It was the next day, and I was experiencing a fair degree of mental anguish.
I almost wished Mia hadn't said anything about Natalie's break-room gossip.
Every time any staff came into the room -- a nurse to check how my blood pressure was responding to the medication I was on, someone to change out the bed linens, an orderly with my evening meal -- I
wondered
.
I studied them, looking for some smirk, some double entendre in what they said. Anything to indicate they might've heard Natalie, holding court, telling a story about a patient who was
such
a quick cummer.
The worst part, of course, was that it was
true
. I couldn't even tell people she was lying. My lips set in a thin, chagrined line and I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling stressed.
"Everything okay, big fella? You look a little grim." It was Denise, bustling about the room as she did every morning on her rounds, making sure supplies were in order, well stocked.
Ordinarily, I found the familiar routine comforting. Her sarcastic, friendly presence was a good part of the day.
In this moment, I was just wondering how much
she'd
overheard from Natalie. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.
But I liked Denise and I tried to put a brave face on it. "Uh, yeah. Just...contemplating my own mortality, I guess."
She snorted. "Hah. Strapping young guy like you? You can't let a little stabbing get you down. I'm forty-five. You have plenty of time to contemplate your own mortality when you wake up with chronic lower back pain every morning, to texts from your deadbeat ex-husband who was
supposed
to have bought the right school supplies for the kids, but he didn't, so they got written up and somehow it's
my
fault..."
She continued muttering in that vein for a while as she moved about the room.
In that moment, I was incredibly grateful for Denise.
This melodrama with Natalie, my stamina -- while important to
me
-- wasn't the focus of
everyone
else's attention. People had kids, families, lives; Denise just
worked
here. It was reassuring. I smiled at her. "Aw, you don't look a day over thirty, Denise."
She shook her head. "You're a terrible liar. I'm not senile yet; I remember what I looked like at thirty, mister. I
also
remember what it was like to live without back pain, without a shitty ex-husband, and without a custody agreement. Forty-five wears a little different."
I gave her a once over with my eyes as she turned away to pull something out of a cabinet; she was so businesslike that I hadn't really
looked
at her. She was short, a bit thicker. I hadn't ever seen her out of her nursing scrubs, but her generous hips and a full bust filled them out. It was easy to imagine how she'd been a hottie when she was younger. Hell, she was
still
hot, I thought, my gaze lingering on the curve of her ass as she turned away.
I was warming up to the conversation, feeling generous. And her sense of humor was infectious. I laughed, and put on my best shit-eating grin. "Well, I'm sorry, without photograph evidence to the contrary, I'm going to have to disagree: you look thirty. If you've got some photo proof from when you were younger -- full body shots would be best to really assess, you know, maybe something from a beach vacation? -- I'd be happy to look at them and offer a more considered estimate on how much older you look now."
She rolled her eyes at me, a slight smile on her face.
"The back pain and possible senility I can't help you with, though..." I paused, thoughtfully, then raised a finger as if having a flash of inspiration. "Maybe you should see a competent nurse?"
Now, she laughed. "You're an incontrovertible flirt, too. The worst kind of patient. But I already knew that."
"A flirt?
Me
?" I put mock outrage into my voice.
"Don't think I haven't noticed all the flirting you do, mister! First the energy between you and Natalie,
then
that waitress from the bar who was all tears when she walked in, and big, satisfied smiles when she left...and that med student hussy Dr. Carlson had in here was mooning over you from the moment she walked in!" Her tone was also outraged.
I laughed again. "...
Hussy
? You're talking about Mia? Okay,
now
I believe you're 45. The last person I heard say that word was my grandmother. She'd be
107
next month if she were still alive. And Mia seemed nice!"
I tried not to load the last word with any special meaning.
Mia had been
very
nice.
Denise was still smiling, shaking her head. "Just don't let all this female attention pump up your ego, is what I'm saying. They're already telling tall tales about you in the breakroom."
I froze. "
Oh
...uh...like...what?" I tried to keep my voice neutral.
She shrugged dismissively. "Oh, it's just breakroom chit-chat, you know. Health-care's stressful, so sometimes people just tell stories about patients, and they always embellish..."
"C'mon, Denise. You can tell me," I cajoled. Now that I knew Denise had heard it,
I had to know what they were saying.
She waved me off. "It's just nurses talking shit with each other, James, the specifics aren't..."
I cut in. "
Please
? Indulge your favorite stabbing victim in some breakroom gossip? I'm bed-ridden. The most exciting thing that has happened to me was Mrs. Christie down the hall commandeering a wheelchair and mounting that escape attempt, and I only got to see her for a moment before she got apprehended."
Denise laughed, shaking her head. "No, no. It's just silly stuff anyway. Natalie and Mia trying to one up each other with tall tales about the hunky bouncer guy in 328."
I was disappointed, but could tell I wasn't going to get her to tell me. It was more or less what I had expected, after the conversation with Mia, but hearing it confirmed still embarrassed me.
At least Denise seemed to clearly think they were just flat-out lying.
"...Haha, yeah, I get it." I watched her bustle about, wishing she'd shared the details, but feeling a sense of relieved camaraderie towards her. It felt like she was on my team.
Which prompted another thought: increasingly, it felt to me like there
might
be something medically wrong. Maybe I could ask her about it.
"Denise, uh...I wanted to raise that I'm feeling a little...um, sensitivity...near some of the lower abdominal wounds..."
Denise gave me a sharp look. "You know, I saw that Mia added a note about that to your file. What..."
But she was interrupted by a knock on the open door, and someone else coming in. Someone wearing lilac scrubs.
"Good morning, Denise. Morning, James," Natalie said, cheerily. "Here to check those bandages. Get stabbed again last night, or have you kept yourself out of trouble?"
I didn't say anything -- I felt a little like I'd been caught red-handed. I didn't want to talk about this in front of Natalie.
Denise glanced at Natalie, glanced back at me. She closed her mouth, clearly picking up that this was a conversation for another time. "Well, I'll leave you two to it, then. But don't give my patient any guff, Natalie. He's convalescing nicely!"
Denise bustled out.
"Oh, you know not to worry about that with me, Denise. I've got such a
gentle
touch." Natalie said it softly,
after
