Stern Desire Love Redeemed (2 page)

It had been eight years since my life was flipped upside down and my heart ripped from my chest, leaving a dark, hollow, black hole. It was a constant struggle every day. At times it seemed easier to step into the
darkness, but Nate, my little light, has steadfastly guided me through the dark period. They say time heals the pain; I'm waiting for that time to come, because it still hurts like hell.

After Rob's death, I went back to school and with the
savings and student loans, in addition to a very generous gift from a good friend, I was able to make it through college and maintain our way of living. Jenn Cruz, the nurse who came to see me that night, had become my inspiration
and a very dear friend. I had to find a career, and the only meaningful and rewarding one that I could think of was nursing, which had been my life-long dream. I graduated with a Bachelor's of Science in Nursing, but did not stop there. In nine months, I would complete my Doctorate in Nursing Practice.

"Bye, Nate. See you in the morning," I said as I walked to the garage.

"Bye, Mom. Have fun at work."

"Thank you, Nate."

He always told me to have fun at work, but there was nothing fun about where I was going. Nursing was a tough job. It was physically and emotionally demanding. It came with the good and the bad. I had to deal with
rude patients, or crazy abusive patients who kicked me, slapped me, spit at me, and called me the dirtiest names in the book.

Difficult family members were our biggest nightmare - the majority of the time, the family members were worse than the patients. We
nurses also had to deal with disrespectful doctors, back-breaking work, and more paperwork; therefore, we had less time for patient care. On any given night, I played the role of a doctor, counselor, teacher, spiritual adviser,
social worker, dietitian, mediator and the list goes on. At the end of the day, I was just a licensed drug pusher.

What was most rewarding were those patients who were very grateful for what I had done for them: the ones who said things like,
"Thank you", "Don't worry about me", "There are worse patients than me", "Thanks for taking care of me", and "I promise I won't bother you all night." The one that would stick with me for the rest of my life was, "You are doing God's work, and He would be
very pleased."

I backed my BMW 528i out of the garage, selected my work anthem - 'the Black Eye Peas' "I've Got a Feeling". I pulled into a parking spot on the fourth floor turned the music off and recited my nightly
prayer.

"Father on high, my Lord and Savior,

Also known as the greatest healer,

As I start my shift today,

Guide my hands, dear Lord I pray.

Give me strength to face the difficulties.

Oh Lord, you know there are plenty.

Wisdom to solve all problems,

Courage to overcome all fears,

Knowledge to make the right decisions.

May I be a beacon of light

Through this night,

To be some comfort through their pain,

To impart peace as their troubles rain.

Father, pour on me your healing power

Every day and every hour.

Thank you, Lord, for guiding me down this path,

Doing your job here on Earth.

Amen."

I was in charge tonight, and I could only hope that it would be a good night. It was never easy being in charge, understaffed as we always were. It had been all about the budget lately. Forget about the staff who were
overworked, and the implications this might have for patient care. So, what else was new? I'd be in charge, getting patients, short one patient care assistant and no secretary until eleven PM.

"Okay, guys," I announced at the nurses station,
"I will be getting patients tonight. No secretary until eleven PM, so with that said, everybody is in charge tonight."

The phone rang. "Eight North, Nurse Kyra speaking. How can I help you?"

"Kyra, it's Amanda." Amanda was our nurse manager. "Are you in charge tonight, Kyra?" she asked.

"Yes, I am. We are understaffed, so I had to take patients."

"Okay, listen," Amanda said, sounding flustered.
"I will fix staffing problems, but I have received a call from my boss. There is a VIP coming to our floor. Rooms 825 and 826 are blocked for him."

"Both rooms?"

"Yes, both rooms. The patient will be going in 825, and 826 is for the family. Maintenance and housekeeping will be up to make sure everything is in top shape in there." She paused.

