No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 9 free porn video

No more Doctor nice Guy Part 9 8 months later "You don't look nervous," Kevin appraises me in response to my indication of my emotional state. I'm in my work scrubs and just about to leave home for night shift. My first night shift where I'm the nurse in charge. "Well you know what they say about appearance and subterfuge." I give a slightly obtuse answer. He furrows his brow at me. "Looks can be deceiving!" I spell it out. Now he just rolls his eyes. "It's an understandable reaction I suppose; but you know you're ready." He's trying hard to inflate my tyres but I'm proving resistant. "I guess," I reflect. "But you know it's times like this I wish there was still a bit of Alex Turner left in me." It's merely musing really. "Well I don't." He's adamant. "Yeah I suppose." I probably didn't really want that. "But I could sure use his arrogant confidence right now." "I'd take competence over false confidence any day." "Says my number one fan." I smile. "Who doesn't even know whether I'm a good nurse or not." "Of course I do. Marty tells me all about how Kristi raves on regarding you." His enthusiasm is encouraging in itself. "My other fan." My reciprocation is not quite as effusive. "She has to say nice things. I'm her prot?g?e." "Even so. You know you've got this," he emphasizes. He has such faith in me; how can I possibly negate that. "I hate nights. I hardly ever see you. And you'll be gone by the time I'm home," I change the subject. "Well we have the weekend." "Abridged. I work Friday night remember." "Well let's go out for breakfast Saturday morning when you get home." "I'm not even sure I can do that. Kristi stuff." It sounds like I'm naysaying everything. It's not my intent. "What is it this time?" With a hint of frustration perhaps. "Another fitting. But then... you know... General bride last minute things." "She sounds like a total Bridezilla." It's not all facetious. "She's not!" A leap to her defense comes naturally. "She's just a bride. We all go a bit nuts when it gets close." "And how would you know?" he accuses, but not aggressively. "Instinct!" I retort. "I was your bride once. Sort of. Even if just in Mr Black's evil mind." "Such a convincing argument then," he laughs. "Sometimes you still sound like a lawyer..." I retaliate. "As distinct from a factory worker." He's glib. "Factory foreman," I correct him. "Not a big difference when you're the one with the exciting job." "I spend a lot of my day cleaning up other people's shit; and I mean that literally; and the excitement it brings is not always the excitement you want." "Even so. It's less boring than mine. And I am bored without you. I'll be glad when this wedding is over so I get my wife back." The intent of the implication is actually sweet. "Like you won't relish the opportunity on Saturday; to nick off to the football with Marty and drink beer with your mates," I predict, undoubtedly correctly, what he'll be doing whilst we're getting Kristi's dress just right!" "Think of it as his wedding planning..." Kevin laughs. "You men and your stupid rituals!" I mock. "Anyway it's only another fortnight to the big day; and then I'm all yours again." "And in the mean time nothing but night duty for you." He sighs. "Well I'm not letting Kristi do any this close to the wedding. Her circadian rhythm will be screwed and we DO NOT want a baggy eyed bride!" "You women and your stupid rituals!" He uses my words back against me. "Touch?," I concede. "We'll just have to agree we have differing priorities." He laughs and I choose that moment to say my goodbye with a quick peck on the lips, then flee into the night. **** "All set then?" Kristi asked after handing over. "Yup," I lie. "First night shift in charge. You must be excited." "That's one word for it." Dry sarcasm seems apt at this time. "You'll be fine. I've trained you in my own image." "That sounds a little conceited." I lighten my mood slightly. "Well you're 'Crit care' certified and one of our most experienced nurses. So it has to be you." "And I haven't even been here a year. That's a grim state of affairs." I feel like I've been promoted through the ranks way too quickly. "Don't be such a cynic." "I just wish I was on with...." Better was the word I wanted to say. "More experienced Doctors." The Doctor in charge overnight was not strong, and English was not his native tongue. "Javed? He'll be okay. At least he listens. And some of the residents are reasonable. Stanley makes a good 2IC." "Speaking of someone who doesn't listen...." I make my feelings known. "Oh yeah. I forgot you two don't get along." "It'll be fine. I can handle him." I leave that hanging in the air for a moment. "You still okay for Saturday?" Kristi moves us along. "You might be tired after 3 night shifts." "Just give me caffeine and sugar. And wind me up. I'll be good to go." "Well that is true. You certainly are my most enthusiastic bridesmaid, even if you're all 'I can't remember' about your own wedding." "It's not about me." I say by way of an excuse. "It's all about you doing you. So we've done it your way. Without me doing the annoying 'well when I got married' spiel." "Well you've been very helpful all the same. Thanks to your