Chapter Eight

John

Call me a stalker, but I watch for her to leave for work, careful to keep myself hidden behind my curtains. The moment she exits her house and heads down her sidewalk, I run for the door. Taking a quick, calming breath, I pull the door open and step outside, just as casually as can be.

“Oh, morning, Eve,” I greet when she stops on the sidewalk directly in front of my house.

Her cheeks flush a dark shade of pink as she gives me a big, fake smile. “Hi, John,” she mumbles, taking a few steps forward in her haste to keep moving.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I ask, falling in line with her quickly.

“Sure is,” she replies brightly, her pace picking up a bit.

I almost burst out laughing but manage to keep my face straight and neutral. “Headed to work?”

“Yep!” she replies, too cheery for even her.

“Me too, but I have a little time. I thought I’d walk up and get a coffee.”

“Hmmm,” she hums. “Joy makes great coffee.”

“Doesn’t she? Paired with one of her pastries, it’s the perfect way to start your day, but thanks to you, I’ve already had my breakfast. The apple cinnamon donut hit the spot.”

She pauses at the crosswalk and looks both ways before continuing her trek to the salon. “I’m glad,” she states, and I almost give in to the urge to laugh at her discomfort.

“How was your dinner?” I ask, trying to keep her talking.

“Fine. Good.” She pauses and finally glances my way. “Thank you. It was delicious.”

“I’m glad. I was going to take some with me to work, you know, for my lunch, but I don’t know when I’ll get to eat it. Plus, it’s better reheated in an air fryer and not the microwave, don’t you think?”

“Yep,” she states, popping her P.

We walk in silence for a few more minutes, reaching Main Street and heading toward the building where the bakery and salon are located. Just before we reach the entrance to the bakery, where we would undoubtedly part ways, I stop and say, “Oh! I almost forgot. I received some of your mail yesterday.”

What happens next is almost comical. She tries to stop, but her feet do this spot-on impression of a baby deer trying to stand for the first time. She slips, her knees wobble, and her hands dart out as she tries to right herself. My arms are there, wrapping around her so she doesn’t fall, and I hold her until she’s stable again.

“Mail?” she squeaks out, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, mail. You know, the stuff that gets delivered to your mailbox every day? I’ll bring it over after I get off work tonight, if that’s all right with you. I was going to ask you if you received anything with my name on it, but then it magically appeared in my mailbox this morning, which is weird, because it’s illegal to remove or add anything to someone’s mailbox when you’re not the owner of said box.”

Realization sets in those beautiful green eyes. “Maybe the person who put it there closed their eyes, so they didn’t see what might or might not have been in said box.” Her jaw is tense, and her throat works hard to swallow.

I take her comment into consideration. “Still, illegal. Anyway, I’m gonna grab my coffee. Would you like one?”

“No,” she blurts out, moving toward the front entrance of the salon. “I’m all good. Already had my coffee for the day.”

“All right, well, I’ll see you soon. Have a great day, Eve,” I say, hands in my coat pockets. Just when she reaches for the handle and pulls, I ask, “Oh, Eve, I meant to ask, how’s your ass from that fall?”

She pauses, but doesn’t turn my way, doesn’t acknowledge my question in any way, shape, or form, but I know she heard me. With a chuckle I’m certain she hears, I walk into the bakery, feeling light and free.

Damn, I’ve missed that woman.

I’m still smiling, even after an hour into my shift at the hospital. I feel much more comfortable today, my third day of work, and am getting to know the other staff members easily. Like Dr. Guynn, a fifty-five-year-old divorcee, who’s the king of dad jokes. He can pull them out at the perfect time, even finding ways to infuse a bit of lightheartedness into serious situations to put the patient at ease. Deadra and Vivian have been nurses here since I was a kid. In fact, I’m pretty sure Deadra is the one who helped keep me calm when I fell off my bike and broke my arm. She looks very familiar. And Myra works at the front counter, keeping us all in line and on task.

“John, we have a six-year-old male Caucasian with difficulty breathing in exam room two. Can you get him started while I finish with the patient in room four?” Vivian asks.

“Absolutely,” I say, already moving toward room two.

The moment I step inside, I find a young boy with red cheeks clinging to his mom. “Hello there, my name is John Mitchell. I’m a paramedic here,” I say, having a seat on the rolling stool so I’m closer to the patient’s level. “Looks like you’re not feeling well, Champ.”

“His fever is one oh four, and I just can’t get it down. And I’ve noticed he’s having difficulty breathing now,” the frazzled mom informs me.

“All right,” I reply, firing up the portable computer in the room. “How about you hop up here, Champ, and we’ll take a look at you.”

The little boy is hesitant and doesn’t immediately release his hold on his mom.

“Do you like cars and trucks?” I ask, moving toward the top cabinet on the far right. Inside, we keep a small supply of toys to keep a child busy during treatment, including a few Matchbox vehicles. “What do you think of these?” I ask, pulling the basket from the shelf.

