Chapter Five.

"She's not going anywhere, so you might as well stop staring."

Selene hadn't even noticed she'd started.

She notices now, blinking back to reality, hands clutching the folder that has not left her grip since lunch. She's pretty sure she has left fingerprint indents by now, but was almost too embarrassed to even consider checking. Her eyes are floating over her shoulder in the direction of the voice that is speaking, landing on a figure that she doesn't recognize. 

He's tall, primped black hair with morning coffee complexion, and far too handsome for his own good. Piercing blue eyes hide behind an expensive looking pair of thin-rimmed glasses that sit comfortably atop the bridge of his nose. Selene isn't quite sure how old he is -- he appears to be about her age, late twenty something. Maybe she'll ask. Maybe she won't. She can decide that later, once she figures out why he is talking to her at all.

"And you are . . . ?" she replies, a bit more curtly than intended.

The man clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue, pointing to the badge clipped to the shoulder of his olive green scrubs. "Eric Masterson," he responds, just as curtly. "I'm, uh, down the hall to right in the Behavioral Health unit. We keep all the patients on psychiatric holds over there while they await evaluation."

"Right." A nod. "I figured."

He's playfully pointing to her white coat. "You're a doctor. I would hope you'd know."

Selene smiles, turning to face him fully now. "I would hope so, too. Otherwise, I'm not quite sure what I've spent all of my money on." The two of them share a laugh, with Eric adjusting his glasses and looking past Selene's shoulder. "Are you going to see Dorothy, too? Or are you just planning on staring the whole time?"

Selene turns now, looking back at the space she had been staring into only moments prior. She's been standing in the Emergency Department for some time now, looking towards the curtain covered space where her patient was said to be. Delevigne had placed the folder in her hands ten or so minutes ago, saying she would meet up with her so they could begin getting a feel of "how treatment as a team would work." Dr. Geist was supposed to be observing -- as Selene had pointed out, once again, for the fifth time today -- but Delevigne was insistent that they could do it together. Who is she to argue? For now, no one. Just a red head with a folder, appearing like a lost toddler in a supermarket.

She peers down at the folder in her hands. 

DOROTHY WILLIAMS. (75 Y.O. F)

"Yes," she says, looking back up at Eric, who now crosses his arms over his chest. "I am. I'm just, um . . . waiting." A pause. "For Delevigne. She'll be here soon."

Eric nods again, knowingly, and for a moment the only thing filling the space between them was the steady hum of Department noise. Various machines and shoes on tile a chorus of lives in crisis. A symphony of hope and sorrow. Selene is wondering now, looking back at the curtain, what song Dorothy's room is singing. Delevigne had said that all the information she would need would be in the folder, but truth be told, Selene hadn't even looked yet. It felt almost wrong to do it alone.

"Ah," Eric says, "and Dr. Geist is...?"

Selene says nothing. She isn't sure what to say. 

"Ahhh. So they're still doing that, hmm?" He chuckles, resting a hand on his hip. "Well, how about that? Delevigne is the only nurse that can get away with that, and Dr. Geist is the only doctor I know that would allow it." 

Selene's face flushes. "Should I be concerned?"

Eric shakes his head, chuckling. "No. Delevigne is the best there is."

"And Dr. Geist?"

"The opposite."

"So I keep hearing."

A soft laugh that is followed only by the clearing of her throat. "I'm, um, I'm Selene. Selene Watson," she mumbles, "I realize I didn't introduce myself. Sorry about that." She tucks the folder under her arm in favor of extending her hand, clasping it around Eric's with a satisfying grip. "No worries," he replies, giving her hand a single, firm shake. "All is forgiven. I would imagine that a resident probably has fifty-thousand things on their mind the first day."

You have no idea.

"So . . ." Selene begins, facing the curtain fully now. "If you're here, then I assume that Dorothy has some behavioral component to her care?" He nods. "Well, yes and no. The psych doctor just got Dorothy's MRI results, and he's fairly certain that she's got dementia." A beat of silence gives brief swell, as if to give the diagnosis room to breathe. "So, I've been sent to talk to her and her family about behavioral resources for when the time arises." He withdraws a folded up pamphlet from his pocket, waving it side to side. 

