Learning the Hard Way - Chapter One (Commission)

Thanks to our new and super-awesome Gold-tier patron Bondagediaperlover93 for commissioning this multi-part story!

***

"What the fuck is with this place? Come on – I've had better fucking food in truck stops! And what the hell is the matter with you, anyway? Yeah, you – Lara or Lena whatever the fuck you said your name is. Can't you make that god-awful beeping shut up? Or do you even know shit about doing your fucking job? Typical, I guess. What's the matter – that butt-ugly hair dye numbed your brain cells or somethin'? Hey, wait – where ya fuckin' going?!"

The door to Room 238 opens, and I feel a twinge of sympathy as Nurse Laura emerges, her cheeks even pinker with mortification than her shoulder-length hair. Poor thing. Sure, I've seen a lot of crusty and entitled pieces of shit come through here in my eight years at this hospital. There's always at least one patient who perpetually thinks their room is too dark, or the food is too bland, or the staff is too unresponsive. But never until now have we had one patient griping about literally everything – and also being a misogynistic asshole to boot.

"Laura, it's okay," I console, glad that as head nurse I can give the poor girl words that will at least mean something. She's not the youngest on my team, of course, but at twenty-three she's still plenty young – young and sensitive enough still to be rattled when a patient is so incredibly rude. "Some patients are just unhappy no matter what you do. I know you're doing the best that anyone can. You're smart, and you're good at your job – I know it. So don't let that guy get to you. Okay?"

She's nodding gratefully, still visibly trembling from her recent escape. "Um, thanks, Miss Monica. I- I really am trying my best with him, but he- he-" "He's a piece of work," I finish briskly. My training has taught me to maintain professionality at all costs, and much as I want to launch into a diatribe against this shitty specimen of humanity in Room 238, I can't. Not here, at least...

I end up rolling up my metaphorical sleeves and tending to the guy myself – because no head nurse worth her salt will push her subordinates into doing jobs she isn't willing to do herself. Steven, this asshole's name is. A young guy of twenty-seven according to the license he had on him when he arrived late last night, though judging by that tummy of his he's rather too fond of beer and greasy pizzas. Hey – not body shaming, I swear. With my own curvy build I'm no carrot-stick thin fashion model, either. But I do know a thing or two about health, and this guy definitely needs to lose a good thirty pounds...

Though that's clearly not why he's here. Seems he ran into some trouble last night – says he got mugged? Although it would be the first mugging I've ever heard of where the perps used a taser... Anyway, it's not too serious – but given his body shape and that blood pressure of his, we need to keep him under observation for another twenty-four hours at least, just to make sure that already strained heart of his doesn't decide to take some well-deserved time off.

Would be good riddance, I find myself thinking as I wrap up my routine checks, doing my best to ignore the guy's lewd comments and unceasing complaints. But nope, that's not for me to judge. Still... oh, if only someone would take this piece of shit down a few pegs...

It's maybe a half-hour later, as my shift is finally nearing its end, that an unexpected wrinkle in the case develops. "Um, Miss Monica?" Amy, our student-in-residence and youngest nurse on staff, is poking her brunette head into my little office with an apologetic grin on her face. "Sure, come in," I reply, and soon she's settling her slim frame, almost lost amid her unflattering nurse's scrubs, into the chair opposite me. "So, like, you said I should, like, see what was going on with the guy- oops, I mean, Mr. Dalton- down in 238? And who, like, mugged him or whatever?"

Oh, my. Young and a we bit naive she might be, but Amy has found something very interesting.

"So I traced the phone call with 9-1-1," she explains candidly. "And it came from, like, some girl named Jessica? And she was like, totally okay with you calling her. Yeah, said she had a load of stuff to say about the guy... and, like, not very nice stuff, either..."

Not very nice, indeed! Wow, this Jessica person has quite the earful for me.

***

"Turns out this guy is literally a would-be rapist," I report, pursing my lips in a vain attempt to conceal my anger. I'm seated in Doctor Harper's office now, trying to find that fine line between not making waves and ensuring my girls are safe. "According to Jessica – the girl who called 9-1-1 – this fellow was drunk and hitting on her outside of a bar over on 38th and 7th late last night. She told him no, of course, but he clearly didn't take no for answer. Started grabbing for her, swearing, saying he was going to-"

"So she tased him," Dr. Harper observes laconically. "Naturally. I would have done the same." She's toying deftly with the pen in her fingers, and somehow I have no trouble at all believing her. "Yep. Still, it seems like she felt bad enough to call in the medics before her Uber arrived," I continue with a wry face. "So that's how the guy ended up here: drunk out of his mind and twitching like anything. Looks like it was only later this morning that he cooked up this tale about being mugged. Guess he was too embarrassed to tell the truth..."

"Now, of course we're going to take care of him like anyone else, Doctor," I sigh. "But I also need to keep my girls safe from this predator, you know? They're doing their best, but even so he's chasing them away and talking to them in the most inappropriate-"

"Yes, I understand completely," Dr. Harper cuts in evenly with a delicate smile. "And listen, Monica – you have every right to worry about your subordinates. It does you nothing but credit. But I think we have a situation on our hands that is actually relatively easy to solve." "Really? How so?" I'm genuinely surprised – but then again, it's not the first time Dr. Harper's taken me aback. She's one intelligent woman, and she has ways of seeing situations in the most new and creative lights...

"We simply need to find out if the patient is actually refusing all care, or whether he simply is making working conditions difficult," she explains, leaning forward and regarding me earnestly through her thick-rimmed glasses. "So let's get his signature on it. If he won't agree in writing to let us care for him, it's simple: we ship him out. But if he does agree to accept, say, any and all treatment we decide to give him, and if he then persists in being difficult... well, we'll at least have a case to take whatever measures are necessary to ensure he doesn't impede our care."

"Whatever measures are necessary...?" I echo, my mind suddenly flitting back to training from years gone by. Training about dealing with mentally disturbed patients... violent patients... patients who need sedation and physical restraints...

"But of course," she replies with an unnervingly firm smile – and I suddenly find myself fervently glad I'm not on the doctor's bad side. Because behind that smile I see unwavering determination: determination to do whatever might be necessary to keep this fellow firmly in check.

And sure enough, once again I find the Doctor correct. It's almost comically easy to implement: the preparation of the necessary forms, my no-nonsense explanation of them, and Steven's predictable blustering and cursing before he finally grabs the pen and scrawls his ugly signature at the bottom. "Oh, fuck it all," he's grumbling, waving my clipboard away at last. "'Course I want you bitches to do ya fuckin' job! Just get me outta here at quick as you can, you hear me? I'm already feeling pretty great, ya know. Heh, I bet I could bend any one of you girls over this bed if I really wanted to..."

To which I can only offer a grimly polite smile as I step toward the door. "Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Your cooperation is all we ask, so I'm relieved to hear that you're willing to let us do our job. And don't worry," I can't resist adding, even as I see once more in my mind's eye the Doctor's pursed lips and unsettlingly calm smile. "We'll do everything we possibly can to... to get you the help you need." 

(To be continued!)