expertise. You're my star bridesmaid," she reasserts. "You've certainly done more than my maid of honor. I should have given you the job." "Well I'm glad you didn't. Because I'd actually be 'matron of honor.' Given I'm an old married woman. And I don't ever want to be called that." "Except tonight that's exactly what you are. Matron!" "What?" "Don't you remember. That's what they used to call the nurse in charge in the olden days..... Matron." "Back in the days of white dresses and little hats you mean?" I ask sardonically. "And a girl's main aim was to marry a Doctor? Don't make me sick!!" "And yet there are still some like that today. Why do you think Julie is dating Stanley?" "Because she's a fucking airhead bimbo with no taste," I hiss. "No Alex, don't hold back. Say what you really think!" she laughs. "Well I much prefer 'Nursing shift coordinator' to Matron, that's for sure." Soon after that Kristi left. And I really was in charge. My role as nursing shift coordinator was as much administrative as clinical. The Doctors on overnight with me would see and treat their own patients as usual, but that was virtually the extent of their powers, and frankly abilities. In terms of moving patients in and out of cubicles, and up to the wards, and determining cover for breaks, that was all solely me. Failure to meet the KPis was seen as my failing rather than inefficient Doctoring. It was of course beyond my control if I was lumbered with slow or uncertain Doctors, which I felt I kinda was; yet I would bare the brunt of blame. But Kristi had trained and prepared me for this. I knew how to lean on the wards when they were being obstructive with the pull, and to work my nursing team so that the Doctors had all they required handed to them on a plate to aid their decision making and timely disposition process. It was in some ways a mastery in the art of passive aggressivity. It would be fair to say that was never Alex Turner's style. He tended to be more aggressive aggressive. But it was mine. And you really can catch more flies with honey. ***** The night progressed well. I missed the direct patient contact that being in an overseeing administrative role removed me from. I helped out when I could though. Particularly when my two fellow critical care trained RNs felt overwhelmed by the sickys. Shaan and Dane had done their critical care certificates alongside me so we had quite a bond already; and I knew I could trust them. They had no problem with me being in charge either; they were both younger and seceded to the apparent wisdom that being a few years older gave me. Finally by 4am we had cleared the back log of patients left over from the evening, and the Doctors had caught up enough to see them as they came. I knew first hand that nights didn't always go like this, but a mid week night gave you the best chance for this more favourable scenario. With this state of apparent calm I felt confident enough to leave Shaan holding the fort whilst I took the liberty of my first break for the night. My own insecurities rather than any lack of faith in her made me want to limit it to no more than 15 minutes, and the tea room was empty and unnervingly quiet at that time of the morning. I sat there with my Nescafe instant, offended by it but grateful for it, and with naught else really to do, I felt the pull of self reflective introspection. It was approaching 9 months now since this became my life, and I knew in a lot of ways I had turned towards the skid rather than to try and wrestle the steering wheel against it; yet it felt like the right choice. Mr Black's plan for my future, as part of the deal he made with Kevin that night, was for me to become both Kevin's lover and his loving wife. And it all happened so quickly too. I began developing feelings for Kevin in no time at all. So much so that, not even two weeks after my transformation, I was already looking at him with gaga eyes; and offering myself up freely by the time we had our first romantic weekend away. Of course it wasn't real. As Alex Turner, world wise psychiatrist, I knew that love wasn't anything substantive to begin with. Just a chemical construct. A mix of neurotransmitters and euphoriants. Sure, young idealistic Alex Turner was a sucker for love back in his day. As much as the next sap probably. But after he let his colleague break his heart he realized the folly of it all. For a start, two psychiatrists should never date. Instead of being hyper intuitive about matters of the heart and head it degenerates into a battle of wills and mind games. Maybe it was more specific than that. One should never date a female psychiatrist, no matter who you were. For, quite simply, they will fuck you up. But that was an irrelevant aside. All the more so now. But knowing how Alex Turner felt about love; and furthermore knowing my own feelings were a created fiction rather than a truth; did not dampen the depth of them. Artificial or not, the palpitations of anticipation I felt awaiting my husband's arrival home from work every day, was an addictive and joyous emotion. Being a woman in love was a wonderful feeling. That could not be refuted. So why let rationality ruin it? Of course I had to live with the knowledge and fear that it may not be entirely mutual. My