Amanda did not have to say it. I knew what the next words
out of her mouth would be. Anybody of importance who came to our floor was my responsibility. I was the chosen one for doctors, doctors' families, hospital executives and their families, celebrities and politicians - I was the chosen
nurse. My mild mannered temperament, empathetic and compassionate nature, caring and cheerful personality, and my confidence in knowing my job and doing it well made me the chosen one. I listened to my patients, made them feel
important, and no matter who you were - a homeless person or a VIP - I rendered equal treatment to all. Being the VIP nurse, as my coworkers called me, was more of a curse than an honor. Taking care of these people could be very stressful.

"I need a favor, Kyra. I need you to take this patient. He should be your only patient."

"Why do I always get these patients?"

"Because you are so compassionate and efficient, and
you are good at what you do. I have never gotten a complaint from a patient about you, and even if I did I would know it wasn't true. Unlike some of my other nurses, where I get daily complaints and I know the patients are not lying. You really have a way with people, and I thank you very much for all
that you do."

"And what am I supposed to do with my other two patients?"

"Give them to the other nurses."

"But they're already maxed out."

"I know you will work something out."

"I hope you remember this when I get my pay raise."

"Don't I always? Have a good night, Kyra."

I was at the nurses station, trying to do as much as I could before the VIP arrived, when the phone rang again.

"Eight North, Nurse Kyra speaking. How can..."

"Nurse Kyra, this is Nurse Jenn," my coworker said mockingly. "I would like to give a report on the patient going into 825."

"Jenn, who is this patient I'm getting? I am so stressed already."

"He might be Mr. Right for you. I'm going to describe him in one word - perfection," she whispered into the phone. "Smoking hot body, gorgeous face, incredible jawline, perfect teeth, long eyelashes that shade his sparkling, hazel eyes which any woman would die for..."

"Nobody is perfect, and I'm tired of you always trying to set me up. I'll find someone when the right time comes."

"It's been eight freaking years," she whispered.

"And this is a new low for you. A patient - are you serious?" I said in disgust. In my five years of nursing, I had never come across a patient to whom I was remotely attracted.

"Nurse Jenn," I said as sternly as I could, "can you please give me the report, or should I call your charge nurse?"

"Bitch," she said under her breath.

I chuckled. "Stop playing around and give me the
report, Jenn. By the way, what are you doing on the night shift?"

"It's overtime, girlfriend. They need a nurse and I need the money. Anyway, you should call this patient, Mark Stone. That's his
alias and he is a no-info patient. His real name is, like...classified. He is a thirty-two-year-old patient of Dr. Anwar. Mr. Stone and his family were vacationing in the Bahamas. He was riding one of those ATVs and ran into a tree
trying to avoid a kid. He has a left tib-fib fracture with muscle injuries. Hold on, Kyra."

I could hear her talking in the background.

"Kyra, they are taking him to the OR right now. He will come up to you later. Got to go."

I was glad I did not have to send him to surgery. I had a few more hours without drama. I did my rounds on my patients, started a couple of intravenous lines for my coworker, and was just outside Room 825 when I
decided to peek in. The only thing I recognized in the room was the hospital bed. The room was totally transformed with potted plants, beautiful floral arrangements, balloons, a refrigerator, a coffee maker, and a microwave. The outdated television on the wall had been replaced with a smart TV. My phone
rang. I jumped like a kid who had been caught doing something wrong. From the caller ID, I realized it was Jenn.

"Kyra speaking," I answered.

"Is your patient out of recovery?"

"Haven't heard anything yet. Did you find out anything else?"

"No, but I guess you will. I did not have him for too long."

"Was he admitted?"

"No."

"Jenn, I am in the room and it looks like a hotel suite. They replaced the television. There is a refrigerator that is already stocked, a microwave, coffee maker, flowers and potted plants. I feel like I'm in a
flower shop!"

There was a click on my phone. Another call was coming in. I looked at the phone and the call was from the recovery room.

"Jenn, I'll talk to you later. Recovery is calling.
Hello, Kyra speaking," I answered.

"Kyra, baby." It was Carlos, my favorite recovery room nurse. "Who is getting the patient going into 825?"

"That would be me, Carlos."

"Can I bring him up?"

