The Spice of Death

The Spice of Death

I rushed into Minneapolis General SICU and almost bumped into Felicia Gainer. The gray-haired nurse stared down at me out of cold blue eyes. I forced a smile.

“Well, if it ain’t our perky little Georgia peach, Lucy Connors,” she said. “What’s it been? Ten months? Thought you’d gone back to Atlanta after having the baby.”

“Wasn’t in the cards.”

“Because you’re broke, I’ll bet. Is it true your husband moved in with his tennis partner?”

I sucked in a breath. Even for her, this was low.

His attractive ebony face alight, the nurse manager came out of his office and greeted me in Nigerian Yoruba. “Bawo ni, Lucy. Forgive our tardiness. Night shift isn’t ready to give report.”

“I’m early, Mr. Aruba. Bad habit.”

“Please call me Wally. And I like that habit.” He squeezed my hand. “Mrs. Gainer became our charge nurse a few months ago. She’ll guide you through your four-week reorientation. Given your experience, you’ll be a great help to her, as well. Most of our staff are new grad—”

“Consider yourself a new graduate, Connors,” Felicia interrupted.

“But I worked here six years before the baby—”

“You laid out too long. Your skills are rusty. You’ll follow my lead, understand?”

**

Complaining of diabetic neuropathy, Felicia Gainer spent half her time at the desk. Instead of guiding the new nurses, she belittled them. And she criticized my every patient interaction. When I attempted to broach my concerns to Wally, he excused himself for a meeting.

A male nurse caught my arm. “Don’t blame him. He’s stuck between Hell and a dumpster fire. Gainer’s best friend is head of Human Resources.”

“So what, Paul?”

“So he can’t tell Gainer a thing. Keep your head down. You won’t be the first nurse she’s gotten shit-canned. She hates competition.”

“This isn’t a contest. Our patients aren’t getting proper care. Y’all act scared to move without her say-so.”

He grimaced. “Because we hate getting our heads chopped off. She’s like, ‘Shut up and empty the bedpan, serf.’ I’m gonna take the pay cut and transfer to the floor.”

“Don’t. Let’s change the game.”

I started bringing coffee and donuts to morning report. When Felicia took a potty break or went to a doctor’s appointment, I assisted the other nurses. They soon relied on me for on-the-job training. On my days off, they called me at home.

My mama phoned from Atlanta one evening as I rocked my baby girl. I described my efforts to uplift the team. “You can’t learn it all in nursing school. You’ve gotta have a mentor.”

“Isn’t that Miss Felicia’s job? What’s she think of you walkin’ on her turf?”

“I try not to let her catch me.”

“Careful, people like her are dangerous. Sounds like power’s gone to her head.”

I sighed. “I feel like this is all my fault, going back to work with somebody who hates me.”

“Darlin’, you told me none of the other hospitals are hiring.”

“Yeah, but my nerves are fraying like old rope.”

“Tie a knot in that rope, hon. My granddaughter’s dependin’ on you.”

**

My second week, I intubated a patient while Felicia was at yet another endocrinology appointment. Wally Abara stood close behind me. I smelled his musky cologne and felt his warm breath on my neck. His fingertips brushed my lower back. I shivered. Bad time to distract me.

“I could not have done better, Lucy,” he said after I’d finished.

Taking my hand, he massaged my wrist with his thumb. I saw a pulse throbbing in his muscular neck. Heat flashed through me. I extricated myself.

I didn’t need to be hit over the head with an IV pole to know he was hungry. I was, too, but my daughter came first. I had to survive Felicia’s critical eye. That meant acting professionally. No flirting. No submitting to hunger pangs. Besides, Felicia already had him by the balls.

As the respiratory therapist and I checked the ventilator settings, I heard a caustic voice behind me. “Nice job, Connors.”

Felicia stood in the doorway, munching a chocolate bar. The therapist scooted out of the line of fire.

“You decided to plunge in without me, dontcha know.”

