Stones

Adeline, my solid, watchful emergency room nurse, was clearly biting her tongue. She had endured sharing time in my room with the earnest but fumbly 4th-year medical student Norman, trying to get my history of present illness while he was practicing his own HPI questioning skills, their questions ping-ponging off each side of my head, later needing to have blood drawn and an IV set up in my hand, only to find Norman had somewhat surreptitiously tried it on his own--he closed my door and I wondered at the time if he was afraid someone would hear my yelps--and I had watched him with some trepidation as he fiddled with the needles and the arm clamp and my veins into which he dug several unsuccessful holes without ever finding the passageway to flowing blood. Then when it was finally time to be checked out Adeline brought in Dr. Waxman, my ED doctor, who I'm sure has a soul somewhere but not one visible in his eyes nor discernible in his voice, and she nodded behind his back in the doorway as he blandly gave me his diagnoses and suggestions for treatment and follow-up. Afterwards, when she was unhooking my IV and apologizing for the tape she was ripping off my hairy right arm, she said to me with her voice downward, with disdain, "This is all you need to do, drink a lot of water, and don't drink alcohol, and you'll still have some blood as the stone passes through, and if you can catch the stone when you're going to the bathroom fine, otherwise, don't worry about it." She band-aided my IV puncture and patted my hand and said, "I've enjoyed taking care of you today," and then waved goodbye when a few minutes later I passed her in the hallway; outside waiting for my ride, it was raining buckets, and I thought of Adeline's sturdy eyes wishing me well, and wondered if she knew it was raining and what the weather would be when her 12 hour shift was over late that night.