Nurse Joy Rule 34

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Nurse Joy Rule 34
Comment deleted by user · 6 yr. ago
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I have no memories of my parents. They died soon after I was born. As a child, I was placed into what is referred to as the foster care system in the states. In Canada—we call it the “crown ward” which is basically a child of the state. Here, when a couple request to be “foster parents,” they are known as trial parents. This meant, they are only awarded one child at first and if all goes well, they would receive more.
I wasn’t so lucky. For some reason, the state kept giving me to multiple trial parents with each one failing to give me basic parenting. This happened over and over again. Always left alone. Always abandoned. It took a while, but eventually I realized the only thing all of these people cared about was a paycheck. That’s all I was. Nothing else.
I guess that’s why I always felt this emotional void. Empty, like something was missing. Because of this, I felt numb. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. When I did try dating, I felt nothing. When they kissed me, I felt no joy. Sex, on the rare occasions I let it go that far, turned out to be meaningless. I never felt sad. I never felt happy. Love was just four letters and fear was only something in people’s imagination. It was as if I was watching somebody’s life play out on a television and I was just there as the spectator.
When I entered college, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, if you could even call it a life. My dorm roommate told me she wanted to be a nurse. She spoke about it with such passion that it made me want it as well. Hopefully I could find what I was looking for. Whatever that was.
When I got my nursing degree, I took the first job that was offered to me. One week later, I was working the night shift in the intensive care unit of a cancer hospital. That’s when I meant Sam Blane. Or should I say Sam Blane’s family.
Sam was a sixty-two-year-old male who had been diagnosed with lung cancer a year earlier. He’d undergone a round of chemotherapy and his tests from six months ago had looked promising. At exactly 4:32 am, however, after I'd been on my job for just over a week, Sam Blane was admitted with pneumonia. He was accompanied by an attractive older woman, whom I took to be his wife. The doctor on call examined him, took some tests, and confirmed the worst: his cancer had come out of remission. But until his pneumonia had cleared up, he wouldn't be able to start another round of chemo. As the doctor explained all this to his wife, I got Sam set up in a room and I made sure he was comfortable. Then I went to take my breakfast break.
At 7:32 am, I returned to his room from eating my breakfast and found what must have been his entire family waiting in his room. At his bedside sat his wife. Her gray hair, which had been pulled back in a bun, was coming loose and she hid her teary eyes behind a pair of glasses which rested on the bridge of her nose.
Next to her stood a set of twin girls who looked about my age or maybe a bit younger. Both were dressed flowery dresses, a little too formal for my taste.
And finally, a man, mid-thirties maybe, who bore a striking resemblance to Sam. It took me a second to notice, but it was definitely the chin. He stood on the opposite side of the bed with worry written on his face. I stepped into his room, grabbed the marker and wrote my name down on the dry erase board.
This is something I probably should have done hours ago, but Sam was so out of because of the morphine to ease his pain that I hadn’t bothered.
“How is he?” the wife asked. “Any news from the tests?” There was a hint of a lovely accent that I hadn’t picked up on before and couldn’t place.
I picked up his chart off the rail of his bed and cleared my throat. I scanned the page, gathering my thoughts on how to properly explain the situation. Then I spoke as gently as I could, going over the details of his condition.
The son cut me off. “Why can’t he speak?” his tone almost on the verge of whining.
“He has an infection on his tongue. There’s some swelling. A lot of it actually. Dr. Harden has put him on Vancomycin which is an antibiotic. That should, hopefully, bring down the swelling in a few days. He won’t be able to talk much until then.”
“Will that affect his breathing?” the wife asked.
“No. He’s breathing perfectly fine through the nasal cannula. That's what we call that plastic thing in his nose. It should suffice for now.”
“Is he going to be okay?” one of the girls asked, looking me in my eyes.
That question caught me off guard. There were so many variables that could affect the outcome of this situation. But my training took over and told me that I should never directly answer these types of questions.
I held her gaze. “Dr. Harden is the best doctor in this hospital. If it were my dad? She is who I would want as my doctor,” I said.
The daughter made a weird noise. Then she covered her mouth and began to cry.
