Free Angels on the Night Shift by M.D. Robert D. Lesslie Page A

question, Liz said, “There’s only one patient I need to leave you with, Robert. There’s a two- or three-year-old in 4. Minor head trauma. He fell and hit the back of his skull about dinnertime, and is around in CT now. Shouldn’t be much longer. No loss of consciousness, but he’s got a big goose egg there, and his parents think he’s not acting quite right. Anyway, should be negative, and he should be able to go home.”
    With that, she closed the chart in front of her, tossed it into the discharge box, and with one hand slapped the top of the counter.
    “And I’m gone,” she said, smiling. Then glancing around the department, she added, “Good luck.”
    From across the room, the door to Virginia Granger’s office opened, and out she walked. I looked up at the clock on the wall, a little confused. She was here every day during the week, but usually left around five o’clock. What was she doing here now?
    A few steps behind her walked Darren Adler, dressed and apparently ready for work. Virginia saw me and started over in my direction.
    When the two stood in front of me at the nurses’ station, I was better able to see Darren’s face. He was a pale green, and the corners of his mouth were turned down. Looking closer, I noticed some small beads of sweat on his forehead. He was sick, and obviously didn’t feel too well.
    “Darren called earlier this afternoon,” Virginia began to tell me. “He said he was feeling a little better and wants to try to work.” She paused and looked doubtfully over at the nurse. “I’m not so sure, but he’s insisting he’s okay.”
    “Darren, you don’t look so good,” I told him honestly. “We’ve got someone else to work for you tonight, and it won’t—”
    “I’m fine, Dr. Lesslie,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to muster a little bravado. “Things turned the corner around noon, and I haven’t had any more vomiting since then. I really want to work, and I’ll… I’ll be fine.”
    I looked over at Virginia for some help. She raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.
    “What about Patsy Wilson?” I asked her, hoping that she might have already come in.
    “I explained things to her, and she’s sort of on standby. She understands—and if we don’t need her tonight, she still wants to try working sometime.”
    I studied Darren’s face again and thought about the state of the department. It was going to be tough for him, but I knew he was on thin ice. And I knew Virginia was leaving the decision up to me.
    “Do you think you can handle it?” I asked him.
    “I can do it, Doc.”
    I looked at him for another moment and then, with some trepidation, relented. After all, Patsy Wilson was out there if we needed her.
    “Okay, Darren. Get going then.”
    “Thanks, Doc,” he said, mustering a smile. “And thanks, Ms. Granger.”
    He turned and walked toward the nurses’ station. I was about to follow him when Virginia said, “Dr. Lesslie, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
    It was not a request. She turned and walked back into her office, and I followed, closing the door behind me.
    “I know you need to get out there,” she began. “But this will only take a moment. You need to know that we have a problem with our medications.”
    I already knew about the Vistaril business. Now what?
    “The narcotics count has been off twice this week,” she calmly explained. “We’re missing four vials of Demerol.”
    “What? Are you sure?”
    “You know the procedure, and yes, I’m sure,” she answered flatly.
    At the beginning and ending of each shift, two of our nurses would go through the narcotics cabinet, counting each unit of each drug, making sure that what was in the cabinet matched what was in our log. It was a state and federal requirement, and something we took very seriously.
    “How does something like that happen?” I asked her, my mind turning on recent events and possibilities.
    “On Monday there was one