Sitting at the computer, I record Xavier Bexworth’s prescription information onto his patient chart. At rounds this morning he did not look any better, whooping cough and pneumonia taking a toll on his little three-year-old body. His worried parents hadn’t looked much better than their son, both sick with worry.
Midsentence, there’s a tap on my shoulder. Abandoning the detailed list of antibiotics and nutrient fluids Xavier’s being administered through his IV, I swivel my chair around. Pharmacy manager, Mr. Ellis, the man that holds the fate of my future career in his hands, stands in front of me.
“Ms. King, I checked the prescribed dosage of dobutamine for patient Lilly Jones in room 428, which you entered on the patient’s chart during rounds earlier. Upon verification, dobutamine was not the physician’s desired course of treatment for patient Jones, it was dopamine. Errors like this are unacceptable, Ms. King. I suggest you double-, no, triple-check the prescription order before you update a patient’s chart.”
My heart climbs into my throat and the acid in my stomach threaten to burn a hole right through me. If my carelessness has hurt a patient, I will never forgive myself. How could I have been so negligent and misinterpret dobutamine and dopamine? When I lip-read Dr. Melton’s prescription, I was positive she said dobutamine.
Without turning around, I reach my hand backward and grab the notebook off the counter. I don’t even bother to sign, or make Mr. Ellis read my lips. Writing quickly, I hand Mr. Ellis the notebook. Is Lilly okay? I am incredibly sorry, Mr. Ellis. I was certain that I understood Dr. Melton correctly. From here on out, I will triple-check the prescription order. Like you said, my mistake is unacceptable.
Mr. Ellis hands the notebook back to me, a scowl still on his face. “Patient Jones is fine. Like I said, I reviewed your notes from rounds with the physician and caught the discrepancy before the wrong medication was administered. Ms. King, you’re a good pharmacist. You’ve done well, despite this mistake, be sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Watching Mr. Ellis walk away, tears sting my eyes. How could I have been so, so stupid? Glancing at my watch, I still have twenty minutes of my shift. Twenty minutes to hold in all the emotions that are threatening to burst out of me. My error could have seriously harmed that infant. What other mistakes have I made that haven’t been caught?
I turn back to the computer and stare at the blinking cursor, second-guessing myself. Did I record Xavier Bexworth’s prescription correctly? I took his information on rounds, too.
Time to triple-check.
I fire off an email to two other pharmacy technicians who were on rounds with me, and one to Xavier’s nurse, checking the physician’s order against the information I recorded.
Staring at the screen, I wait, unwilling to put another scrap of information onto the Bexworth chart until I’m certain I didn’t make another mistake.
Goddammit, Harper. Children’s lives are at stake; there is no room for error.
I can’t get Mr. Ellis’s words out of my head.
Waiting for the responses to my email, I open Lilly Jones’s drug chart. Mr. Ellis noted the change of dobutamine to dopamine and signed off on it.
Bile rises in my throat. Me, of all people, I cannot make mistakes like this. There are a dozen people, if not more, looking for any reason to say I’m unfit to be a pharmacist, that being deaf is too big a hurdle to overcome in the field of medicine. I got lazy, complacent, and I could have seriously harmed a human being—an infant no less.
Even though the words are so similar and the two drugs are both inotropes, I shouldn’t have confused the two—they don’t even have the same number of syllables.
I choke down my tears. I don’t have time to wallow right now. Do your damn job, Harper, and do it right.
My inbox confirms a new message. I click on the screen and read the email from the charge nurse overseeing the Bexworth case. The medications prescribed on rounds were exactly as I had listed. Thank God. Now to wait on the technicians’ responses.
Staring at the computer, I flip back to Xavier’s chart, feeling another tap on my shoulder. What now? How many screwups can I make in one day? Turning around, another pharmacy student, Trisha Miles, stands in front of me. Standing, I take my phone from my lab coat pocket. I unlock the screen and type. Hi, Trisha. What can I do for you?
Trisha and I have been in school together for several years. She’s always helpful and a great pharmacist. She keeps me on my toes.
“I overheard what happened. For what it’s worth, I messed up last week. We all make mistakes, Harper. Don’t beat yourself up.” She gives me a halfhearted smile, squeezes my shoulder, and turns to leave.
I appreciate Trisha’s comforting words, but they don’t help. I’ve worked too hard to let a misinterpretation derail my whole future.
Glancing at my watch, I flop back into the chair and swivel around to check my email. Sure enough, I have responses from the two techs. And my lipreading was accurate on the Bexworth round.
I put the finishing touch on Xavier’s drug chart and sign off, ready to put this day behind me. And cry myself to sleep.
Shrugging my jacket on and fishing the keys out of my purse, I wave goodbye to Trisha and head down the hall, a terrible clawing in my chest. The second the hospital doors open to the outside, I can’t hold the tears in anymore. I choke down sobs and let them stream down my cheeks.
Throughout my undergrad, and the last three years of grad school, I have never felt this awful. I’m just glad my mistake was caught before any serious damage was done. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened had Mr. Ellis not went over my prescription orders.
Climbing behind the wheel of my VW Bug, I push the engine start button and rest my head on the steering wheel, letting the enormity of what I did drown me. I’ve always said that I can do anything a hearing person can do (and I can) but today proved just how hard my chosen profession really is for a deaf person. I have to up my game. Enlist Chloe’s help; make her say drug names over and over again, until I can lip-read their subtle nuances without making mistakes.
