When we are outside of room 412, Trudy stops. “This is Mr. Bishop. Sixty-one years old. Metastatic colon cancer. He’s stable, but anxious. Pain levels have been unpredictable.”
I follow her lead as she steps into the room.
“Mr. Bishop.” Trudy smiles brightly. “Good to see you this morning. How are you feeling?”
His wife is sitting in the chair beside him, doing a word search puzzle. I can’t help but smile to myself. My grandma always loved doing those puzzles.
Mr. Bishop clears his throat. “Pain seems to be worse right now, like yesterday.”
Trudy works on adjusting his pillow and straightening his blanket while she checks his numbers. “It’s pretty common for it to be the worst in the morning. Let’s see what we can do to get you more comfortable. First, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
While Trudy does that, I step to the other side, where his wife is. “Do you mind if I check your line?” I ask.
He nods absent-mindedly, shifting his focus to his wife.
I clean the port with a saline wipe and pull the saline flush syringe from my pocket that we grabbed while in the supply closet. After I push the solution through the line and confirm it’s clear, I dispose of the syringe.
“I’m going to get you some more medication to keep you comfortable. Dr. Fisher will be in this morning to go over your labs. You do your best to relax, and we’ll be right back with your meds.”
We exit the room.
Trudy turns to me. “I’m going to go check on another patient of mine. Can you go to the medication room and pull the PRN for 412 and meet me outside of his room?”
“Of course,” I answer.
By the time I’m back, Trudy is finishing up with the patient in 410 and walking out of the room.
She smiles at me. “Perfect timing.”
A man steps out of Mr. Bishop’s room. His eyes are already on the chart in his hand. Tall. Focused. Moving like the hallway belongs to him.
“Morning,” Trudy says easily.
He looks up. His gaze flicks from her to me—brief, unreadable.
“Dr. Fisher,” Trudy adds, gesturing between us, “this is Melissa. She’s starting with us today.”
He gives a short nod. “Okay.”
His eyes drop immediately to the medication in my hands. “Pain med?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Good,” he says. “He’s been escalating since early morning.”
And then he’s gone, already halfway down the hall.
I watch him for a second longer than necessary.
That wasn’t the man I remember.
Or maybe it was, and time had simply softened the edges.
Either way, Trudy is already turning toward the door.
“Ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.”