curse was to love Kevin and be devoted to him. Attending to his every emotional and physical need. Kevin's curse was to seek means to satisfy his insatiable lust. I gave him a risk free and trouble free means to that end. But I was not the only avenue of option available to him. He was not beholden to me as I was him and he could well tire of me. And were he to move on I doubt my curse would be lifted. In fact I was certain it wouldn't. Mr Black was pretty clear he was done with me and should Kevin leave me I would be trapped forever in love with a man who no longer wanted me. I would, in all essence, become Miss Havisham. Whether this was a further facet of my curse I could not say but I feared this fate immensely. I tried ever so hard to appease Kevin and entertain him and keep him content. I felt that maybe these efforts prevented me from being true to myself. But really, that notion too was ludicrous. For I was not myself. Not any longer. And the only way I could define the new version of me was by my actions. For now though - he seemed happy. I don't think he was too put out that I was spending so much time helping Kristi prepare her wedding. He still got plenty of me, in all definitions there could be. And I felt his affection. Even though he could never quite reciprocate the words when I told him I loved him. Maybe one day he would. My time in the team room had passed quickly lost in this daydream and it seemed the perfect moment to return to my work. I took the reins back over from Shaan just in time to be startled by the piercing shrill of the ambulance signal radio. Stanley leapt for it in response to its chimes. At least he was eager I suppose. We could all hear the details though, as the paramedics voice echoed out on speaker. In our heads, or maybe at least mine, I expected to hear what they usually announce they are bringing us at this time of morning; a random octogenarian whose failing heart had meant fluid had seeped into his lungs whilst lying prostrate at night, waking him up gurgly and breathless, with what we call Acute pulmonary oedema. But not this time. It was a woman in cardiac arrest. They gave us scant details as they rushed towards us, we could hear the screech of the siren in the background. Their ETA was less than 10 minutes. Once the message was relayed Stanley went to mount the handpiece back on its cradle but I took it from him before he could do so. There was one detail I really had to clarify. "MICA 5. Just seeking confirmation. Say again Patient Age?" "Roger; Blackbrook. Patient age twenty four. That's 2.4." Oh shit! I grab Shaan and Dane. I instruct them to ready Resus bay 1 and assign roles. Dane will help the airway Doctor and Shaan will prepare the required drugs. I relocate two more nurses. One to scribe and one to help Shaan. I gather Stanley and Javed and their residents and instruct them to assign roles, just as I had done with my nursing staff. Javed decides to give himself the airway role and let Stanley lead the arrest. I'm uncertain and a little uncomfortable with this. Not just because as nurse team leader I will be in close proximity to Stanley, but I still did not trust him completely. But it was how things would be. I would just have to make it work. It was by no means conclusive but the primary reason for Cardiac arrest in a young person was drugs. Either recreational or intentional. Asthma was another possible killer, but this was usually foreseen. Rarer still were cardiac anomalies, especially ones the patient had not previously known about. It could have been anything of course. Part of the fear I felt was that it was so unknown. And so uncommon. Since Mr Donald I had been involved in many cardiac arrests in our department, but they were almost exclusively in elderly people. Well certainly beyond 60 at any rate. A young arrest made the ground beneath me seem so uncertain and uneven. I was frankly scared. Still the moment had come. The patient had arrived. My first glance told me many things. The MICA (Mobile Intensive care) paramedics had secured an airway by intubating the patient. In short they had put a breathing tube down her throat and had taken over her breathing for her. They had also attached what we call 'The Lucas' to her chest. This was the automated CPR machine. I hated it. To hold it in place they strap the patient's arms to the side so it looks like the patient is holding it on their own chest. Which is unsettling. It pushes a plunger down on the chest at a set rate, doing the cardiac compressions that Doctors and nurses used to do. It supposedly improves blood flow and what we call tissue perfusion. That means getting oxygen to the vital organs. Particularly the brain. And has the added advantage of freeing up hands for other tasks. But it looks simply gruesome and gets in the way quite a bit. It would have been my preference to remove it and return to manual CPR. At some point the paramedics would require the machine back to get on the road again; I figured it may as well be sooner. But Stanley wanted to keep it on. There was a lot of noise that could potentially descend to chaos as the paramedics attempted to tell their story. I focused on restoring calm amongst my nurses whilst we took the handover. It emerged that