The picture on front is of two elderly men laughing, sitting on a porch somewhere. Selene is thinking they look far too happy for people with such a life changing diagnosis. Then again, perhaps that kind of ignorance really could be bliss under the right circumstances. 

She opts out of sharing her wonder in favor of taking the pamphlet from him. Golden Haven Memory Care Home. Did these places even work? She thinks to her own mother, who is seemingly always aging far too quickly for her comfort, and hopes she will never have to find out. She passes the pamphlet back with a furrowed brow. "Is the medical doctor going to be with you when you deliver the news?" she asks.

"She is now."

A voice behind the pair traces back to Delevigne, whose mouth is hiding behind the rim of a bagel bottom. Her hands are brushing crumbs off her scrubs, stopping in front of them with curious eyes and a bright smile. "I got you on as her doctor, and don't ask me how." She withdraws her bagel to give Eric a half nod of acknowledgement.

Selene blinks, incredulous. "Wh--wait, now? No, I--I need time. I can't start taking patients alone my first day, that's not how it works!"

"Who said you'd be alone?" Delevigne asks.

"I -- Delevigne, you can't -- "

"I can, I did, and did it with Dr. Geist's approval. So -- hop to it. Lets go."

She waves over in the direction of the curtain, much to Selene's chagrin. "I promise, it is going to be fine. But Seraphim Valley takes the approach that doctors need to just -- come here and start being doctors! We have a good reputation for a reason, so please, can you just relax and trust me? You're going to be fine. I'm right here with you."

"But you're not -- " Selene begins.

Eric waves his hand. "Don't say it."

"You don't even know what I was -- "

"Dr. Watson, I am very well aware that I am not a doctor. I know me guiding you is outside of the expected norm." She bites into her bagel half again, seemingly unbothered by this. "And for the last time," between chews, making Eric crinkle his nose in amusement, "I am your lantern. So follow your lantern into Dorothy William's room, please and thank you."

The ending of her sentence falls against Selene's chest with a sort of finality that she feels she's got no room to challenge. Her eyes trace the outline of the curtain one last time before offering Eric a weak smile. "I, uh . . . I guess we'll go on and get this done now."

Eric does not seem the least bit troubled, offering a playful bow. "Lead the way, Dr. Watson."

Shine, baby. Shine. 

With both Delevigne and Eric's eyes burning holes into her back, Selene someone manages to approach the curtain with folder clutched in both hands, white knuckled. For a moment, she worries about crinkling the papers within. A moment later, she chooses to try not to care. 

Here it is, she thinks, my first patient and all of it is being done so backwards. This isn't anything like I learned. This -- this doesn't even feel legal! Her hand tremors touching the fabric of the curtain, giving one last look to Delevigne before turning back and finally allowing the moment to come.

Now. 

- - - - - - 

The room behind the curtain is everything that Selene expected it to be -- a standard hospital room, complete with all the right equipment surrounding the blue and yellow stretcher in the center. Oxygen and medical gas ports hang low on the wall, and the emergency call light is nestled comfortably on the bed's off-white linens. The body in the bed is that of an elderly woman -- a little overweight but otherwise appearing in decent health -- whose dimming grey eyes nestle hopefully on Selene when she walks in, then to the empty metal chair by her bed. For a moment, Selene isn't sure who is supposed to speak first. Is it her? Is it Dorothy? She feels frozen, thick under the weight of what this moment could mean for the both of them. 

A gentle, wrinkled hand, comes to the blankets and smooths them out. "Emilio should be back soon," Dorothy says, something akin to a choke as opposed to a sentence. Delevigne and Eric emerge from the curtain, coming to look between Selene and Dorothy.

Both colours in Delevigne's eyes tell Selene she needs to say something.

She knows she should. Really, she does.

Somehow, she manages a soft cough, setting the folder down on the counter by the sink, and offering up her best smile. "No worries," Selene says, everything within her attempting to hold back the uncertainty like a dam, "I'm here to speak to you. I'm -- I'm Dr. Watson, I'll be taking over for . . . . "

The silence is deafening. 