“His oxygen sats were dropping. We’ve got standing orders to put him back on the vent PRN. And yes, ma’am, I notified the resident first.”

“You should’ve notified me. You could’ve killed him, rusty as you are.”

“Wally helped place the laryngoscope,” I lied.

Her glacial eyes glittered. “You know I have to sign off on you. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you kill my patient.”

Biting my lip, I wedged a pillow behind him. His eyes darted from me to the angry nurse. Blocking his view, I stroked his forehead. “Bless your heart, darlin’, you’re doing fine.”

“Bless your heart, darlin’,” Felicia mimicked in a fake Southern accent.

She maintained a frosty silence the rest of the shift. As soon as I’d handed over to the night nurse, she buttonholed Wally. They went into his office and shut the door.

Paul sidled over. “I was afraid she’d do that. Watch your back, for Chrissakes.”

As I bathed my baby that night, I murmured, “Mama won’t let the big ol’ bad wolf blow the house down, darlin’, don’t you fret.”

I brought in another dozen donuts the next morning. Smiling, I opened the box for Felicia. “First dibs?”

“Really, Connors, some of us are insulin-dependent.” Scowling, she took a Boston cream slathered with chocolate and stomped into Wally’s office. My heart pounding, I flattened myself by the partially open door.

“—and what’s she gonna do with her kid when she goes on nights?”

“An employer cannot ask questions like that.”

She talked over him. “Her husband left her.”

“Whose has not? Yours did.”

“I didn’t bring my personal problems to work. Connors exercised poor judgment yesterday.”

“Oponu po tea.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re confused. Her performance is always top-notch.”

“Top-notch? She subverts my authority. She laid out of work for a year, yet she thinks she can train the others. Paul follows her around like a dog.”

“She’s simply trying to help you.”

“She’s simply trying to take my job.”

He assumed a placating tone. “Your position is secure. Lucy cannot fill your shoes.”

“My shoes? You’d best worry about your own. If someone dies because she screws up, you’ll be on the hook.”

“No one will die and—”

She snorted. “The coroner’s slab is one bad decision away. She’ll kill someone. I see it in her eyes.”

“Ridiculous. Are you a shaman, reading the entrails of goats?”

Another snort. “You’re angling to be Director of Nursing. Are you willing to risk your future to keep that Georgia cracker?”

I stopped breathing. Surely, he would tell the big bad wolf to go huff and puff at somebody else’s house.

“I’m not worried about my future. It sounds like poor Lucy will never measure up to the arbitrary Felicia Gainer standard.”

“I’m not arbitrary. And my feelings aren’t personal.”

“Not personal, even though the green-eyed monster grips your soul?”

“You calling me a monster?”

“I’m saying you’re envious. Everyone sees it.”

“Everyone sees you’re hot for her, like the wife of our brain-dead patient you ‘comforted’ in the supply room.”

I heard a chair crash over. “You’ve got no proof!”

“No? Should I show HR the pictures on my phone?”

“Oh Christ.”

“Christ can’t help you. Your only salvation is to fire Connors.”

I peeked through the crack in the door and saw Wally leaning his fists on the desk. Come on, stand up to her. Please.

He straightened. “You leave me little choice. If she still fails to measure up in a week, I’ll send her to the floor. Deal?”

Felicia stuck out her hand. He shook it and then wiped his palm on his scrub top.

I rocked my baby for hours that night. If I reported the conspirators to Human Resources, I’d be fired. Better to work on the floor than be unemployed. But the floor paid ten bucks an hour less than the unit, and my ex was ducking child support and mortgage payments. Damn Wally Abara for giving in to blackmail!

“The big bad wolf’s at the door, Boo,” I whispered. “I can’t let her blow it down. I won’t let her blow it down.”

Shuffling into the cold garage, I rooted through the cabinet. Finding a jug of antifreeze, I dipped a fingertip into the pale green liquid and tasted it. Sweet and spicy.