this was a witnessed cardiac arrest. An ordinary road crew had been called by her friends due to the girl's increasing drowsiness. Why they were all up in the middle of the night I could not say. And how they could tell drowsiness from sleepiness was yet another mystery. Nonetheless, here we were. There had been no definite witnessed incident of drug ingestion or injection, and nothing found on a brief search by the paramedics, but they were suspicious. The friend who called the ambulance had said she had a background history of depression and anorexia, and thought she might have been on paroxetine, a drug similar to Prozac. So maybe she had overdosed. But the Prozac type drugs are renowned for their safety with regard to the heart; certainly in the usually available quantities; so this seemed unlikely. Soon after their arrival she became unresponsive and her pulse was unrecordable; at which point the paramedics had called for MICA back up and commenced CPR. That was nearly 30 minutes ago now. Things were thus far not boding well. MICA had followed their ALS protocol, vacillating between whether it was a shockable or non shockable rhythm. Quite a crucial distinction in a cardiac arrest situation. Unable to decide they had attempted both. She had several shocks and doses of adrenaline on the way to us. Nothing had worked. It was true, the situation, and her prognosis, was looking extremely grim. Stanley, beside me, indicated under his breath what he thought. "She's fucked!" I say nothing. I don't look at him. I don't want him to be right. But I'm beginning to suspect he is. Half an hour is an eternity in scenarios like this. As the ventilation and cardiac compressions continued, we put her on our trolley and attached her to our monitors rather than the ambulance ones. We did a rhythm check and I quickly ran off a 12 lead ECG through the monitor and handed it to Stanley. "There's still no pulse without CPR." The resident checking for it shouts. "Heart looks rooted!" Stanley announced. "I can't tell if it's ventricular or aberrant." He hands it to Javed. Who studies it for a moment, brow furrowed. "The complexes, they are big." "Big?" Stanley looks confused. "Do you mean wide?" I offer. "Yes. Wide," he corrects himself. "Like wide complex tachycardia?" Stanley clarifies. "Perhaps." Javed is non committal. "Then it's VT until proven otherwise. She's had several shocks and an Amiodarone load. It's refractory. There's nothing we can do." Refractory, in this context meant resistant to treatment. Her heart was not responding to our efforts to reset it. To restart it if you like. VT was short for Ventricular Tachycardia. In this case pulseless VT. Her heart simply wasn't pumping blood on its own. I had a thought. "Dane," I asked of my airway nurse, at the patients head end. "What are her pupils doing?" "Mid size and reactive," he announces, somewhat surprised, after shining a torch in them. I turn to the two arguing Doctors, as if Dane's observation was statement enough. They stop their exchange and stare at me blankly. Clearly it wasn't. "Don't you see? Her brain is still perfusing. It doesn't matter that it's been thirty minutes. She's had a witnessed arrest and good CPR since the outset. We need to put her on cardiac bypass, or even ECMO. We can still save her." Stanley scoffs out loud. "At 5am in the morning. Do you have any idea of the logistics involved with that? And the cost? And how long it would take? You've got to be joking." "She's only 24. I don't think it's a matter of cost. Or inconvenience. I think the right thing to do is to try everything we can. She's dying for God sake." I want to contain my emotion but I can't. I feel my autonomic system cracking. "Not that you'd understand nurse," he patronizes. "But this ECG shows how wrecked her heart is. It's flopping around ineffectively. I'll do a bedside echo if you need proof. But I can tell you what it will show. A heart that's dead in the water. You put her on bypass till what? You find her a new heart? As if. Although perhaps you could giver her yours. It's clearly not attached to a working brain. Tell her what a retard she is Javed." It's quite a vicious burn I guess. But I'm too focused and invested to pay it any heed. I look at Javed though. I don't know if he's going to insult me as well. "Proven otherwise," Javed answers. It's not the answer Stanley expected. And it's certainly not one I understand. "You said VT until proven otherwise. She has proven otherwise. Heart not dead. Just sleeping." "What are you talking about?" "She bulimic perhaps. She's acidotic from arrest. Haitches and Tees." "What the fuck?" Stanley looks at Javed like he's lost his marbles. But I understand. "Hs and Ts," I clarify. A list of causes of a certain type of cardiac arrest. Known as Pulseless Electrical Activity. "Yes," Javed says to me. "This not VT. This is PEA. She hyperkalemic." Of course it all makes sense now. Her blood potassium is too high. As it rises to critical levels, the heart beat on the ECG, the blip blip you see on the television shows, gets wider and wider until the heart beat is effectively just a wavy line, and you are dead. But lower the potassium and things return to normal and the heart starts beating again. "Quick Alex," Javed barks