His tired, dilated eyes light up as he nods. With Mom’s help, we get him situated in the bed, and I hand over the toys.

“What’s his name and date of birth?” I ask, making sure it matches what I have on the computer screen.

“Noah Whitman,” she replies, her voice shaky as she adds his date of birth.

“How long has Noah had this fever?” I ask, using the touchless thermometer to get a reading.

“This high, since this morning, but he’s been battling a low-grade fever for three days. Today, around ten, it spiked.”

“What was the highest it’s been?” I ask, inputting his current temp into the chart.

“The one oh four. That’s when I packed him up and brought him here. I can’t get him into his pediatrician until later this afternoon,” she informs me.

“Smart move,” I tell her. “Hey, Noah, can I slide this on your finger for a minute?”

He nods, allowing me to place the pulse oximeter on his small finger.

“When was the last dose of something for the fever?”

“An hour ago. It was Motrin.”

“Okay, I’m going to confer with the ER doc, and we’ll probably give him a little Tylenol to see if we can’t get that fever down. We’ll also order a chest X-ray.” Noah barks a hard cough, followed by wheezing. I remove a child’s mask from the plastic wrapping and hook it up to the oxygen system. “Hey, Champ. I’m going to have to place this on your face, okay? It’s got cool, clean air in it and it’ll help you breathe easier. You can keep playing with the cars while I get it in place. Sound good?”

Noah’s glassy eyes find mine once more as he nods. He holds still while I wrap the elastic band around his head and adjust the mask to fit his small face. “Perfect. Do you feel that cool air?”

He nods again, rolling a car around on his leg.

“Good. Now, this thing is going to give your arm a hug. It might feel kinda tight for a few seconds, but then it’s going to slowly start to relax. So just think of all those times your mom gives you tight squeezes. This is just like that but for your arm.”

He watches me as I get the blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm. “Do you want to push the button?” I offer, pointing to the one on the machine to start the reading.

Anxious and with the first smile I’ve seen since he arrived, he presses exactly where I tell him to.

“Great job. Now, hold real still while it gives you a hug.” I place my stethoscope below the cuff and watch the screen as I count in my head.

When it’s all done, I wrap my stethoscope around my neck and enter the reading into the computer. “All right. Mom, we’re going to get a breathing treatment in him right away. It’ll be a combination of steroids, including albuterol, which help open the tubes in the lungs, making it easier to breathe. We’ll also start an IV so we can begin pushing fluids. He’s probably dehydrated thanks to the fever, so getting some liquids in him will help tremendously.”

“Thank you so much, John,” she replies, her eyes a bit teary as she grins at her boy. He coughs roughly but continues to play with the cars and trucks in his lap.

“Be back in a few minutes.”

I step out into the hall and grab Dr. Guynn. He agrees and orders the chest X-ray, stat, and the breathing treatment, promising to stop by the room in a few minutes to talk to the mom.

“Hey, Deadra, wanna help do an IV?”

“You know it,” she states with a smile. Deadra is the IV queen. When we have any sort of difficult stick, it’s always Deadra who can get it.

“I would do it, but I think little Noah is going to need some distraction.” I go on to tell her my plan, which results in another big smile from the nurse.

“Let’s go,” she says, following me into exam room two.

“Champ, this is my friend, Deadra. She’s going to help me with this next part, okay?”

Noah watches her warily.

I pull a marker from the drawer and have a seat with him on the bed. “I have an idea. While Miss Dea puts an IV in your arm, I’m going to help you build a track for your cars. What do you think?”

His eyes light up again, his excitement triggering another coughing fit. Once that settles down, I continue, “Miss Dea is going to give your arm some love. This cool little line is going to stick out of you and this hose will give you some medicine to help you feel better. You won’t feel a thing though, because she’s going to rub this special cream on your arm first.”

The biggest brown eyes stare up at me. “Promise?” he asks through his mask.

“I promise. While she does that, we’re going to build the track for your cars. I know we’re not supposed to draw or write on anything but paper, but sometimes, when an adult says you can, exceptions are made. Are you ready?”

When he nods, I glance over at his mom, who’s wiping tears from her eyes. I pray they’re good ones, and she’s not upset with me for teaching her son to draw on the bedding. But dammit, sometimes exceptions DO have to be made, and this is one of those times.

I help Deadra get ready, prepping Noah’s arm for his IV. She already has the smallest needle possible and after numbing the skin, waits a few seconds to make sure it’s taken effect. When she indicates she’s ready, I move his arm so it’s off to the side and start to draw on his white blanket.

“Is this an oval track or more of a street race with lots of turns?”

“Turns,” he says, smiling as I start to draw on the material. He doesn’t even notice as his IV is put in, thanks to his attention riveted to his track.

It takes several minutes to draw, and when it’s finally done, he looks over at his other arm. “See that? It’s an IV. It’s putting special fluids into your body to help you feel better. Dea taped it down so it doesn’t go anywhere. You can move your arm, just be careful not to pull on it, all right, Champ?”

