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I grin. "And when do I get the honor of having it done? I don't think I'd complain." I raise a brow at her. We met about 3 months ago when she was transferred here to finish her residency, but I've yet to meet the little mischief.
"Probably when you're actually not working."
She raises a brow back at me.
I chuckle because it's true; I work a lot, and it's ingrained in me to do so after living in a damp trailer with my mom.
Meg kisses my cheek, saying she'll meet me at lunch in the dining hall before leaving. I pull my brown curly hair up in a messy knot before heading out to do my rounds before the charge nurse notices I'm late. I graduated last year from nursing school after working my butt off. After my father left when I was small, my mother took to drugs, booze, and men while ensuring I knew it was my fault why he left. We ended up downsizing from the house to a trailer, and I was adamant I wouldn't end up like my mother. I graduated high school a year early before heading to college on a scholarship.
Leaving home was the best thing for me; it meant the abuse stopped, although it hasn't stopped her continuous calls for money, which I try not to give into.
I had spent 12 years of my life with my mother verbally and physically abusing me while the men she brought home would leer at me, and after one tried to touch me when I was only six, I ended up locking my door and staying in my room until they were all gone, which sometimes lasted a few days, leaving me hungry and my room smelly because I had to use my trash can as a toilet.
I did try to tell a teacher once when she asked me how I cut my lip. I think I was eight at the time. They called Mom into the school, who then sobbed about how I was broken since my dad had up and left. I was hurting myself for attention even though she was the one who hurt me the night before because I made a little sound closing the door. Since then, I haven't told a soul, especially after I went back the next day with a cast on my hand after mom broke my wrist and the teachers shook their heads at me.
Pathetic, the lot of them.
I head into Mrs. Burns's room and smile at the 58-year-old woman. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail, and her green eyes look at me as she grins, "Finally, come to put me out of my misery."
I snorted, shaking my head. "You had your gallbladder removed, and you are finally being discharged. Why would I put you out of your misery? Unless you mean finally getting you out of here."
She scowls, "No, I mean, come off me because if you discharge me, then it means I'm back to being the cleaner, the cook, the laundress, the person who knows it all, and the person who has to remember where everything is."
I burst out in laughter. "You mean a wife?"
She pouts and nods, and I laugh louder, shaking my head as Meghan walks in. She looks at me funny, then turns to Mrs. Burns and says, "Alright, lovely, you're being discharged in an hour."
Mrs. Burns groans, and I laugh again before stating to a confused Meg,
"She's wondering if we could put her out of her misery, not by discharging her either."
Meghan furrows her brows and asks, "What on earth? She only had her gallbladder removed—nothing life-threatening."
I snort, then laugh even harder as she repeats what she told me.
"Of course, it's life-threatening; just tell my husband you couldn't save me; there was a complication. Come on, do a lady a favor. I've had four blissful days of being waited on hand and foot; I don't want to go back to being a live-in maid and know it all."
Meghan looks at her for three seconds before she loses it, too, while Mrs. Burns scowls. I keep myself upright while Meghan has basically sat on the floor in laughter when Doctor Thomas walks in. His brows shoot high in his hairline.
"Do I want to know?"
We laugh even harder while Mrs. Burns growls out, "They seem to think my predicament is amusing, and I'm telling you, it's not!" She sounds angry, but you can't hide the laughter in her eyes. This is what I love about this woman: she has a sense of humor.
The doctor looks at us with a frown, and I clear my throat and rasp out, "Mrs. Burns would like us to put her out of her misery so she can be relieved of her wifely duties."
He bites his lip and nods, trying to keep his laughter in. "But if we did that, what would happen to your husband? I'm sure he'd be lost in the house to find anything without his better half."
Me and Meghan lock eyes and laugh again, then even harder when Mrs. Burns states, "That is true. Maybe you can put him out of his misery instead."Doctor Thomas loses it this time and laughs, and our patient grins, "I'm going to miss you three."
We grin at her.
"Not as much as we're going to miss you." Doctor Thomas states before he looks at me, then Meghan smiles, "Alright ladies, start her discharge papers, please." We nod, still smiling, and start the process before I return to my next patient.
I love my job!
About two hours later, I discharged three patients, changed two catheters, and drew several patients' blood. I'm finally about to head to one of my favorite patients' rooms, who is, unfortunately, dying of liver failure after his transplant failed. Just before I get to his door, my phone buzzes again, and I sigh. I quickly head into the supply closet and grab my phone, answering it.
"Mom, I'm at work."
