Conceited [H.S.]

TWENTY-TWO

**TW: mentions blood and violence**

Chapter Song: Kiwi by Harry Styles

...

ANDREA WILSON

This stupid tablet.

I swear, I hated paper charts every single day since I got hired, but now that they decided to upgrade the entire hospital to electronic paperwork and charts, I regret it. I'd take paper charts over feeling like a seventy-year-old with technology.

My brain has been completely scrambled with new technology since I started my shift at nine this morning, even though I worked through the night since I was on-call.

The upgrade excited me for about ten minutes, then I was struggling to navigate all of the different applications we have to use. You'd think it wouldn't be difficult considering I use my phone daily and had an iPad for a decent amount of time. But no.

I attempt to finish discharging the emergency room patient in bed eight, only to see an error message pop up yet another time. An annoyed groan escapes my lips and I hear a laugh coming from my left side. I glare over at Jo, her amusement in my failure to get this right has been apparent all day long.

"Fuck off," I grit through my teeth quietly.

"Give it, let me show you," she reaches over to pull the device out of my hands.

I let my head drop down onto the nurse's station desk, an immature whine falling from my mouth. My entire day has been filled with error pop-ups and I'm tired of it.

"You keep forgetting to check the box that says you take responsibility for being the nurse on the case," her words make me look up and see her finger scrolling further up to tap on a tiny box, a checkmark showing up immediately after.

A freaking tiny box. One tiny box has caused me this much irritation.

"Stupid," I roll my eyes and grab the tablet back, finalizing the discharge.

"I'll go let him know he can go home, don't break it while I'm gone," she motions to the device and walks away while holding back her laughter.

I hate feeling like an idiot, and I've felt like one all day because of technology. What is becoming the face of medicine and advancement in healing, is beginning to give me a migraine.

These past few days being here once again have been stressful, to say the least. The emergency room has been flowing with nonstop traumas, one after another. Which has been good, being able to see so many different cases, but at the same time traumas mean people are hurt so maybe good isn't the best word to use. It's hard to describe.

I open up Dylan's file on the tablet, hoping to see the results of his most recent MRI and CT scans he was supposed to be having today. I was supposed to be there with him for it since he hates the machines so much, but I got pulled down to an overloaded ER instead. So, Oliver accompanied instead.

His parents were supposed to come in to be here with him, they normally do for his scans. Except after the last scans showed his condition was worsening, they decided to call today and ask a nurse to accompany him instead.

Even during my worst moments in the hospital, having my mom there made such a difference. She wasn't consoling or helpful, in fact, she mostly scolded me, but her being there made the bad news just a little less scary.

What I would give to punch Dylan's parents in the face.

Jo sits back down next to me letting out a sigh as she swivels back and forth as I tap the refresh button repeatedly.