I abruptly remembered swearing the Nightingale Oath at my pinning ceremony: “I will abstain from anything deleterious or mischievous.” Sighing, I shoved the jug back into the cabinet.

I gazed at my helpless baby until red dawn light filtered through the curtains. “Dammit, I’m not a monster. I’m not.”

I arrived at work two hours later with cinnamon rolls and a drink carrier. I began handing out cups of pumpkin spice latte. The last two bore a grinning jack o’lantern sticker on the lids. I hesitated at Felicia, who sat devouring a roll.

I will abstain from anything deleterious….

“Rats, I’m sorry, Felicia. I meant to get you regular coffee and a cheese bagel.”

“Pssh! After all the donuts you’ve brought, you’re suddenly worried about my health? One won’t hurt.” She took another pastry. “Neither will two, dontcha know. And I’m a sucker for pumpkin spice latte.”

I still had seven days to persuade my foe to change her mind. “But you’re diabetic. I don’t feel right about—”

“Everybody else got a drink— you playing favorites?”

“No, it’s just that it’s chockful of… sugar.”

“That’s what insulin’s for.” She tapped the jack o’lantern stickers. “Which one’s mine?”

“Your choice, but—”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

I jostled her elbow as she took a cup.

“What’s your problem? You nearly made me spill it.” She popped off the lid and brought the cup to her lips. “Skol!”

Desperate to stop her, I said, “Lemme fix you a regular coffee, darlin’.”

The hooded blue eyes blinked. “Darlin’? I don’t appreciate being patronized by you.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. We call everybody darlin’ in Georgia.”

“Georgia!” She swiveled to face the cardiac monitors. “I’d love to buy Georgia crackers for what they’re worth and sell them for what they think they’re worth.”

I felt a cold stone settle on my heart. I raised the last cup. “Skol.”

“Bed seven’s colon resection’s in two hours,” she snapped. “Prep him.”

Hurrying into the elderly man's room, I buried my untouched drink in the biohazard bin. My patient was trembling with fear. Fighting my own anxiety, I hummed a lullaby as I prepped him for surgery. I rested my fingertips on his wrinkled, ashy-black cheek.

“You’re gonna be okay, darlin’. Is your family here?”

“Ain’t nobody left, baby. Just me.”

“Then I’ll be your family today. I’ll be here when you get back.”

His eyes watered. “You m’ very own Florence Nightingale.”

Oh God. I’m a monster. I have to stop her.

I stumbled into the hall in time to see Felicia lurch into the bathroom and heave into the sink.

My heart rate soaring, I hustled to the nurses' desk and found her half-empty cup. I slipped it into my cargo pocket. Lukewarm liquid sloshed my leg. Turning, I crashed into Wally. I nearly fainted.

His dark eyes widening, he caught my arms. “Are you all right, love?”

“Um, I was looking for you. Felicia’s sick.”

Gray-faced and sweating, she was still puking when we reached her. Wally said, “How much insulin did you take after you ate the sweets?”

“Four units.”

“No, you must’ve taken more— you’re crashing. This is hypoglycemia.”

Her eyes found mine. “You did this!”

I recoiled, but then she shoved my boss. “Get away from me, Abara! You’re trying to kill me so I can’t tell your dirty secret.”

“No no no, I’m trying to help you.”

Yelling for an IV kit and a bag of D50, he forced her onto the toilet. While Paul checked her blood sugar, Wally twisted a tourniquet around her flabby arm.

“Forget the D50—she needs insulin,” Paul said. “Her glucose is eleven hundred.”

“With these symptoms? Something’s off.”

Felicia slapped Wally's hands away. “Tell Connors to get my patient to pre-op STAT!”

My heart tripping over itself, I wheeled the old man downstairs. He clutched my hand like a life preserver. “Florence Nightengale.”

“Don’t say that. I’m not—”

The intercom squawked: “Code Blue, SICU!”

Oh God, don’t let it be Felicia. I don’t want her to die. I just want to stop her. I’m not a monster. I’m not!

