We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,7
The woman was wheezing. Badly. Combined with the coughing and the known irritants she’d been exposed to, he wasn’t about to take any chances. They needed everyone able bodied. Every nurse was worth their weight in gold tonight. More.
Rafe had one of the injured nurses still capable of helping out trying to get calls to every part-timer or recent retired nurse they could think of. Anyone. Every hospital was calling in reinforcements.
“Where?”
“To an exam room.” He led the way down the hall toward pediatrics. He’d be able to find what he needed there.
He passed a CNA who didn’t seem to have enough to do either and ordered her to grab him a spirometer. “How bad is the asthma usually?”
The answer finally came. “Managed with daily medication, mostly.” He had a feeling she never wanted to admit to any weaknesses.
“And now?”
“I don’t exactly have my bag with me. It was somewhere in the lobby when it was hit.”
It would take forever to find that bag, if it hadn’t been picked up by the hell wind and tossed eight miles away. “You couldn’t find any around here?”
“Not without a prescription and taking the time to get one. I’m fine. I’ve missed it before. I have spares of the asthma meds and the epinephrine pen at home. There’s too much work to do right now. I’m needed out there.”
He heard the irritation, but Allen ignored it.
“Not too much that you can’t take care of your own health. What are you on?” He motioned toward the exam table. The room they were using had broken glass on the left side of the room, but he didn’t see any on the exam table. “Sit.”
He stepped to the side, where he could reach her back with his stethoscope easily. He listened for a moment. “You’re wheezing badly enough I heard you around the corner. The dust we were exposed to most likely had irritants in it. I’d bet my next paycheck on that. Irritants that are going to trigger an acute attack sooner rather than later. You’re lucky it hasn’t hit yet. We need to get it stopped before it gets worse.”
“I’m going to be fine. We’re understaffed, even for a regular night in the ER. Let alone when the ER has been destroyed.” The wheeze behind her words undermined her argument. Allen listened to it through his stethoscope.
“Moderate or severe on average?”
“Mild to moderate. Depends on the season. Let me go.”
“You won’t do us a damned bit of good if you stop breathing in the middle of us. All that will do is take valuable time to fix, probably at the worst possible time. You’ve been here for hours, after surviving a tornado. You’re done for the night. Period.” The woman he’d sent to fetch what he wanted finally returned. He held it out to the dark-eyed nurse in front of him. Waiting.
She was going to prove to be stubborn. He knew it. Allen had a feeling stubborn was her strongest trait.
She glared at him. He wasn’t budging. “Use it.”
She glared some more. Allen humored her, for the moment. Then when she showed no signs of backing down, he played his trump card. “You do as I say tonight, or I’ll recommend to Rafe you be placed on medical leave. For a week. Have you barred from the hospital completely. Even as a visitor.”
A bit beyond his ability, but he’d certainly try. He could push, and succeed, but that kind of action would be up to Rafe, HR, and her direct supervisors.
Izzie finally complied—because of who was in room 403 right now. Annie.
The results showed him exactly what he suspected. Stress, exposure, and lack of proper medication had combined to do some damage. Either they stopped it now, or it would worsen.
“Congratulations. You’re off the clock now and will be partaking of some bronchodilators as soon as it can be arranged. If that doesn’t work, you’ll be spending the night here until we get this cleared up.” He held up a hand when she tried to protest. He knew the signs; his sister had suffered chronic but mild asthma until about the age of thirteen or fourteen when they’d finally been able to manage it. “You really think I’m going to back down? You’re more valuable to us healthy and whole than as a wheezing mess. I don’t know how many nurses we’re down now. We’ll need each and every one we can get tomorrow. You’re finished. Give it up. Rest tonight, get back out