03:30. The nurses station was illuminated by a few small overhead lights, the darkened hallways quiet. I was kicked back in my computer chair and halfway through explaining something or other to my long-suffering orientee, when my scrub pocket lit up with a call to my spectra-link.
“Hey.” The voice was the nurse at Station 3. “Do you have a minute to try an IV? He's going to surgery early, and the charge nurse is busy. It's for Room 21.”
I scooted off my chair and forbid the orientee from coming to watch. Stage fright.
Room 21 was brightly lit and the bed already raised to working height. The remnants of an IV start kit were littered on the edge of the bed.
"Hi!" I announced. "I'm Kristen, one of the nurses up here. Your nurse asked me to come start an IV for you."
A spry face framed by white hair and prominent ears tilted up at me. He broke into a grin.
"That's what I like to see, a pretty smile!" He chuckled. "Hello Kristen, very nice to meet you."
I grinned. "You're a good sport. That's not what most people say when I wake them up at 3 in the morning. I'm just gonna put this tourniquet on your arm here and take a look." We made small talk as I tapped and flicked and hunted for a vein.
"...Yeah, my kidney doctor wanted to take out a piece of my kidney, but now this other doctor has to take out part of my colon so the first doc has to wait. I've never even had to stay in a hospital before. I'm 93." He paused and I marveled at his good health, then warned him of a small poke as I slipped the IV catheter into his loose skin. The vein blew a second later and my heart sank. But he had already forgotten about me, staring beyond my shoulder and into the past.
"93 years. That's a long time, isn't it," he mused as I opened a new kit. "It's gone quick. 17 years already since my wife died." I looked up to see his bright eyes film over with tears. I stopped what I was doing and listened.
"There at the end she had a special hospital bed at home, and we pulled our beds next to each other. Sometimes during the night I would wake up and reach across to hold her hand." The tears were rolling freely down his face now, unashamed. I felt the familiar tightness of not knowing what to say.
"I bet it meant a lot to her," I said at last. "I bet she knew how much you loved her."
"She did." He responded immediately. "She did." I warned him of another small poke, and breathed a silent prayer as the IV went in.
"Please, God." I thought. "Please just let this work for him." The line flushed and gratitude washed over me.
"There you go," I said, stepping back. "It's in. Sorry it took two pokes, but it's working great now."
He grinned unexpectedly at me. "I knew you could do it."
* * *