I dashed upstairs. Felicia lay on the floor, her scrub top scissored open. Paul was ventilating her while two nurses took turns doing chest compressions. Ventricular fibrillation quivered across the cardiac monitor.

Kneeling, Wally positioned the paddles. “Defibrillating at two hundred joules. Clear!”

Felicia’s breasts wobbled like jelly as electricity hit her heart. She remained in V-fib.

Brandishing syringes of bicarbonate and epinephrine, a resident crowded the nurse attempting to start an IV. “Shock her again, Wally. Give her four hundred.”

No change. I heard ribs snap as they resumed CPR.

“We’re losing her,” the resident said. “Get that damn IV in so I can give the meds.”

“I can’t find a freakin’ vein.”

Wally glimpsed me. “For pity’s sake, Lucy, lend a hand here!”

Galvanized, I dropped to my knees. I probed Felicia’s other arm, got blood return on the third stick, and connected the tubing. The resident began administering the boluses. Wally shocked the dying woman again and again.

Felicia’s belly was expanding. Grabbing a trach kit, I knelt beside Paul. “She’s getting air in her stomach. Let’s put in an airway.”

I repositioned her jaw, inserted the trach tube, and attached the resuscitation bag to the hub. Nodding at Paul to restart ventilations, I took over the chest compressions.

“You gotta live, you gotta live,” I said with each stroke. I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster.

At eleven forty-six AM, the resident pronounced Felicia Gainer dead of cardiac arrest.

It took six of us to lift the body onto a gurney. Dismissing the exhausted team, Wally helped me wheel the corpse into an empty room. He pulled the IV line and trach tube while I began washing the body.

There was no way to wash away the evidence of our violent attempts to bring her back to life. Her body was bruised and bloodied. Ribs had snapped off her sternum. Vomit and urine soaked her torn clothing. Her cold blue eyes stared at the ceiling. My tormentor had passed into the great unknown. I should have felt either relief or guilt, but there was only coldness where my heart should be.

“I don’t have her ex-husband’s number,” Wally said. “And she didn’t have children.”

There was no child to tell. No helpless baby depending on her. No reason for guilt.

As I drew the sheet over her turgid belly, I reached into her soiled pants pocket for the cell phone. Last week, I’d seen her punch in the passcode. I’d have no trouble downloading the pictures of Wally. As I slipped the phone into my hip pocket, I thumbed off the ringer and then resumed the ritual cleansing.

“I cannot read your mind, Lucy, but if you’re thinking about pastry and pumpkin spice, don’t beat yourself up. She knew sugar is poisonous to a diabetic.”

“Will they do an autopsy?”

“No reason to.” Reaching across the body, he brushed a sweaty curl off my cheek. “Clearly, she brought about her own death. It wasn’t your fault. But I must offer a warning.”

I flinched. “About what?”

“This. She abused her colleagues even more than her pancreas. Don’t be shocked when someone thanks you.”

Someone like you? I stripped off my gloves and tossed them in the trash.

He again reached over the corpse, this time to grasp my wrist. “This might sound callous, but I find myself with an opening for a charge nurse. What do you think?”

I studied the powerful hand encircling my wrist. “I think I’ll never measure up to the arbitrary Felicia Gainer standard.”

Stunned by the echo of his words, he jerked his hand away.

I let several heartbeats pass before raising my eyes to his. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Time to ensure he would never question what had happened today.

Using his surname for the first time ever, I said, “Before you go any further, Mr. Abara, I don’t do supply rooms.”

I saw his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare.

“But I appreciate your confidence that I can fill her shoes.”

Forcing a chuckle, he poked her size elevens. “You can’t possibly fill these.”

I’m not the only monster in the room.

He peeled off his dirty gloves and dropped them on the body. “Come to my office, Lucy. Let’s discuss your future while we split that last cinnamon roll.”

“I’ll have to pass. I need to get back to work. Felicia would have expected it.”

The dead nurse’s phone in my pocket, I turned and walked out.

The End