This hospital doesn’t have a labor and delivery department— if she’s here, it’s an emergency
The ER is physically demanding at the best of times. At the worst of times — say in my eighth month — both feet are screaming in agony long before the end of my shift. Today, though, my feet are aching before I even start. Restricted caffeine intake (hello, strict OB-GYN who feels that two cups of coffee a day is more than enough?!) isn’t helping matters.
Pushing through a thick haze of fatigue, I head to my computer and log in to assess the caseload waiting for me. A few clicks, and I can see the online board showing which patients are in which rooms, along with a few lines of information from the triage nurse. A typical day — looks like a deep laceration is waiting for me in room 4, while a baby with persistent fever is next door.
“Hi, Jess,” I say cheerfully to the nurse in charge of room 4. She’s one of those nurses who knows how to be kind and firm at the same time, and her patients are always calmer and easier to deal with — just what I need right now.
She nods, dark curls bobbing. “Looks like a full day today, Ayala!”
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