at me with urgency. "She needs Insulin and dextrose, calcium gluconate, and even IV salbutamol." I turn to Shaan but she is already on it. These are all agents that by various mechanisms quickly lower the blood potassium. "Get electrolytes and an urgent blood gas." Javed directs at a resident, who does as instructed, taking blood from the patient. Javed has taken charge and everything he is doing and saying makes perfect sense to me. I feel a rising wave of optimism. We are going to correct her metabolic errors and we are going to save her. My first night in charge won't be marred by the death of a young girl and I won't be forever haunted by her. As we work, determined, frenzied, the ventilator keeps her breathing and the Lucas continues to thump down on her chest. One by one we give the 'antidotes' and run off serial ECGs expecting her cardiac QRS complexes to narrow. Each ECG is held with anticipation as we give more insulin, more calcium, more Ventolin. But there is no change. As the horror of our failure sinks in the resident's phone rings. It's biochem lab on the other end of the line. They have the blood gas results. The resident shouts out the numbers. "pH 7.1," he begins. She is, as predicted and unsurprisingly acidotic. Normal serum pH is 7.4. But this number, 7.1, is very survivable and correctable. It is only when blood pH falls below 6.8 that irreversible damage is done. He reels off more numbers that indicate she is oxygenating her body adequately with our ventilation. And that she is also clearing carbon dioxide. Her blood sugar remains fine in spite of the insulin, as we gave dextrose with it. Finally the potassium. 5.6 The upper limit of normal is 5.5. Yes it is high. But to cause the ECG changes we were seeing we would have expected it to be closer to ten. We were wrong. "Well I guess that's it then." Stanley breaks our defeated silence. "It's not hyperkalaemia and we've tried everything else. There is nothing left to treat. Is there anyone who thinks we shouldn't stop?" He asks it like it's a loaded question. Like there is only one correct answer. And maybe there is. In the final moments in the life of a girl whose name I don't even know but tried so desperately to save I find myself lost in the thoughts of my own past life. Of a man I knew seemingly a lifetime ago...... 2 years earlier. "Are we boring you Doctor Turner?" the man in the expensive suit asks. Clearly he'd noticed me staring vacantly out the window. "I don't see why I have to be here," I begin as a way of excuse. "I've contributed all I can from our perspective. On behalf of the Psychiatry Department I mean. And have been duly chastised. Now that the Emergency Department is getting its' roasting I don't understand why I have to sit here and listen. I have nothing to add." "The whole point, Dr Turner, of an In Depth Case Review, is not to name and shame. Or blame. But to learn from it. And ensure procedures are put in place to prevent these errors from ever being repeated again." "But I have learnt something. We shouldn't have discharged him. He clearly wasn't ready. He still had suicidal thoughts. But my consultant Dr Nandurkar signed off on it. And what happened the next day in ED doesn't have anything to do with me." (And incidentally, I think, your IDCRs are nowhere near as benign as you pretend they are. Try telling the recently fired Dr Nandurkar about how there's no blame. We all know it was this case that had him out the door.) "The events in the ED had everything to do with you. Your name is on the prescription. You prescribed that particular pain killer on which he overdosed." "But you said that if the ED treated the overdose properly he could have survived. So they stuffed up. Not me." "Dr Turner. I am a toxicologist. I know far more about treating overdoses than any other Doctor. And I'm also old enough to remember when this drug was in far more common use. Even then people thought they knew how to treat it. But they didn't really know. No one got it right. And clearly they still don't get it right. And people die. This man died. So I'm going to teach these ED Doctors here today how to recognise it and manage it next time. So they can save the next person that overdoses on it. And not give Amiodarone, which will make things worse. And not give calcium, which will solidify in the line with the antidote when you do finally give it. And it really wouldn't hurt for you to listen. You might learn something. And maybe one day you might actually do some good instead of spending all your efforts in being so adept at saving your own neck. A skill you are already accomplished enough at given you got your boss fired instead of you......." *** "Yes," I proclaim firmly. "I do." "What?" Stanley reels around at me. "I mean I don't think we should stop," I clarify. Even I was confused by my own statement. "Oh for God sake. Get a grip. It's over. Just accept it will you." Stanley wants to hit me I think. "She needs sodium bicarbonate. Right now!" I look at Shaan. She moves to comply. "Oh Fuck! Moore really is short for moron," Stanley hisses with spite. "Read a book did we love? Well because you're clearly not following I'll spell it out. Although it's on the list, bicarbonate is the least effective means of lowering