Chapter 15 - Margaret Waited In Line
Nine months after David tore off my badge, Margaret Hale walked through the hospital lobby carrying the same handbag.
Different coat.
Still inexpensive.
Carol saw her.
So did I.
Carol raised one hand.
“Appointment?”
Margaret smiled.
“Yes.”
“With?”
“Board meeting.”
Carol checked.
“Name?”
Margaret stared at her.
Carol smiled.
“I know.”
Margaret laughed.
“Hale.”
Carol found the entry.
“Executive elevators. You're cleared.”
Margaret didn't move.
“There are three people ahead of me.”
Carol frowned.
“For reception?”
“Yes.”
“You're checked in.”
“I know.”
“Then you can go.”
Margaret looked toward the three visitors.
“Why are they waiting?”
Carol checked.
“One needs Patient Relations. One is looking for radiology. One is asking about a meeting.”
Margaret nodded.
“So help them.”
Carol laughed.
“Margaret.”
“What?”
“You don't have to prove anything.”
“I’m not.”
She looked at her watch.
“I’m early.”
So she sat.
That was all.
No test.
No lesson.
A seventy-two-year-old woman with eighteen minutes to spare sat in a hospital lobby while other people got directions.
I walked over.
“You know board members are legally required to cause trouble.”
“That's why they feed us upstairs.”
She looked at my badge.
There was a new line beneath my name.
Patient Advocacy RN.
Not charge nurse.
I had been offered both.
I chose this one.
For now.
Margaret noticed.
“You decided.”
“I did.”
“Happy?”
“Ask me after my first annual review.”
She smiled.
“What happened to charge?”
“Rebecca gave it to someone with better impulse control.”
“Wise.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
Probably true.
Margaret looked toward the elevators.
“Have you heard from David?”
“Once.”
He had taken an operations role at a smaller rehabilitation network.
No executive title.
At least not yet.
He sent a short email when my new role was announced.
Congratulations. Try not to escort strangers into restricted areas.
I replied:
Try not to rip off employee badges.
He responded:
Fair.
That was the entire correspondence.
Margaret asked:
“Do you think he'll do well?”
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
“Don't.”
She laughed.
Carol waved at us.
One visitor had become agitated.
A man in his forties.
Work jacket.
Red face.
He slapped his palm against the reception counter.
“I've been transferred four times.”
Security looked over.
I felt my body prepare.
Not fear exactly.
Decision.
I walked toward him.
“Sir?”
He turned.
“Are you another person who's going to tell me to wait?”
“Possibly.”
He stared.
I continued:
“But first tell me what you're trying to get answered.”
“My mother was discharged yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“They sent her home without the equipment they said would be delivered.”
Specific.
Actionable.
Still angry.
All at once.
I asked:
“Is she safe right now?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
His shoulders lowered slightly.
“I've been calling since seven.”
“I believe you.”
“Can I talk to somebody in charge?”
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
Margaret was sitting twenty feet away.
Watching.
I almost looked at her for approval.
Didn't.
I called home services.
No answer.
Called case management.
Got someone.
They discovered the equipment order had been transmitted to the wrong vendor.
Fixable.
Not instantly.
The man swore.
Security shifted closer.
I said:
“You can be angry.”
He stared.
“You cannot threaten staff.”
“I didn't.”
“I know.”
His shoulders dropped again.
We arranged a temporary equipment loan while the correct delivery was resent.
Twenty minutes.
No director.
No board.
No suspension.
No heroic scene.
The man left with a phone number and the name of the person who would call him.
I returned to Margaret.
She checked her watch.
“You're going to make me late.”
“You chose the lobby.”
“True.”
The executive elevators opened.
Dr. Whitmore stepped out.
Nine months earlier he had rushed directly toward Margaret.
This time he stopped near the doors.
He did not cross the lobby.
“Margaret.”
She stood.
“Coming.”
Then looked at me.
“Coffee later?”
“If I'm free.”
She smiled.
“Excellent.”
She headed toward the elevator.
Halfway there, she turned.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“Do you miss bedside?”
That question hit unexpectedly.
“Yes.”
“Going back?”
“I don't know.”
She smiled.
I pointed at her.
“Don't say it.”
She raised both hands and walked into the elevator.
The doors closed.
I stood in the same lobby where David had torn my badge away.
The place looked almost identical.
Same marble.
Same reception counter.
Same expensive flowers nobody smelled.
Different rules.
Some different people.
Many of the same instincts.
Including mine.
Carol called:
“Emily?”
I turned.
An older woman in a raincoat stood beside her.
Tired.
Holding a folded piece of paper.
Carol said:
“She wants five minutes with someone from administration.”
The woman looked at me.
I felt the old impulse immediately.
Fix it.
Move her.
Find the powerful person.
Prove the system works.
Instead I walked over.
“What happened?”
She looked down at the paper.
May you like
Then back at me.
And began.
