After that flurry of activity, the floor gradually transitioned to nighttime mode. Everything became calmer and quieter. A lot of the staff and the visitors went home for the night, but the nurses kept going.
My usual schedule was ten-hour shifts four days a week, from four p.m. to two a.m. As much as I enjoyed the quick pace and bustle that came with the job, I also liked the sense of peace that usually settled in after dark.
Once everything slowed down, I told my supervisor I was taking my dinner break and retrieved something from my locker. Then I knocked on the open door to room two-twelve and called, “Hey, Oz. Want some company?”
The freckle-faced ten-year-old had been here for a week. He had a broken arm and two broken legs from a car accident. Meanwhile, his mom—who was his only living relative—was downstairs in intensive care, fighting for her life.
He’d been staring listlessly at the TV screen, but when he saw me his face lit up. “You know I do.” As he turned off the TV with the remote, he asked, “Did you bring it?”
I produced the book I’d been hiding behind my back with a flourish. It was the third volume in Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series, since we’d finished the second one the night before. I’d actually bought the series for him as a hard cover box set, but I was presenting them one-by-one to make the excitement last longer.
After I handed him the book, I carefully helped him sit up by using the bed’s remote control and rearranging the pillows. When he winced, I did too and whispered, “Sorry.”
As he ran his one good hand over the colorful dust jacket and read the copy on the back, I did a quick check of the IV that was administering a steady drip of pain killers into his skinny arm. Then I moved the only chair in the room closer to his bedside, and he smiled at me and said, “Before I forget, happy birthday.”
“Thanks. How’d you know that was today?”
“One of the other nurses mentioned it.” He was always interested in what was happening with the staff, which I attributed to the total boredom that had to come with being stuck in a hospital bed day after day. “How old are you?”
He handed me the book, and I sat down and crossed my ankle over my knee. “Thirty-three. Does that sound ancient to you?”
He brushed his auburn hair out of his eyes as he said, “Pretty much.”
I chuckled at that and nodded. “Thought so.”
“We almost have the same birthday. Mine’s next Wednesday.”
“Yeah, I noticed that in your chart. In fact, I might have already gotten you a present.” Since he’d been enjoying this series so much, I had another box set by the same author gift wrapped and ready to go. I really hoped his mom regained consciousness and they’d be home by then, but it wasn’t looking good at the moment.
His green eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yup. I want to throw you a party, too. Would you like that?”
Oscar’s gaze dropped to his pale blue blanket. “I don’t really have anyone to invite.”
“Sure you do! All of us nurses want to celebrate with you. I also thought it’d be fun to go around and give party favors to all the kids on this floor, so they can be a part of your birthday celebration, too.”
“Sounds good.” He chewed his lower lip for a moment, and then he asked, “Do you think my mom will be awake by then, so she can come to the party?”
I stuck a big smile on my face and said, “I sure hope so.” Fortunately, he let it go at that. I didn’t want to offer false promises, but I didn’t want to upset him, either. To change the subject, I held up the book and asked, “Ready to start on our next adventure?”
Oscar hesitated before saying, “I’ve been thinking, and it’s not really fair that you’re using up all your dinner breaks to read to me. Plus, I’m too old for bedtime stories.” He was a smart kid who had a tendency to overthink things.
“There’s literally nothing I’d rather do on my dinner break. In fact, I look forward to this all day.”
“You do?” He looked me in the eye, probably to see if I was telling the truth, and I nodded.
He’d been embarrassed when he first asked me to read to him, but I’d been happy to do it. It was more than a good distraction for him. He also just really needed someone to spend time with him and show him they cared. That poor kid had to be feeling so alone.
I opened the book and began reading out loud, but we only got through three pages before Koenig breezed into the room. Worry flared in Oscar’s eyes, but Koenig ignored the kid, read the chart, and wrote something on it. Then the doctor glanced at me and frowned. “I’m on my dinner break,” I explained, to head off a lecture about sitting around on the job.