A few officers were posted around the inmate’s bed, which meant he was dangerous. A fight must have happened already. Ginger was right; this shift was going to be crappy. I’d come in hoping to do nothing more than intake screenings. Those were easy and I didn’t have to deal with the dangerous ones as much. Apparently, I wasn’t that lucky.
As I approached Giles, he turned to me with a grimace.
“Morning, Ms. Evans. I need you to call transport here. This patient needs to be moved to the hospital.”
Nodding, I grabbed the chart when he handed it over. I was relieved to see that the inmate wasn’t injured, just sick. That meant no fights yet. Maybe the day would be a quiet one.
Dr. Giles turned on his heels and walked toward the officers, pulling the curtain and disappearing behind it. Going to the phone, I pressed the extension for transport and waited for an answer.
“Transport,” a gruff voice rang out on the other line.
“This is Nurse Evans. Dr. Giles needs an inmate transported immediately to the hospital.”
Scanning the chart, the word flu stuck out at me. The flu in a prison was never a good thing. It meant the infirmary was going to be packed, and the flu season had barely begun.
This particular inmate was having breathing issues. With respiratory issues and outdated equipment, sending him to the hospital was the only option.
As I relayed the patient information to transport, Dr. Giles reappeared and stood next to me, scribbling wildly onto a clipboard before returning it to its resting place.
“Are they coming?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, they’re waiting for a few officers to return and they’ll head this way.”
“Good. Hopefully no one else will come down with this. Get ready, Ms. Evans, it looks like the rough season is starting early. We’ve never had a flu patient this soon in the year. I loathe flu season.” The wrinkles across his forehead deepened as he focused back on his paperwork.
A few minutes later, the printer spat out a few sheets and Dr. Giles stuck them into a manila envelope. He scribbled the patient’s name across the front and laid it on the top of the nurses’ desk.
“I’m heading into my office to call the hospital and make sure they have a bed for him. That will save transport a few minutes,” he said.
As he walked in and sat at his desk, I watched him carefully. He pulled his glasses from his face as he dialed the number and sat back. Rubbing his eyes and nose, he sighed deeply before rambling off to whoever was on the other end. His once-brown hair was now heavily grayed and his stress was obvious in the strain of his shoulders.
When he reentered the unit, he went back to the sick inmate.
“Good news for you, Patterson. You’re going to the hospital. I’ve got you cleared for chest X-rays and a full workup. It looks like you’ll be getting a small break from this place.”
When I stepped around the curtain, the inmate was smiling as if he’d just won the lottery. I’d never seen someone so happy about a visit to the hospital.
“Thanks, Doc,” Patterson replied.
He didn’t look sick, except for the flushed cheeks and the glistening eyes of someone with a high fever.
I left Dr. Giles’ side to go back to the computer and finish some paperwork. As I sat, the door buzzer went off and the bars clicked open to let in a CO and another inmate. He was a scrawny old man, his teeth rotting and his wispy, gray hair standing on edge. He grinned at me as he came in, his eyes moving over my breasts in a vulgar manner.
The CO escorted him to a bed before taking up his post next to the curtain. Dr. Giles disappeared again, and I continued to do paperwork. I updated the charts and went into the back room to do inventory. We had to account for everything in the infirmary. If something went missing, it was a massive deal and resulted in a prison-wide shakedown.
The day was turning out okay. I stayed busy and didn’t have to deal with many inmates. The hours ticked by quickly, and I found myself smiling during my busy work. That all changed the minute the familiar lockdown alarms sounded. I groaned and rolled my eyes when the red lights flickered throughout the room.
There was no telling what was going on outside the infirmary. Why couldn’t the inmates behave themselves for just one freaking day?
I stood, preparing myself for the onslaught of inmates that were sure to come. Twenty minutes later, the door buzzed and the bars clinked open.
Five COs walked in, tugging inmates inside with them. As the first two entered, I looked them over and assessed their injuries the best I could. One was clutching his shoulder and was hunched over as if he’d been struck in the chest. The other held his face, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Someone had obviously taken something large and hard against his face.