As I was about to go into more detail about Sam’s condition, his wife abruptly stood up. She moved toward me. Shifting my gaze to her, I cocked my head curiously, wondering what she was doing. And suddenly, she was hugging me in a tight embrace. My mouth parted. My breath caught in my throat. I was so taken back that I couldn’t move.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered into my ear. Her tears fell on my collar. My heartrate picked up. An emotion swelled in my chest, though I wasn’t sure what it was. I’d never felt like this before. I swallowed.
Nodding sharply, I patted her on the back.
She pulled away from me and ran her hand down my face.
“Thank you,” she said again, this time with a raspy voice. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “My cell number is on here,” she sniffed. “If there are any changes, please, call me immediately.”
One of the daughters leaned down to the bed, buried her face in her father’s chest and just let everything out. She wept so hard, her body shuddered into his.
My eyes widened at what I was witnessing. Throughout my life, I’d never seen this before. This family cared. They cared so much they didn’t care about expressing themselves in front of each other. They didn’t hide their tears. They loved him. They wanted him to live and make it out of this situation safely. They would do anything for this man.
I exhaled, gathering myself. My hands were shaking. I stuffed them into the pockets of my shirt scrubs.
The rest of the family stood up. Then each one of them also gave me a hug and thanked me. When I turned to go to check on my other patients, they were still there, gathered round his bed, their eyes filled with tears, holding on to his hands or each other. Speechless, I left them alone.
When I got off my shift, I went home to my apartment and thought about what I had seen. That family was so loving. They hugged me just for taking care of Sam, just because it was my job. It made no sense to me. The scene replayed in my head, over and over again.
As I sat alone with my quickly cooling cup of tea, gazing out the window, I saw them. A man and a woman, walking close together, not holding hands but walking as if they belonged in step. Two children scooted back and forth around them, and the man would lean down every so often and pretend to try to grab one of the children. I felt a lump forming in my throat as I turned my back to the window, my attention on my kitchen and the single plate and fork resting in the dish rack.
My gaze wandered along my apartment, I remembered I had no pictures of loved ones.
I knew this was not the case at the Blane house. They probably had family pictures mounted to the walls or on the fireplace mantel. Or maybe one of those family tree picture collage thingie posted by the front door, displayed to be the first thing seen to all who entered their home.
That was love. That is what it must have felt like to be loved. I realized I had a smile plastered to my face—I couldn’t help it. And I couldn’t wait to see them again.
The following evening, as soon as I got to work, I rushed into Sam’s room. His family was back. I lingered on my rounds to make quite a bit of conversation with them, knowing it was unprofessional, but I wanted to know them better. Since I was Sam’s nurse, they easily obliged.
The son’s name was Sam Jr. He was recently married and worked as a stock broker. The twins were Summer and June, both about to graduate from nursing school. I kept thinking in the back of my mind that we could be sisters!
And—finally—the wife’s name was Adelaide. She was a native of Australia. That explained the accent. She and Sam had met there some years ago when his job had sent him overseas. They began dating, fell in love, and the rest was history. She told me that Sam had so many traits that made him good man. Apparently, he was a good communicator, God fearing, family oriented, loving, faithful, selfless, romantic, outgoing, a good cook, strong, patient, helpful, a great provider and the list went on and on.
I told her that I would do whatever was in my power to make sure Sam was taken care of.
I picked up his chart. “He’s getting better,” I told Adelaide. “With the new medication Dr. Harden has prescribed, we’ve finally gotten his pneumonia under control.”
“When will he be able to talk?” she asked.
I bit my lip. “His body is not reacting like the doctor wished to the Vancomycin. So she’s recommending another antibiotic called Erythrocin. His first dose was earlier today. At this point, we’ll have to wait and see.”
“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “From everything I’ve read up on Erythrocin, it’s the right call. It should do it.”
Her smile made my heart melt. She mouthed, “Thank you,” and rested her hand on top of mine. It felt warm. Like how a mother’s hand should feel. It seeped into mine.
For the next few days, Sam’s condition got better. With no signs of pneumonia, all we had to do was wait for the tongue infection to subside and then start on the chemotherapy. This was good. This meant he was going to get better.