Selene can practically feel herself looking stupid. " . . . um . . . "

"Dr. Watson will be taking over for Dr. Abeline," Delevigne interjects, while Selene forces herself to keep in the breath she was dying to exhale. Selene doesn't dare look over to see her expression. That would just make her feel worse.

"Yes, Dr. Abeline has entrusted your care to me," Selene affirms, turning to usher her hand behind her. "This is Delevigne, who is the charge nurse here in our Emergency Department, and this is my friend Eric, who is our Behavioral Health nurse." She pauses, taking a moment to drink in Dorothy's expression. 

She seems so . . . vacant. A ghost haunting the walls of her own mind. She isn't sure, but Selene suspects she's behind those soft greys somewhere, searching for a way to join the conversation. Her fingers, crinkled and curling, run along the blankets in various, uncertain shapes. "Oh . . . " is all she says in response to this, her neck craned to look past Selene and out into the bustling hallway. "Well, you see, Emilio is really better with that kind of thing . . . "

Selene turns to face Delevigne, her own uncertainties scribbled into her features. "So, uh, do you happen to know Mrs. William's previous set of vitals?"

"Of course I do."

"And they are?"

"In the folder I provided to you, Dr. Watson."

Eric snorts out a laugh he is barely able to hide, turning with crossed arms over stifled chest to face the hall. Selene must appear surprised, because Delevigne simply gestures to the folder that she had set down. "That one. Right there."

"I - I know." Her hand comes to brush her fingers against the folder. 

Dorothy blinks. "...is Emilio coming?"

"I -- Is Emilio your husband?" Selene asks.

"Yes, is he here?" Dorothy replies.

Selene looks to Delevigne and Eric for some inkling of what to do, but neither one of them say anything. They have chosen to remain steadfast in the reality of Selene having to be the one to guide them. To a degree, anyway. Selene looks to the empty chair, open and awaiting. "Was he here with you before?"

Dorothy furrows her brow. "I think so."

Once again, Selene looks to either Eric or Delevigne to either confirm or deny this. Once again, they stand still, waiting for further instruction. Selene just frowns, turning to finally open the folder. 

Inside is a singular sheet of white paper, topped with the hospital letterhead in some gaudy font meant to look professional. The rest of paper is filled with Dorothy's vital signs upon admission, updated every hour, as well as a list of medicines she takes and test results. It's all alot of information to take in, and suddenly all the schooling Selene had ever done slipped out of her mind like water. It becomes an overwhelming tsunami of possibilities, every avenue and question colliding in her mind, fighting for some sort of dominance. The fight travels down her arms, sides, and settles uncomfortably in her abdomen. 

Her eyes scan the paper again.

Pick a point, any point, and start there.

But no matter how many times she's looking at it all, it does little to halt the violent tumbling in her stomach.  The beating in her ears and the lurching in her stomach assault her senses in unison, and before she knows it, she's clasping a hand over her mouth and furling in posture.

"Dr. Watson? Are you -- "

"Eric will be speaking with you while I go take care of something," Selene manages to choke out, and before anyone can say anything one way or another, she has pushed the polka dotted curtain asode and fumbles through the ever shuffling Department. 

Delevigne turns to Eric with a look he knows well. He smiles, leaning over to grab a pair of disposable gloves from a nearby dispenser on a the wall. "Alright, Mrs. Williams, let's talk . . . "

By the time Delevigne makes it out into the hallway, she is greeted with the sight of a semi-circle of concerned nurses, some backing up, others just standing still. 

She doesn't even need to ask what's gone on.

A click of the tongue. "Someone call Environmental Services. I'll take it from here."

- - - - - 

"I can't believe I just vomited all over the nurse's station."

"I can't believe it took you that long to vomit all over the nurses station."

Delevigne pats the corner of Selene's mouth with the last good tissue, watching her lips all but fall past her chin. The pair find themselves huddled in the handicapped stall of the women's restroom, with Selene sitting on the toilet's edge and Delevigne kneeling right in front of her. It's clear to Selene why Delevigne wears her pride like she does -- despite all the embarrassment flooding her body, she feels comforted and cared for. Her eyes catch a glimpse of her badge plastic glinting under the fluorescent bathroom lights, and she shakes her head to herself. What kind of doctor throws up on her first day? 

