There's this understanding when you work in an emergency room: It's butt-crazy busy, or it's dead. There's not any real in between. If you were new here, like really new, you might think the same — Until about a week ago, we were dealing with nearly half the village sick, including me, and now it's quiet as a church.
But no, it's actually just quiet as a church in here 99.99% of the time. Maybe someone will come in with a minor burn or a scrape, just wanting to make sure it doesn't get infected in a place with a dearth of antibiotics. If it's a really exciting day, somebody's been bitten by a purple alpaca.
So you can't really blame me for probably seeming a little eager when I turn around, eyebrows already arched, pale face the picture of hope.
Except them I kind of screw it up by faltering at the missing arm situation, eyes darting down and then up again, for reasons that have zero to do with what this poor guy is probably thinking.
"Hey," I reply, and sweep another quick, assessing gaze head to toe. Not bleeding anywhere, damn. "That's me."
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But no, it's actually just quiet as a church in here 99.99% of the time. Maybe someone will come in with a minor burn or a scrape, just wanting to make sure it doesn't get infected in a place with a dearth of antibiotics. If it's a really exciting day, somebody's been bitten by a purple alpaca.
So you can't really blame me for probably seeming a little eager when I turn around, eyebrows already arched, pale face the picture of hope.
Except them I kind of screw it up by faltering at the missing arm situation, eyes darting down and then up again, for reasons that have zero to do with what this poor guy is probably thinking.
"Hey," I reply, and sweep another quick, assessing gaze head to toe. Not bleeding anywhere, damn. "That's me."