Night Nursing
So far the morning rounds had been depressingly uneventful as the doctor led me through several geriatric patients with no good prognosis. Strokes or terminal cancer, they would have been better off home with their loved ones. But there was a new admission in 317, an 18-year-old male named Tim who had been in a bad car accident. His upper torso was swathed in bandages, and both arms and one leg were in casts. The doctor droned on about crushed ribs and compound fractures, but I concentrated on those two taut thighs protruding from his hospital gown, and wondered what type of equipment would be found at their juncture. The doctor rattled off instructions about treatment, medication, etc. But I knew what would make Tim feel better – a sponge bath and an alcohol rub. …