Every evening and many days, his family came to visit. I looked forward to their visits. To their talks. I felt a real connection with Summer and June and even helped with their nursing school homework. Currently, they were working on EKGs.
Sam’s tongue began to make a gradual improvement. The Erythrocin was working but it was so infected, it would take at least another week before he would be able to speak. The only sound he could make was an odd growl. Sam Jr. said he sounded like Chewbacca on drugs, and we all laughed. Even Sam smiled as best he could. I looked around the family and felt at peace, as though I really belonged here.
Then one day, it all changed. Before heading to work, I stopped by a shop and got Sam some flowers. I thought it would please Adelaide, that she’d tell me how sweet I was, and I craved her praise. But when I arrived, there was no sign of my family. This was the first time in the past seven days they had not been here. I wonder what had changed.
I checked Sam’s chart and noticed more improvement. Then it hit me. Since Sam wasn’t in immediate danger anymore, his family had no reason to visit him every day. Not even Adelaide came that evening. I sighed and found myself missing them. Yearning to talk to them. To spend time with them.
I went home the following morning and all I could do was wonder what Adelaide was doing at that exact moment. Was Sam Jr. working late? Did Summer and June pass their EKG test? It kept me up that day as I tossed and turned in my bed. I felt as if I were being abandoned. Again. And I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Fortunately, Adelaide showed up the following evening, though her family didn’t. We spent some time talking, but it wasn’t the same. She kept giving more attention to Sam since he was more aware and not as medicated. I guess the connection I thought we had wasn’t as strong as I would have liked.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, petting his face. “It’s going to be okay. Nurse Joy is going to make sure you are okay. And as soon as you know it, you’ll be home again.”
I bit my lip and took a step back. That’s when I knew. I was losing them. Soon they would be gone and I would never see them again. Something needed to be done.
Perhaps I was doing too good of a job . . .
The following evening, when I arrived at work, I brought a little surprise with me. Once again, his wife and family had not shown up. But, with my help, that was all about to change.
As I walked into Sam’s room, I closed the door behind me. He was awake, watching an old rerun of a black and white show I was not familiar with.
He watched me nervously as I approached him. Must have been the expression on my face that gave it away. I couldn’t help but smile. The glare of the flashing television bounced off his face.
I pulled out a syringe I had pocketed from the nurse’s station.
Still with that face, he opened his mouth to say something, but since his tongue was still swollen, he made a weak animal growl.
“Just an another antibiotic for you,” I said.
It was ricin, a type of poison made from caster beans. It’s actually quite easy to make, taken directly out of the pulp. Now—if the protein is purified from the beans, and if a very small amount, less than 2 milligrams let’s say is injected, that will be enough to cause significant damage to his organs. Enough to kill him. What is amazing about Ricin is that leaves the body after a few hours. But the damage will be long done by then.
My smile widened. Pulling the vial out of my jacket, I inserted the needle and pulled on the plunger. When the container was filled, I pulled out the needle, held the syringe upside and flicked it a couple of times. I gave the plunger a slight push, watching the orange liquid squirt out just a tad.
“Don’t worry Mr. Blane. This won’t hurt a bit,” I said.
Then I inserted the needed into his IV and pressed down on the plunger. I stepped back and watched the magic happen.
His eyes watered. He whined again gently, almost making me feel sorry for him. But if he wasn’t trying to take away my family, I wouldn’t have to do this.
I smiled at the thought. My family.
I patted him on the head and then turned up his morphine.
An hour later, he went into a seizure. Then flatlined. Finally—after a couple of rounds of defibrillation, the on-call doctor managed to jumpstart his heart. I called Dr. Harden and reported all of the details, from Sam’s having breathing difficulties to the fluid in the lungs. I also explained that he now had an irregular heartbeat, as well as low blood pressure. She told me she was on her way and hung up. The on-call doctor wanted to know exactly what was happening with this man and ordered me to get him some blood panels.
I nodded before returning to the nurses’ station. I waited just long enough for the ricin to be out of his system before ordering them. I knew they would come back clean. But the damage was already done. It was during this time that I switched out his IV bag and hid the one that contained the ricin in my locker.
