The Doctor's Baby

27

Skye, clad in her new set of scrubs that felt slightly stiff and unfamiliar against her skin, stepped out of the work dressing room. She was immediately stopped by Chris, who had been waiting just outside. Skye's heart skipped a beat, a mixture of irritation and unexpected nervousness bubbling up inside her.

"Chris, I really need to get to my assignment," she said, trying to brush past him, her eyes focused on the stack of paperwork in her hand.

"Skye, I really need to—" Chris started, a note of urgency in his voice.

She turned to face him, her expression trying to convey sternness, but the resolve wavered slightly. Deep down, she felt a twinge of guilt for how she had been treating him. "Chris," she said, meeting his eyes, "now's not the time. Excuse me."

"Skye, please," Chris pleaded, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

"Dr. Watson," she replied, emphasizing his last name to maintain a professional distance, "we'll talk later."

With that, Skye walked away, feeling a blend of relief and discomfort at the interaction. She reassured herself that she had handled the situation appropriately. As she walked, she felt one of her braids at the back of her head coming loose – an awkward sensation that she was hyper-aware of as a black woman. It was just one more thing in a day that already felt off-kilter.

Arriving at room 346 A, Skye knocked softly before entering. "Hello, my name is Skye, and I will be your nurse—"

"Cut the crap," the man in the bed interrupted brusquely. He appeared to be in his late seventies, his face etched with lines of age and his eyes sharp despite his years.

Skye paused, taking in his demeanor. She had encountered all sorts of patients in her career, but she always found the direct ones particularly challenging. She smiled politely, maintaining her professional composure.

"I'm here to check on your vitals and make sure you're comfortable," she continued, moving towards his bedside.

The man scoffed. "Comfortable? In this place? That's a laugh."

Skye proceeded to check his blood pressure, trying to engage him in light conversation to ease the tension. "How are you feeling today, Mr..."

"Harrington. And I feel like I've been run over by a truck, thanks for asking," he replied gruffly.

Skye couldn't help but chuckle. His frankness was refreshing, albeit slightly exasperating. "That bad, huh? Well, let's see what we can do to make your stay here a little more tolerable."

"Negro, please, I can't bel—" He started coughing suddenly, a deep, wet sound.

"Mr. Harrington," Skye exclaimed, alarmed, as he wheezed, his face turning red.

Skye quickly called for the on-call doctor, her heart pounding as she monitored Mr. Harrington's vitals.

Christopher, the last person she wanted to see right now, was the first to respond. His gaze met hers, and a flicker of concern flashed across his face. "What happened?"

"I don't know. He was talking, and then he started coughing, and now I can't get him to breathe normally." Skye explained, her voice filled with worry.

Without hesitation, Christopher rushed to Mr. Harrington's side, quickly assessing the situation. "Skye, can you grab an oxygen mask from the closet, please? We need to get his breathing under control."

Skye hurried to fetch the oxygen mask, her thoughts racing. This wasn't the first time she had seen a patient in distress, but something about this situation was especially unnerving.

What was Chris doing here, wasn't Dr. Lopez on this case? She thought to herself. Whoever it was, she it didn't matter at this point.

Returning with the oxygen mask, she handed it to Chris, who was working to stabilize Mr. Harrington.

"We're going to get you some help, Mr. Harrington," Chris said, his voice steady and reassuring.

He placed the oxygen mask over the older man's face, the clear plastic fogging up with each ragged breath.

Skye could see the panic in Mr. Harrington's eyes, his face pale and sweaty. Her heart clenched, and she moved to comfort him, her hand finding his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You're going to be okay, Mr. Harrington," she assured him, her voice firm and unwavering.

She looked at Chris, his blue eyes meeting hers, and felt a spark of connection, a mutual understanding that they were both there to do their best for this man.

It was the first time in days that their gazes met and held, and in that moment, Skye felt a glimmer of hope that their relationship wasn't as broken as she had feared.

As the minutes ticked by, Chris's expertise proved crucial in stabilizing Mr. Harrington's condition. He managed to keep the older man's breathing under control and calm his nerves.

An older white woman burst into the room, her eyes wild with worry. "My husband!" she exclaimed, rushing to his side.

"It's okay, Mrs. Harrington," Skye said, her voice steady and reassuring. "Your husband is going to be okay."

"What are you doing in here." She asked her eyes piercing into Skye's. "You're a colored. You have no business here."

Skye's blood ran cold. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm just doing my job."

"No, no. This isn't right," Mrs. Harrington insisted, her tone growing increasingly agitated.

Chris intervened, his voice firm and commanding. "Ma'am, I understand your concern, but we need to focus on your husband's health right now."

"I want her out of here," Mrs. Harrington demanded, pointing at Skye.

Chris shook his head. "Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't do that. Skye is an excellent nurse, and she's been very helpful."

Mrs. Harrington's face turned red with anger. "I'm not leaving until that colored girl is gone," she snapped, her words laced with venom.

"Mrs. Harrington, I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you can't respect my g-- the staff and their roles here."

Mrs. Harrington looked like she was going to burst a blood vessel, her face contorting with rage. "How dare you! You have no right to speak to me like that! She's the reason my husband is like this!"

The situation was quickly escalating, and Skye could feel the tension in the air. Chris, however, remained calm and collected, his voice measured as he responded.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to insist that you leave, or I will be forced to call security," he said firmly.

"You're fine, it's her, the colored one. She's the problem. Get her out!" Mrs. Harrington shrieked.

As Mrs. Harrington continued to rant, Chris signaled for Skye to leave. Skye complied, her heart racing as she stepped out of the room. She leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened.

As the shock wore off, anger started to bubble up inside her. How dare that woman treat her like that? How dare she imply that Skye was somehow responsible for her husband's illness?

She clenched her fists, trying to hold back her rage. She wanted nothing more than to march back into that room and give that woman a piece of her mind, but she knew it wouldn't do any good.