See, I already have a plan. Today will be a small blip against the backdrop of my long, illustrious career.
Looking up, I swipe the tears off my cheeks, check my mirrors, and put the car in drive. All I want to do is go home, slip into some comfy clothes, snuggle with my dog, and hide under the covers.
* * *
Thor: You okay, Red? Thought I’d hear from you when you got off.
Me: Bad day. Sorry.
The second I lay my phone down on the bed, it flashes. Want to talk about it?
Me: No.
I slide my phone under my pillow and pat the mattress, calling Bobby closer. Such a good dog, he curls up right next to my face, leaving a sloppy, wet lick right on the tip of my nose. I rub his ears and let my eyes fall shut. If I close out the world, I won’t have to relive my screwup.
I concentrate on the rise and fall of Bobby’s little body, hoping the soothing rhythm will lull me into a deep sleep and erase this god-awful day.
Counting Bobby’s breaths, I get to eighty and still can’t get the image of Mr. Ellis standing over me, delivering my failure on a silver platter. The outside world is effing noisy.
Ninety…
Triple-check your work, Harper.
One hundred…
There’s no room for error, Harper.
One hundred twenty-two…
You’re a terrible pharmacist, Harper.
One hundred fifty-five…
You’ll never make it in the hearing world, Harper.
Two hun—
Bright light burns my closed eyes and then it’s gone. When the light flashes a second time, I jump out of bed, startled. Bobby’s on his feet, looking just as confused. My door signaler glares again.
Shit. Who’s here?
Wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth and patting my curls down, I yank open the door. Thor has a ginormous bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in his hands.
Without so much as a hello, I grab his arm and pull him into my bedroom. I need those peanut butter cups, stat!
Grabbing the bag from his hand, I rip it open, and dig inside. Thor taps my shoulder, handing me his phone. That bad, huh?
I nod, and hand his phone back as I fall onto the bed. I make quick work of the chocolate’s wrapper and pop the mini piece of heaven in my mouth. Bobby completely snubs Thor and goes straight to sniffing the bag of candy likes it’s cocaine—to him, it might as well be.
I push him back and shake my head. No chocolate for dogs, little man.
Thor lies down next to me and grabs a peanut butter cup from the bag. Unwrapping it, he takes a bite, nibbling the chocolate off, until it’s a naked peanut butter cup. I roll my head to the right and stare at him. I’ve never seen anyone eat a Reese’s like that. “That was weird.”
He shrugs and bites into another, doing the same thing. “Makes it last longer. And you get to savor both parts. You should try it.” He hands me a third chocolate.
Together, we peel the foil off, then the brown paper. Thor sets the candy against his front teeth and bites gently, pulling the chocolate shell off the peanut butter. I copy his actions, careful to only sink my teeth into the chocolate.
I make it all the way around the circle, ready to pull the top off. In the time that it has taken me to get this far, Thor’s working on his fifth or sixth.
Screw it. I pop the semi-naked peanut butter cup in my mouth and grab another, feeling better already.
A mountain of gold foil and brown paper lies between us. Thor types something on his phone and passes it to me. Are you chatty when you’re chocolate drunk?
I glare at him, but can’t hide the smile on my lips. Maybe.
Thor: Good. What happened today?
He doesn’t mince words. Right to the point. I take the phone from his hands. I really messed up today. Lipreading error. Prescribed the wrong meds for an infant.
Thor: I’m sorry, Red. Is the baby okay?
Me: Yeah. Pharm manager caught the mistake before anything was administered. I feel wretched though.
Thor: Glad everyone’s all right. Don’t beat yourself up. I fuck up a hundred times a day. You’re only human.
Turning onto his side, he scoots closer to me, and drapes his arm around my stomach. His chocolaty breath is warm against my cheek when he puts a kiss there.
I roll to my side, too, our faces centimeters apart. “Thank you for knowing I needed you here, even when I didn’t say so.”
“I hear you, babe.” Pressing in, Thor’s lips close around mine. This kiss is soft…quiet, meant to heal the soul, not set it on fire. Even when he kisses me, he knows exactly what I need.
I let me tongue linger on his mouth, tasting the sweetness of his lips before I pull away. Sitting up, I draw my legs in, and cross them. I motion for Thor to do the same thing. Grabbing the phone off the bed, I type, an idea striking my brain. I’ve got a surprise for you.
Thor: Oh, really?
I nod enthusiastically. For weeks now, I’ve been thinking about a name sign for Thor. I think I’ve finally nailed one down. It’s perfect.
Me: I’ve got a sign for you. Copy me.
Dropping the phone between us, I raise my left hand to mirror Thor, knowing he’s left-handed. I put my thumb between my index and middle fingers and motion like I’m hammering.
Thor replicates the motion. “What’s it mean?” he asks.
I make the sign again and mouth his name. “Thor.”
His eyes dance when his smile touches them.
Picking up the phone, I send him a message. Do you like it?
Thor: Let me show you just how much I love it.
He pinches my chin between his forefinger and thumb, drawing my mouth to his. This time, his kiss does set a fire as we fall, tangled together, onto the bed.