He nods, taking one of the cars and starting to drive it on the track on his blanket.

“Well done, John.”

I glance up and find Dr. Guynn standing next to Deadra, a warm smile on both of their faces. “Thank you, Doctor. I hope you don’t mind we had a blanket casualty,” I state, not really caring that I defaced hospital property. I’d do it again if it helped distract a young patient.

“I think we can overlook the blanket,” he says with a chuckle before turning his attention to the mom. “I’m Dr. Guynn. We’ve ordered a chest X-ray for Noah, which should be any minute now, and we’re going to start a breathing treatment. If they come to get him for his X-ray before it’s done, we’ll finish it when he gets back.” Dr. Guynn leans over Noah, informs him of what he’s doing, and listens to his lungs. “We’ll wait for the imaging results to confirm, but I’m leaning toward pneumonia. I’ll confer with his pediatrician, but chances are we’ll keep Noah a night or two, until we get the fever down and the wheezing under control.”

Noah’s mom nods in understanding. “Thank you so much.”

“John, let’s start the breathing treatment, and we can finish it once he’s back from imaging.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply to the physician before he exits the room to see his next patient.

Before I can do anything, Deadra shows up with a blue choo-choo train shaped breathing machine and two vials of medicine. I prep the machine, using a new mask and hose, and dump the contents of both vials into the small base. “All right, Champ, we’re going to switch your mask for a few minutes, okay? This train is going to make lots of smoke. I want you to take deep breaths while you play with your cars.”

He nods in understanding.

“The train lights are going to flash too, just like they do at a crossing, and when the treatment is all done, a train horn will sound. Pretty cool, right?”

I start the treatment, and about five minutes into it, the imaging tech arrives to take Noah for his X-ray. After pausing the machine and detaching the cords that need it, I replace his oxygen mask on his face and prepare to wheel him down the hall. His mom falls into place beside him, taking his little hand.

“I’ll be right here when you get done, Champ, okay?”

His eyes widen and he starts to panic. Noah reaches for me, clearly not happy I’m not making the trip with him.

“Go.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Dr. Guynn standing there. With a nod of my own, I fall in line beside Noah’s bed, as we wheel him down to imaging. “Now, when you get your X-ray, we’ll have to leave your cars outside the room, but it’s okay, because your mom can watch them for us. Sound good?”

He gives me a thumbs-up between coughs, and we take him into the X-ray room. The tech gets everything prepped, while the radiologist is on standby to read the results. I slip the apron on to protect myself from the radiation.

“Ready, Champ?” I ask.

“Hold still for a few seconds,” the technician says before rounding the corner and taking the image. We do this two more times, making sure to get the best view possible, considering the six-year-old is starting to get squirmy.

“All done.”

The next hour is a blur as we return to the ER. The radiologist has a phone conference with the ER attending physician and Noah’s pediatrician, and they all agree to admit the boy for twenty-four hours to treat his bacterial pneumonia. It’s affecting both left and right lower lobes, and partnered with the high fever and the dehydration, they want to keep him for observation and to help get everything under control.

“You come?” he asks, when it’s time to take him to his room on the pediatric floor.

“Sorry, Champ, but I have to stay here and help other sick people. You have the very best doctors and nurses up there, and your mom is going to be with you the whole time.”

Noah reaches for me and wraps his small body around my arm.

“How about I come see you in a few hours when I get off work?” I ask, earning an eager nod.

“All right. You go rest. I bet they’ll have all the good cartoon channels on the TV in your room.”

He holds up the single car I let him pick to hang on to for the duration of his stay, as well as the blanket we drew on. His face is still covered with an oxygen mask as he holds up his hand to wave goodbye.

I squeeze his leg. “Feel better soon, Champ.”

Then, before I can prepare for it, arms are thrown around my waist. “Thank you so much, John.” Noah’s mom, who I recently found out is named Gretchen, looks up at me with tear-filled brown eyes and sniffles. “You brought him so much comfort and relief.”

A lump forms in my own throat. “I’m glad. If it’s all right with you, I’ll stop by his room after I get off work and check on him.”

She gives me a soft grin. “Please do. I think you’ve made a friend for life.”

My heart is happy as I nod.

I wave goodbye to Noah as he’s wheeled away, and I take a deep breath. This is what it’s all about. No, being in the medical field isn’t always glorious. It’s often dirty, scary, and stressful, not to mention heartbreaking and isolating. But there is plenty of good too. Like today. Helping Noah and his mom through his medical ordeal is what it’s all about. Times like this is what calls me to service.

I want to help everyone I can.

Heading to the next exam room, it hits me like a ton of bricks. All I want to do is go home and tell Eve about my day. No, I can’t tell her everything because of privacy laws, but I want to tell her about the brave young boy who made an impact on my life today.

A little guy I’ll never forget.