As if sensing her inner dialogue, Delevigne offers a warn smile while tossing the crumpled tissue into the metal wastebin behind her. "Moping isn't a good look for you," she declares, standing upright to smooth out her scrubs. "It happens. The first day jitters are real, and they're scary, and everybody gets them."

Selene groans. "No one else throws up on the nurses station."

Delavigne grins. "You'd be surprised."

She helps Selene to her feet now, and once they're both standing up straight, she rests her hand on her shoulder. "Selene, listen . . . " she starts, " . . . I see so many doctors come through here. Some stay, most don't. I can usually tell who is meant for this line of work and who isn't." A pause. "And if its worth anything to you, I know you're made for this. You just have to know you're made for this. And stop working yourself up!"

Selene tries to hide the small smile coming to her face. "You sound like my mom," she says.

Delevigne just shrugs, opening the stall door and motioning for Selene to exit ahead of her. "Then your mom is a smart woman. So, lets get back out there and prove she knows what she's talking about, shall we?"

Even as Selene comes to turn on the bathroom sink, she has a hard time finding her reflection in the pristine mirror over the trio of sinks. She does not want to know how pathetic she looks, nor does she want to know what the face of a girl who was way over her head might look like. No. She wants to remember the girl she was when she arrived this morning -- bright eyed, confident, excited to make a difference. Not the one who became a patient her very first day.

A hand pats her back. "All good?"

Selene splashes her face with cold water she's cupped between her hands.

"Yeah, all good."

Delevigne seems comfortable with her answer, turning to face the bathroom door. "Good," she says, "then lets -- "

A sudden crackling over an intercom speaker just outside the bathroom door causes both women to jump to attention. Selene isn't sure what this means -- Delevigne appears almost too sure.

" CODE BLUE. EMERGENCY ROOM. STATION 17.

CODE BLUE. EMERGENCY ROOM. STATION 17.

ALL AVAILABLE STAFF FOR INTERNAL CODE.

I REPEAT,

ALL AVAILABLE STAFF FOR INTERNAL CODE. "

Delevigne's face turns serious, her arm snaking out to grab Selene's hand. "Time to be a doctor," she states, and before Selene has anytime to say anything else, she's being pulled with a sort of controlled, yet frantic, energy towards the door leading out of the bathroom.

"Code Blue, thats . . . "

"Yes," Delevigne says, "someone is dying."

Another pause. Delevigne is dragging her along, pushing the door open with her shoulder. "And Station 17, isn't that . . . ?"

"Yeah," Delevigne confirms, "thats Dorothy's station." She looks over her shoulder to meet Selene's eyes for just a moment. The look written on her face and the strength in her grip says everything Selene needs to know.

"Delevigne. Am I running this code?"

"Yes. What do you want me to do?"

Somehow, Selene manages to choke out a response. "Let's grab a crash cart, and get to Dorothy now. Is there a Code Team coming?"

"Yes," Delevigne says, already sprinting forward. "So they'll meet us there and we'll get started."

Selene nods, managing to keep Delevigne's pace. The blood is rushing through her body and bursting in her head, a steady thrumming in her ears to match the realization of what this all means. She's watching as varied bodies across the Department materialize seemingly out of thin air, all rushing towards the same polka dotted curtain that they were going to. Even in the fear, Selene takes a beat to recognize just how incredibly impressive this is.

"Does Dorothy have a Do Not Resuscitate order?" Selene calls, mere inches away from the curtain. Someone nearby -- another nurse -- shakes her head. 

Somewhere, a voice far away calls to her. "The code isn't for Dorothy! It's for Eric!"

Reviews

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Ah, I've only just stumbled across this - hadn't realized this was in development.

Though I find myself chuckling a little at your description of Eric (vanity aside, he sounds a bit familiar) you characterize well and have a banger of a cliff-hanger. It's a busy time of year for me, I teach English and am presently drowning in papers, but when I can I'll give your chapters a thorough read and offer some feedback.

If you're of a mind for reading, let me know and I'll pass along a partial novella. I haven't written prose in ages, in large part due to my choice of work, but I'd be happy to share, tit for tat.

Nicely told Emunah - I'd definitely check in for chapter 6.