally, and introduce myself to Austin and Dublin Devereaux.
