as she exited the room she saw the orderly pull a gurney out of the elevator. At the other end was Dr. Griffin in OR scrubs. It was the first time she’d seen him that day and, taken by surprise, her stomach did a little clutch and jump. Would he still be furious with her?
Focused solely on the task, Dr. Griffin helped get Annabelle into her room. Polly jumped in. “I’ll get this, Dr. Griffin.”
He let her take the end of the gurney but followed her into the room. She’d pulled down the covers on the hospital bed and had already padded the bed with a layer of thin bath blanket, an absorbent pad and had topped both with a draw sheet in preparation for her patient. She checked to make sure the IV was in place and had plenty of fluid left in the IV bag. Annabelle was in a deep dream state, most of her right leg was missing and the stump was bandaged thickly and thoroughly.
“Careful,” Dr. Griffin warned the orderly as he lowered the side rail on the gurney and prepared to transfer the patient to the bed.
Polly rushed to the other side of the bed, got on her knees on the mattress and leaned over to grab the pull-sheet underneath Annabelle toward her. To her surprise, Dr. Griffin came around to her side of the bed and helped out.
“On the count of three,” Polly said, as the orderly prepared to pass the patient over from the gurney while they all tugged her onto the mattress. After she counted, they made a quick and smooth transfer. The patient moaned briefly and her eyes fluttered open, but she quickly went back to sleep.
As the orderly left the room Dr. Griffin gave a rundown of Annabelle’s vital signs, a job the recovery nurse usually did over the phone, giving Polly the impression of how important the operation and follow-up care were to this orthopedic surgeon.
He ran down the list of antibiotics and pain-medication orders as Polly listened and adjusted the pillow under Annabelle’s head. Next she placed the amputated stump on a pillow, checked the dressing for signs of bleeding or drainage, circling a quarter-sized area with her marker and noting the time, then made sure the Jackson-Pratt drain was in place and with proper suction before pulling up the covers.
Dr. Griffin ran his hand lightly over his patient’s forehead, gently removing her OR cap and releasing a blanket of thick and shining brown hair. Such a tender gesture for an angry man.
“I’ll check back later,” he said, giving Annabelle one last, earnest glance before leaving the room. Polly almost expected him to kiss the girl’s forehead from that sincere, loving parent-type look in his eyes.
How could she stay mad at a man like that?
“I’ll take good care of her, Doctor,” she whispered.
He looked over his shoulder and gave an appreciative nod.
Seeing him in his scrubs, OR cap in place, untied mask hanging around his neck, she realized how fit he was, and that his shoulders and arms were thick with muscle. Where he might look stocky in his doctor’s coat, he really wasn’t. He was just big and solid. For a man she suspected to be pushing forty, he was in terrific shape, and she allowed herself a second glance as he walked away.
“Hey, Doc G., you haven’t signed my cast yet!” Charley called out from the next room.
“I’ll sign all three, Charley, my boy,” Dr. Griffin replied in a cheerful manner, changing his direction and somber attitude on a dime.
How could a man who was so great with kids be so lacking in people skills? It just didn’t make sense.
Soon lost in the care of her newly received patient, and also checking periodically on Charley, the afternoon flew by. Before Polly knew it she was giving report to the next shift and preparing to go home. But she couldn’t leave yet. Not before she apologized to Dr. Griffin. She’d promised herself she’d make amends today, and she always kept her promises.
Now that he was back from the OR, she knew where to find him and marched far down the hall toward his office as a new batch of butterflies lined up for duty in her stomach. Refusing to be timid this time, she tapped with firm knuckles on the glass of his office door.
“Come in.”
Mustering every last nerve she owned, she entered far more assuredly than she had the previous evening, noting the irony in seeing a huge jar of colorful balloons on the desk of a generally grumpy man.
“Is everything okay with Annabelle?”
“She’s doing very well, considering.” Polly scratched the nervous tickle above her lip. “I medicated her for pain just before I ended my shift.” She glanced around the room, with requisite diplomas and awards lining the gray-painted walls yet not revealing anything personal about the man, and took a long slow breath. “What I came for. Well, what I mean is I came here to, you know, after last night and how I upset you, I, uh, I just wanted to stop in and...well...”
“Apologize?” He’d changed back into his street clothes and white doctor’s coat. His eyes were tight and unforgiving as they stared at her impatiently. Had she expected anything less?
“Uh, yes.” Why did he make her so annoyingly tongue-tied? “As a matter of fact, I did want to apologize for whatever I did to make you angry last night.” Heat flared on her cheeks. Frustrated by how uncomfortable he made her feel and how he offered nothing to ease her distress by sitting there just staring, she bit back the rest of her thoughts—but you were a jerk about it, and anyone with half a brain could tell I didn’t mean any harm by asking about your family. It’s normal to want to know such things. Sheesh!
Adjusting the neck of her scrub top, along with her attitude, and desperate for him to like her, she continued. “I overstepped the mark, practically forcing you to go out with the rest of us, then I thoughtlessly insisted you open up and tell me about your family.” She held up her hand before he could growl or get angry with her all over again. “Which I understand, as the new girl on the ward, is none of my business. So, yes, I came to apologize. Profusely.”
She sat on the edge of the chair across from his desk before her knees could give out. “And I hope you’ll accept it, because I really want to be a part of this orthopedic team. I want to help you with special patients like Annabelle.” She stopped short of wringing her hands, choosing to lace her fingers and hold tight instead. “I want to help make your job easier by you not having to worry about the level of care your patients receive. I want to be a top-notch nurse, Dr. Griffin. I want to be that for you, sir.” Could she possibly grovel any more?
“Stop it already.” He brushed off her apology with a wave of his hand. “I was needlessly sharp with you last night. I should be the one apologizing.”
“But I started it, sir.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. I accept your apology. But knock off the ‘sir’ baloney and call me what my friends calls me. Johnny.”
Stunned by his instruction, she could hardly get her lips to move. “Johnny?” For such a simple name it sounded breathy and foreign, the way she repeated it. How could she call the head of the orthopedic department Johnny? Wasn’t that the shortened form for young boys named John? It seemed only families would continue to call a grown man Johnny, yet he said his friends called him that. Was he implying she was now a friend?
“Right. Johnny. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” The terse words fell far short of carrying a punch, in fact they rolled off her back. Maybe she’d really gotten through to him.
“Sweet.”