When Dr. Harden arrived, she wanted to open him up for exploratory surgery. I called Adelaide and told her what was happening. My new family got to the hospital an hour later, just as Sam’s surgery was starting.
Adelaide, Sam Jr., Summer, and June were in tears. They wanted hugs and comfort. I gave it to them. As morning broke, I stayed with them after my shift ended to add emotional support. To pass the time, we talked.
The twins were doing well in school despite the drama with their dad. I helped them with more of their homework while we waited for some news. The feeling I had been missing the past couple of days returned. This family. My family. They need me. I needed them. Was this love? I didn’t know.
Sam Jr. seemed to take it the worst. He kept running his fingers though his hair.
“Look at me,” he said softly. “I look like deep fried shit.”
I had no idea what that meant. I put my hand on his knee and squeezed it gently.
“Things like this happen. There were just too many factors. Nobody could have predicted this. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“I should have been here. Came here more. Spend time with him. I just thought—”
“Was getting better,” I finished. “We had many, long conversations about you. He loved you. Always remember that. I’ll tell you about them some day.”
His lips pulled back into a warm smile. “Please.”
Dr. Harden finally returned. From the expression on her face, I already knew. I had seen it too many times since I had started working at the hospital.
“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Harden said, her voice soft yet monotone.
“Oh, God. No. No. No,” Adelaide said, her voice breaking.
“His heart stopped in the middle of surgery. Despite our best efforts—”
The moment came. Tears burst from Adelaide’s eyes, rolling down her cheeks in a torrential downfall. Emotion swelled in my chest. My bottom lip quivered. Seeing mom this way upset me. I couldn’t stop the flow from my eyes as well.
I hugged her tightly. “We-we lost him,” I whispered softly.
The twins and Sam Jr. came in for a group hug. There was such a range of emotion, I was completely overcome by their sorrow. And by their love. This is what it felt like to have a family. We cried as one.
Several hours later, everything was done. From the burial arrangements to the organ donation. Then again, from what was left of his organs, that wasn't happening.
Mom approached me. “This weekend, we’re having a family get together. Would you like to come?” she asked. “It would mean a lot of us. Sam Jr. told me you were there for him in his final moments.” She twiddled her thumbs. “I’d like you to tell us what all he said.”
I swallowed then nodded. “Of course.”
She gave me a gentle smile. “Thank you.” She turned away with her sad face and my family left. I hadn’t realized we’d been here all day and it was time for my shift to start. I went to my locker, grabbed a fresh pair of scrubs and put them on. Even though I was exhausted from the lack of sleep, I had a family now. One that cared about me. I’d be there for Christmas, exchanging gifts with loved ones. There for Thanksgiving dinners.
I sniffed as a tear fell from my eye. A happy one.
As I began my rounds, I went into my first patient’s room and saw a large family gathered around the bed.
I stepped into his room, grabbed the marker and wrote my name down on the dry erase board.
A thought came to me. Since I already had one family, was it possible to have two?
I am sorry for you, Nurse Joy. So very sorry for all you dealt with growing up. But this isn't the way. Please don't take anyone else away from their families.
Anyone else think of pokemon at the title? lol. Anyway, I feel bad for you, OP. Just dont try to ake anyone from their damn family. they will get the feeling you did when you were abandoned. Good luck, OP
I did, then thought of that one creepypasta on how there are so many of the nurses in pokemon.
As horrible as those "fosters" treated you, growing up, murder is murder and you know what THAT is, so sorry OP, but you're insane and need to be locked up before you devastate another innocent family. You can become family with the crazies like you, in the asylum.
I feel awful that you've never been loved, and never truly had a family. But some friendly advice. If you were to pull that crap on any of my family, and I even had an inkling of a suspicion it was you, you'd pray you'd been arrested and put in prison. One day you will choose wrong, and you should stop now, before that happens. To a normal person I would say holding your first born you will feel more love than you could ever imagine. You, however, should be sterilized.
That's so so bad Nurse Joy. I am always afraid of nurses when
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