potassium. Save maybe sticking Resonium up her twat. Do you want to try that too? And as you obviously missed the memo. Her potassium is normal anyway. And if your brainstorm is to try and correct her acidosis with bicarb, that's not going to work either. She's not even that acidotic. So stop dicking around and let me call it." "It's not for the bicarb." I turn to Javed. "She needs the sodium." "What are you saying Alex?" Javed asks me quizzically, but gently. "Look at the ECG again. What else could it be?" "You are thinking...." "She's not taking Paroxetine," I state. I try to sound surer than I am. "It's the wrong antidepressant. She's on Doxepin!" I have to be right. It's her only chance. There was silence in the room. I glance around. It was as if everyone thought my statement was as inconsequential as saying, well she's not really blue, more of a dusky grey. But then there is a deep groan of realization, and I look towards the direction it came from. "OH Fucken!" Javed tires to swear. "Quickly Shaan. The sodium bicarbonate." "What the hell is going on?" Stanley is agitated. "This tricyclic overdose. It mimic hyperkalaemia in the later stage, on the electrocardiograph. This is sodium channel blockade. Heart not working. She needs sodium." "Julie." I direct my attention to my float nurse. "Get every sodium bicarb vial from Imprest then ring ICU and CCU for all theirs. Get a PSA to go get them." "What are you doing that for?" Stanley yells, still not following. I answer Stanley. I'm not sure Javed knows this but I want it to look like he does. "We need to keep giving sodium bicarbonate till the QRS complex narrows again, and sometimes that can require a hell of a lot. Isn't that right Javed?" "Yes of course." He takes my feed. As Alex Turner I had prescribed Amitriptyline, another tricyclic antidepressant, to a man because of his chronic pain issues. Tryptanol had pain modifying properties as well as mood stabilizers. But he had overdosed on the lot. ED didn't identify the problem initially, much like us tonight I suppose, but when they did they didn't commit fully. Giving up way too early. He died. It was my fault but because I was the junior Registrar I was able to blame my consultant for advising me incorrectly. He lost his job and I kept mine. Not the first time I'd screwed somebody over. But the night of the curse when I did it to Meg and Kristi would certainly be the last. I suppose I had turned over a new leaf. I was a new woman after all. Not just literally, but I guess figuratively too. In any case I had listened to the toxicologist that day. I had learnt how to treat a tricyclic overdose. And Javed also clearly knew enough to trust me. I just hoped the toxicologist's prophecy would ring true. That I really could use that knowledge to save a life. I worked with a taught knot of tension twirled around my stomach, I could not bear to see her die. We gave one ampoule then another. There was no discernible difference on the monitor. More ampoules and I kept printing off ECG after ECG. I felt my spirit wilting as nothing seemed to happen for the longest time. Javed studied the ECGs closely. It appeared that our attempts had failed until he realized he had to compare the last ECG, with the very first. Finally he proclaimed the QRS had shortened by at least 10 milliseconds. It was working. Minutes ticked by so agonizingly now and it did indeed take a lot of vials but slowly and surely her cardiac complexes returned to normal. Once it had reached 120 milliseconds, the upper limit of normal, it was time to do the ultimate test. I switched off the Lucas, stopping the chest compression; and Javed put one hand on her wrist and the other near her groin. The monitors bleeped a normal happy rhythm, but that meant nothing if her heart could no longer beat effectively. I found myself holding my breath. "Strong femoral. Weak radial," Javed announced. I exhaled. She had a pulse. "Making spontaneous resps," Dane added from the head end. She was breathing and had a heart beat. "Pupils still reacting to light," was his additional notification, and perhaps the most heartening one of all. She was saved. And whilst it may have been folly to be so optimistic, something deep inside me told me she was going to be okay. It would be a rough road for sure. She would need to be sedated for days, getting brain CTs and MRis and seeing what damage was done, if any. But the whole time she was with us, and all the time before, she had always had oxygenated blood circulating, even if it wasn't her heart, but that cumbersome horrid machine, doing it. "Call ICU and let them know we'll be coming up with this young lady," Javed instructed the resident. "Well done everyone," he added. "Well done Javed," I reply. And I feel like I speak for the entire team. ***** At 6:55 am, when Jenna walks through the door, I feel a profound sense of relief. "How was it?" she asks. Generically really. The nursing equivalent of "How are you?" in adult conversation. "Alright," I lie. She's a good enough friend to listen patiently whilst I unload, but I'm not going to do that to her. Not when she's just starting her shift, and is as similarly new to the role as I. No point scaring the shit out of her just for my personal decompression. I have