Brain Damage, page 29
part #2 of Prescription: Murder Series
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says as Rachel snickers.
“We’re going to turn you and look at your back,” I explain to him.
“Knock yourself out, kid.”
Kid. Even better than sweetheart.
We arranged five people on one side and five on the other. After some degree of heaving, we manage to turn Mr. Leeman approximately 90 degrees. “Is that okay, ‘Doctor’?” one of the nurses asks me.
As I draw my face closer, I smell it. It’s not fungus. I know the smell of fungus better than I know my own name right now, being one of the most recognizable smells in the hospital (more on that later). But this is something else. Something horrible.
And then a second later I see it: a wound just at the base of his spine and to the left that is angry red and dripping with pus. God knows how deep that thing is. It may go down to the muscle or even the bone.
At this moment, I’m really furious. I don’t know who I’m angrier at: Mr. Leeman, for having no idea that he has a huge smelly wound on his butt, or Alyssa, for being right. Or the hospital, for picking me to work here for my three years of residency training.
And a second after that, I’m just tired. I don’t want to deal with butt wounds. I just want to go home.
Hours Awake: 23
Chance of quitting: 90%
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Freida McFadden, Brain Damage
