Amanda was our nurse manager. "Are you in charge tonight, Kyra?" she asked.
"Yes, I am. We are understaffed, so I had to take patients."
"Okay, listen," Amanda said, sounding flustered.
"I will fix staffing problems, but I have received a call from my boss. There is a VIP coming to our floor. Rooms 825 and 826 are blocked for him."
"Both rooms?"
"Yes, both rooms. The patient will be going in 825, and 826 is for the family. Maintenance and housekeeping will be up to make sure everything is in top shape in there." She paused.
Amanda did not have to say it. I knew what the next words
out of her mouth would be. Anybody of importance who came to our floor was my responsibility. I was the chosen one for doctors, doctors' families, hospital executives and their families, celebrities and politicians - I was the chosen
nurse. My mild mannered temperament, empathetic and compassionate nature, caring and cheerful personality, and my confidence in knowing my job and doing it well made me the chosen one. I listened to my patients, made them feel
important, and no matter who you were - a homeless person or a VIP - I rendered equal treatment to all. Being the VIP nurse, as my coworkers called me, was more of a curse than an honor. Taking care of these people could be very stressful.
"I need a favor, Kyra. I need you to take this patient. He should be your only patient."
"Why do I always get these patients?"
"Because you are so compassionate and efficient, and
you are good at what you do. I have never gotten a complaint from a patient about you, and even if I did I would know it wasn't true. Unlike some of my other nurses, where I get daily complaints and I know the patients are not lying. You really have a way with people, and I thank you very much for all
that you do."
"And what am I supposed to do with my other two patients?"
"Give them to the other nurses."
"But they're already maxed out."
"I know you will work something out."
"I hope you remember this when I get my pay raise."
"Don't I always? Have a good night, Kyra."
I was at the nurses station, trying to do as much as I could before the VIP arrived, when the phone rang again.
"Eight North, Nurse Kyra speaking. How can..."
"Nurse Kyra, this is Nurse Jenn," my coworker said mockingly. "I would like to give a report on the patient going into 825."
"Jenn, who is this patient I'm getting? I am so stressed already."
"He might be Mr. Right for you. I'm going to describe him in one word - perfection," she whispered into the phone. "Smoking hot body, gorgeous face, incredible jawline, perfect teeth, long eyelashes that shade his sparkling, hazel eyes which any woman would die for..."
"Nobody is perfect, and I'm tired of you always trying to set me up. I'll find someone when the right time comes."
"It's been eight freaking years," she whispered.
"And this is a new low for you. A patient - are you serious?" I said in disgust. In my five years of nursing, I had never come across a patient to whom I was remotely attracted.
"Nurse Jenn," I said as sternly as I could, "can you please give me the report, or should I call your charge nurse?"
"Bitch," she said under her breath.
I chuckled. "Stop playing around and give me the
report, Jenn. By the way, what are you doing on the night shift?"
"It's overtime, girlfriend. They need a nurse and I need the money. Anyway, you should call this patient, Mark Stone. That's his
alias and he is a no-info patient. His real name is, like...classified. He is a thirty-two-year-old patient of Dr. Anwar. Mr. Stone and his family were vacationing in the Bahamas. He was riding one of those ATVs and ran into a tree
trying to avoid a kid. He has a left tib-fib fracture with muscle injuries. Hold on, Kyra."
I could hear her talking in the background.
"Kyra, they are taking him to the OR right now. He will come up to you later. Got to go."
I was glad I did not have to send him to surgery. I had a few more hours without drama. I did my
"Yes, I am. We are understaffed, so I had to take patients."
"Okay, listen," Amanda said, sounding flustered.
"I will fix staffing problems, but I have received a call from my boss. There is a VIP coming to our floor. Rooms 825 and 826 are blocked for him."
"Both rooms?"
"Yes, both rooms. The patient will be going in 825, and 826 is for the family. Maintenance and housekeeping will be up to make sure everything is in top shape in there." She paused.
Amanda did not have to say it. I knew what the next words
out of her mouth would be. Anybody of importance who came to our floor was my responsibility. I was the chosen one for doctors, doctors' families, hospital executives and their families, celebrities and politicians - I was the chosen
nurse. My mild mannered temperament, empathetic and compassionate nature, caring and cheerful personality, and my confidence in knowing my job and doing it well made me the chosen one. I listened to my patients, made them feel
important, and no matter who you were - a homeless person or a VIP - I rendered equal treatment to all. Being the VIP nurse, as my coworkers called me, was more of a curse than an honor. Taking care of these people could be very stressful.
"I need a favor, Kyra. I need you to take this patient. He should be your only patient."
"Why do I always get these patients?"
"Because you are so compassionate and efficient, and
you are good at what you do. I have never gotten a complaint from a patient about you, and even if I did I would know it wasn't true. Unlike some of my other nurses, where I get daily complaints and I know the patients are not lying. You really have a way with people, and I thank you very much for all
that you do."
"And what am I supposed to do with my other two patients?"
"Give them to the other nurses."
"But they're already maxed out."
"I know you will work something out."
"I hope you remember this when I get my pay raise."
"Don't I always? Have a good night, Kyra."
I was at the nurses station, trying to do as much as I could before the VIP arrived, when the phone rang again.
"Eight North, Nurse Kyra speaking. How can..."
"Nurse Kyra, this is Nurse Jenn," my coworker said mockingly. "I would like to give a report on the patient going into 825."
"Jenn, who is this patient I'm getting? I am so stressed already."
"He might be Mr. Right for you. I'm going to describe him in one word - perfection," she whispered into the phone. "Smoking hot body, gorgeous face, incredible jawline, perfect teeth, long eyelashes that shade his sparkling, hazel eyes which any woman would die for..."
"Nobody is perfect, and I'm tired of you always trying to set me up. I'll find someone when the right time comes."
"It's been eight freaking years," she whispered.
"And this is a new low for you. A patient - are you serious?" I said in disgust. In my five years of nursing, I had never come across a patient to whom I was remotely attracted.
"Nurse Jenn," I said as sternly as I could, "can you please give me the report, or should I call your charge nurse?"
"Bitch," she said under her breath.
I chuckled. "Stop playing around and give me the
report, Jenn. By the way, what are you doing on the night shift?"
"It's overtime, girlfriend. They need a nurse and I need the money. Anyway, you should call this patient, Mark Stone. That's his
alias and he is a no-info patient. His real name is, like...classified. He is a thirty-two-year-old patient of Dr. Anwar. Mr. Stone and his family were vacationing in the Bahamas. He was riding one of those ATVs and ran into a tree
trying to avoid a kid. He has a left tib-fib fracture with muscle injuries. Hold on, Kyra."
I could hear her talking in the background.
"Kyra, they are taking him to the OR right now. He will come up to you later. Got to go."
I was glad I did not have to send him to surgery. I had a few more hours without drama. I did my
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