Kristi for that. And my husband. When I finally get to see him. In the meantime I'll take Shaan and Dane out to breakfast, and I'm sure we'll talk plenty about it then. ******* 9 days later Perhaps the only time Hannah, Kristi's Maid of Honour, truly rose to the plate was in the organization, and execution, of the Hen's night. (Bachelorette party.) The cynic in me would say that was because she had such a vested interest. An excuse to party, get wide, perve on nude men, and ultimately pick up one to shag. Still they had been friends since childhood and had a bond I could not, nor did not, want to challenge. I was a far more recent arrival in Kristi's life. Just as I was, I suppose, a recent arrival in my own life. I let Hannah have her head. I did not try to dampen things down or even try and add taste to the tastelessness of it. This was Kristi's thing, and if she was happy with tacky who was I to be either the fun or morality police. It was nice too to take a back seat. I could drink colourful drinks through straws shaped like penises as much as the next girl quite frankly; and let someone else worry about the logistics. It was my first time too, seeing a male strip show. The only time I'd been to strip shows as Alex Turner was at Buck's nights. (Bachelor parties.) He definitely thought himself above such things by and large. By He I guess I really did mean I. It seemed so seedy and not at all erotic. I guess leery, creepy and perverted was my take, if you wanted a verbalization of my strongly held opinion. I'm sure the money was well worth it and the girls were doing it voluntarily, but I found the objectification of it all just too much to digest. Now, as a woman at a male strip show I conceded that I was a shocking hypocrite. I didn't mind that the men were objectified. Nor did I find it seedy at all. It had a much more light hearted celebration type flavor to it. I'm sure it was my newly biased perspective but I felt that whilst men watching women strip was nothing short of sinister, women watching men strip was raucous, mostly innocent, fun. What I wasn't prepared for, and honestly had never thought about, was their erections. Of course they are at their biggest then, and added markedly to the whole sexual allure. I don't know why but I had in my head that when all clothes were gone the boys would expose their flaccid package. It seemed stupid to think that now, seeing them in all their hard upright glory. I wasn't turned on by them. I mean I could appreciate their enormous pecs and chiseled abs and all. But their big penises just looked angry and threatening really. Of course I only had eyes for my husband. And I was quite fond of his penis now. I knew it so intimately. I laughed to think about the girl who was once too frightened to touch it. I was now more than happy to absolutely devour it. But the beauty of it was that it belonged to the man I loved. These bouncing dicks before me were completely unappealing. Although I did fantasise about running my hand across those rock hard six packs. No disrespect to Kevin, but he definitely did not possess one of those. Then again neither had Alex Turner. So frankly I was quite happy with my husband just the way he was, and these male bodies were strictly for admiring from afar. Like modern art I suppose. Intriguing in a grotesque kind of way. I had one fluffy concoction with an umbrella in it but it didn't sit that greatly, so I eased off a bit. Soon enough I realized it was lucky I did and my drinking was probably done for the night. Hannah and Kristi appeared to be engaged in some striptease based drinking game. Not that they were the ones doing the stripping. It seemed to be related to sculling (skolling) one drink for every penis they saw. I guess by show's end we'd seen a lot of cocks because the girls were near paralytic drunk. I was back in mother mode again and spent the rest of the hen's night keeping the girls out of trouble and ensuring their safety. I guess it was the nurse in me, I pondered, as I held Hannah's hair back whilst she chucked up in an all too unsanitary toilet at the strip club. At the end of the night though, even after an extended round trip back to my house to deliver the rest of the bridal party to their doors in one piece, I still beat Kevin home from Marty's Buck's night. He too was wasted. I sighed as I helped him stagger into bed; and sighed again a few hours later when I awoke to hear him retching into the toilet bowl. He didn't have any hair to hold back, but I got up to comfort him anyway. A drunk man vomiting is a pretty pathetic sight by and large, and my husband was no exception. I was glad it was still a week to the wedding. I had actually pushed for a few weeks grace between the bachelor and bachelorette parties and the wedding in case Marty had to do something like grow an eyebrow back, but Hannah was keen for things to be in closer proximity. So I had to settle with warning Kevin, on pain of death, that he was to ensure nothing untoward happened to Marty on his Buck's night. If Kristi had to marry her groom when he had a limb in plaster or a shaved cranium Kevin knew I would kill him! Now though, given that the entirety of the bridal party bar me will only be seven days post that 'I'm never drinking