Page 18 of Forever Fighting
“You got it.”
Relief and gratitude swim in her features. She looks better for it. There’s more color in her face and life in her eyes. “Thank you. I’m going to be a broken record with that, but you really are the best.”
“Eat up, and I’ll get you whatever you need.”
I order up the clothes and things she tells me to, and we spend a quiet day in, watching old movies—her favorites—eating our way through my fridge and pantry, and hanging out in the pool. I can’t remember the last time I had a day like this. A day off. A day with no work and just being lazy, with no forced agenda.
Even my emails wait—including Frankfurt housing questions from my assistant.
Today is about Braelyn. I’m her friend. Her confidant. Her safety net. The guy she goes to when she needs a shoulder to cry on. It’s a role I’ve played well. A role I’ve been happy-not-so-happy to have.
She says she’s coming to Vegas with me. Mexico too.
I want that more than I want anything else.
But I already know nothing with her will be easy. It never is for me.
6
BRAELYN
“Mrs. Box in room six needs a Foley started and about six milligrams of Ativan.”
I pause and glance up at Wren as I take notes. “Six?”
She shrugs. “Obviously not six. But she’s easily the most anxious patient I’ve ever encountered. Start with half a milligram, but I’ll give you some room to move on that.”
“Awesome. What else?”
“Mr. Tape in eight?—”
I snort a laugh.
“What?” Wren shrugs as she sips her coffee. “I didn’t mean to rhyme. That’s the dude’s name.”
“Mrs. Box, Mr. Tape. I feel like we’re in a game of Clue written by Dr. Seuss.”
“Yes, except for instead of trying to figure out who’s killing who, we’re trying to save them in a hospital with a…” She tilts her head. “What rhymes with hospital?”
“Nothing that works for this. Sorry. What does Mr. Tape ineight need?”
“A chest X-ray, EKG, a CBC, CMP, renal and liver function tests, BNP, A1c, TSH, CRP, and throw in a troponin.”
“CHF workup?” I ask because those are pretty standard labs when we think someone has congestive heart failure.
“Yep. It doesn’t sound like afib when I listen, but I’m not ruling that out yet either. He hasn’t seen a doctor since the early two thousands and is short of breath, but there’s definitely fluid in his lungs, despite the fact that he’s dehydrated, so let’s get an IV started of LR along with twenty of Lasix IV push and see if that’s enough to clear those lungs without dehydrating him more. Oh, and a cardiology consult. We’re going to end up admitting him once we get him buffed up. I just don’t know if it’ll be on a tele floor or the CCU yet.”
“You got it.” I pop the end on my pen and stick my paper back in my chest pocket. “Any cardiac meds yet?”
She finishes off her coffee and throws it in a nearby trash bin. “Not yet. Let’s see what the Lasix does and what his labs and X-ray show.”
“On it.”
“Are you okay?” Wren asks, folding her arms and tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ears.
“You mean because I caught my ex-fiancé cheating and called off my wedding?”
“Well, um, yeah, I mean?—”
