Once you looked up, you felt your heart rate increase at who was walking into the room.
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You made a mental note of the man’s health and jotted a few things down on the clipboard at the end of his bed as the doctor finally arrived. Surely you hadn’t spent years in school studying medicine and the human body to be treated as if you were a moron. “He’ll be right in.” You took a deep breath before approaching him to do a quick evaluation of him before the doctor came in. “Where’s the doctor? You know, the guy who actually knows what he’s doing.” “Stupid nurse.” He mumbled with his head tilted down towards the bucket again. I’m sorry.” You kept your voice down, though you felt anger building inside of you the ungrateful man. “It wasn’t meant to be taken that serious, sir. “Does my spewing chunks not give away the fact that I’m doing pretty shitty?” He sneered once he mustered the strength to look up from the bucket and glare at you. He looked up at you, rolled his eyes, and began vomiting once again. Curtis?” You asked the least liked question. The man was not in critical condition, but simply ill.
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You sighed with relief that the situation wasn’t as serious as the ditsy receptionist made it out to be.
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There was a middle aged man in the bed, vomiting up his dinner from that night. You rushed down the hallway and made your way through the first door on the right. You grabbed your stethoscope off of the counter where you were overlooking charts and volunteered to check on the patient. “We need a nurse in Room 184B.” A receptionist shouted from behind her desk frantically.