again' declaration that always wears off eventually; on wedding day, maybe a little more restraint will be shown. In fact, perhaps it will be my turn to let loose at the wedding reception and afterwards Kevin and I can have some of our famously fabulous drunk sex. Don't get me wrong. We were pretty good now at sober sex. Better than pretty good really. But there was still something a little extra granted by the absolute disinhibition alcohol gave us. Speaking of which, Kevin was certainly not capable of sex right now, and not for the immediate future. As the months of our lives together passed by, Kevin's need had eased a bit. He could survive longer without his hunger for me becoming insurmountable. I could sleep between 'late-earlys' now without having to fend him off. I was worried at first that he was finding satisfaction elsewhere. He confirmed he was. But it was with his hand. "Who do you think about when you masturbate?" I had challenged him once I found out he was using this method to satiate himself. "You, of course." He smiled. "That's the correct answer," I laughed. "But what's the real one?" "That is the real one." He became a little defensive. "Why? Who do you think about?" "When would I ever have cause, or time to masturbate? You're on top of me almost every day!" It's the truth. His libido is so much higher than mine. I don't have any need or interest in getting off any more than I already am. "Alright, fine! But what about before? You know. When you were him?" He meant Alex Turner of course. "Why do you want to know that?" I was surprised and confused. "I just wanted to know what your taste was like. In women." "Okay. But you can't mock me!" I'm serious. "Well I wouldn't be mocking you. I'd be mocking him." "I guess. And he probably deserves it I suppose. Especially when you hear my list." Am I really going to tell him, I thought? I must have rocks in my head. "Well now I'm intrigued." He said it like he actually was. At which point I began my potentially intimate revelations. "Emilia Clarke. But not 'Game of Thrones' Emilia Clarke. 'Me before you' Emilia Clarke. And Lily James. More 'Baby Driver' than 'Cinderella' Lily James; but they're pretty much the same. And finally maybe Lily Collins. 'Love Rosie' style. Although that always seemed a bit disrespectful to Phil. It's a bit like fancying Liv Tyler." Kevin looked at me with a wicked grin. "What?" I cringe. "He was so dimensionless; Alex Turner. And predictable. Sweet demure girls. Or portrayals of them. Women he felt he could easily control. And then he became one himself." "Are you calling me sweet and demure?" I feel myself getting feisty. "Yes. And you do look a little bit like Lily James." I flush at the complement but rage at the insult. "Well this demure girl wants you to go Fuck yourself!" Then, with afterthought, I add. "Which apparently you're already doing!!" He laughed at me and I stomped off. Although I still did wonder from time to time, who really was in Kevin's mental spank bank. Back in the real world, once he had emptied his stomach contents, I gave him a quick wash up and assisted him back to bed. I popped a dissolvable Zofran (A strong anti-nausea drug) on his tongue and hoped it would tide him over. It was now dawn, and our impending Sunday was pretty much ruined. I may as well just clamber in bed beside him, and have a lazy lie in. This seemed like a sound idea, and I certainly put it in practice for a couple of hours. Drifting off to sleep in spite of Kevin's drunken apneic snores. I woke suddenly though. With my own overwhelming urge to vomit. I made it to the loo in time but I too found myself projectiling into the toilet. The difference being of course, my husband slept through it. 'How can this be?' I asked myself. 'I only had one drink.' And I hadn't let it out of my sight for that matter, so this wasn't a spiking gone wrong. It could be food poisoning. But I hadn't really eaten much last night. And I felt a bit better post the vomit. It wasn't like my bowels were about to explode or anything. I thought about the things that people present to my Emergency Department with. Conditions that present with sudden unexplained vomiting. I think of some. Or one. And then I feel a sudden cold sweat break out on me. And I find myself doing the mental mathematics that women have done since the beginning of time. I have been so busy with the wedding prep. And all the night duty had upset my normal physiological patterns. Surely that alone could explain what I had missed. And maybe explain the vomiting too. I'm just extremely run down. But I wasn't really convincing myself. Once the nausea was passed I threw some clothes on, and left my husband sleeping soundly. I needed to find a chemist (pharmacy) open on a Sunday. Although a supermarket would probably do. I wasn't sure but I imagined they stocked what I needed right now. It's just for my own piece of mind. I attempted to reassure myself. But the person I was trying to appease still just didn't seem to be buying it. I had an awful sickening feeling, as I climbed in my car, I would very soon have to face some difficult adult decisions. Well not so much me I suppose, as we. For myself and Kevin, it seemed suspiciously like our future was about to change. TBC