"Sure, the rooms are ready."

"He's pretty good. He's fully recovered, his pain is controlled, and his family's here with him."

"Bring him up, Carlos."

"See you in ten, love."

Family, I thought. Except for a few, they constantly fussed over the patient, and posed endless and ridiculous questions like so: "Can
we do this? Can we do that? I think he's in pain. Give him something for pain. Call the doctor. Call the doctor again. The doctor needs to come and see him. When is the doctor coming...?" And all this was over a patient who could
express his own feelings and was doing just fine. Now add that to some super rich, spoilt guy who was used to having things his way. I had taken care of doctors and doctors' families, and I knew how difficult they could be.

I emerged from the office. Someone had dimmed the lights, enhancing the soothing, calming environment. Our surgical-trauma unit was recently remodeled from the sterile décor to a more homey décor to give our patients a better healing environment: cherry hardwood floors, pastel colored
wall paint, comforting scenic and floral artwork with relaxing colors of blue, green and yellow denoting life, warmth, and hope. The nursing unit was the envy of all units with large windows overlooking the city, and cherry cabinets
matching the hardwood floor with a large starburst floor medallion - a beautiful focal point. No wonder our patients thought they were in a five star hotel and treated us like maids.

Our usual busy unit was quiet tonight. No call lights going
off excessively, or noisy patients. At the end of the hall were Carlos and the transporter, maneuvering the bed into the room. There were about ten people standing in the hallway talking quietly. As I approached, I noticed how
well-dressed they all were. I smiled my award-winning smile, the one that constantly got me compliments, and introduced myself.

"Hi everyone, my name is Kyra and I'll be Mr. Stone's nurse. I'm also the charge nurse. Please give us a few minutes to get him all
settled." I gestured toward Room 826.

"My name is Cattleya. I'm Mark's mother." She rested her well-manicured, diamond studded hand on my arm, her face filled with
fear. She was so beautiful: an older woman, with dark brown hair and warm, beautiful, hazel eyes. "Please let us know as soon as we can see him."

"I will."

I entered 825, where Carlos had Mr. Stone all set up. His
leg was elevated on pillows and he had an external fixator on his left leg. The bones in his leg were held in place with pins and screws that were attached to several metal rings placed around the leg.

"Hi, Kyra," Carlos said as he adjusted the bag of
fluids on the pole.

Carlos moved, giving me a full view of the beautifully sculpted face of my patient. He must have been sent by the gods. His face was amazingly perfect. He was well-tanned, slender face, full symmetrical lips,
prominent cheek bones and chin. Thank God that escaped injury. When he looked up, I had to fight not to gasp in awe. Those gorgeous hazel eyes took my breath away, making me forget what I wanted to say. Radiating out of his black pupils
were varying shades of a bright reddish orange hue with light green specks throughout. His eyes had me imprisoned. They pierced through my soul, reading and uncovering my deepest secrets. They pulled me in slowly. I blinked to break
his hypnotic gaze.

"Mr. Stone, my name is Kyra, and I will be your nurse tonight," I finally managed to say.

Carlos gave me a quick report at the bedside and lifted Mark's gown to show me the white bandage that wrapped his well-defined muscular
chest. As I checked the setting on his pain pump, Carlos bid Mark farewell and exited the room. I was rescued from Mark's inquisitive question when Claire entered to take his vital signs. I wanted to get out of here, and was not
particularly interested in him trying to get to know me.

Mark's smooth, mellow, velvety, almost monotone voice made me all warm on the inside. His voice exuded sex appeal, strength, power and
confidence. I felt weak thinking about him whispering sweet nothings in my ear. This man brought back feelings that had eluded me for years.

"I'll send your family in. They are anxiously waiting to see you," I said, and exited the room.

Outside the room was a man leaning against the wall. He belonged on a runway. He was attractive in a rugged way, and looked like a bad boy dressed in a pair of slim fit jeans, a tight gray tee, and a gray blazer. He was the kind of guy I used to like, but that type generally didn't a make
good husband.