Karma in the ER

The IV bag was hanging, a clear pouch of life-saving fluid. As I adjusted the drip rate for the patient, I glanced over and saw her recording a TikTok.

Her phone was pointed right at the drip.

The caption read: This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight.

So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. Im in no rush.

"LOL. Looks like that date's not happening."

It started when I was hanging her first bag of antibiotics. She suddenly spoke up.

"Honey, how old are you?"

I looked at her. She was maybe in her late thirties, early forties, with sallow skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. She wore a bright red dress, the lace trim at the hem frayed and worn.

I managed a small, professional smile. "Twenty-three."

"So young," she said, her eyes raking over me from head to toe. "Seeing anyone?"

I was used to this. You deal with hundreds of patients, and the older ones often just want to chat. It's part of the job.

"Nope," I replied, keeping it brief.

A sly grin spread across her face. "Wow, you even wear makeup to work. You're pretty good at it, too. All dressed up like this... you got a date later?"

The truth was, a little makeup was the only thing that made me feel human on these grueling night shifts. It was for me, not for anyone else. But something in her tone, a weird, needling quality, set my teeth on edge.

"No," I said, not feeling the need to explain myself. I focused on gently inserting the needle into the back of her hand. "This is for your pneumonia, right? You have three bags. Just call me when one is finished."

I gave her my standard instructions, emphasizing the important parts. "Please don't adjust the flow rate yourself. It's normal to see a tiny bit of blood back up in the tube sometimes, so don't panic. If you need anything at all, just press the call button."

"Oh, okay, okay, I got it. You go on, get back to your work," she said, her smile plastered on her face. For a moment, I thought I'd imagined the strange look in her eyes.

Night shifts in the infusion ward are pure chaos. I was immediately swallowed by a storm of beeping machines and patient requests, and I quickly forgot about her.

After what felt like an eternity of running around, I finally got a moment to breathe. I found an empty stool and sank into it, rubbing the deep ache in my calves. The thought of my day off tomorrow brought a genuine smile to my face. I was just pulling out my phone, thinking about texting a friend to see if she was free, when the call button for that same patient lit up.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pushing myself back to my feet and walking over.

"I don't feel good," she whined, clutching her chest. "Something's wrong."

A jolt of alarm shot through me. I immediately checked her chart and the IV bag. "Are you absolutely sure you're not allergic to penicillin?"

She nodded. "I'm sure. I've had it before, plenty of times."

The medication was correct, and she had no known allergies. My training kicked in. "Okay, tell me what's wrong. Where does it hurt? What does it feel like?"

"I just... I just feel bad," she said, her brow furrowed. "I can't explain it. Wait... oh. I think it's better now. It's gone."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught the IV drip. A single drop of fluid hung suspended, taking forever to fall.

Someone had turned the flow rate down to a crawl.

My brow furrowed. "Did you touch the dial?"

"Oh, that? Was I not supposed to? It felt like it was going too fast, it made me uncomfortable."

I looked down at her, trying to keep my voice even. "The drip rate is set by the doctor for a reason. You can't just change it. If you're feeling unwell, you need to tell me."

I reached out and adjusted the dial back to the standard rate. Then, remembering shed felt sick, I slowed it down just a little, a compromise.

"I've already slowed it down for you," I said, my voice firm but polite. "Please, don't touch it again. Call me if you need anything."

"Okay, okay. Sorry to be a bother."

Her apologies meant nothing. She was a constant, draining presence. Every time I managed to sit down for more than thirty seconds, her light would flash.

"Excuse me, honey, do you have a portable charger? My phone's about to die."

"I'm sorry, we don't provide those, but there's a charging station over by the wall," I said, trying to be helpful. "If you need, I can take your phone over there for you."

"Oh, no thanks. Never mind."

A few minutes later, the light flashed again.

I sighed, dragging myself over. "Yes?"

"This stuff is so cold," she complained, shivering dramatically. "It's making me freeze."

I thought for a second. "I could get you a heat pack?"

"No, no, that's okay. Don't worry about it."

"It's no trouble," I said, waving a hand.

I had just gotten back to my seat when, like clockwork, the bell rang again.

I was at the end of my rope. "Ma'am, what is it now?"

She was smiling that same unsettling smile, pointing toward my little corner. "You must have a date later, right? I saw you smiling to yourself over there."

I had been running nonstop all night. The only time I'd smiled was for a fleeting second, thinking about my day off. A slow burn of anger started in my chest. I fought to keep my voice steady.

"I do not have a date. Please, only press the button if you actually need something."

"Okay, okay, sorry. I was just curious," she said, her smile never wavering. "I just figured, a pretty girl like you, how could you not have a boyfriend?" She looked me up and down again. "I bet you have guys lining up, don't you? With that fair skin and those big eyes... and your makeup is just perfect."

She leaned in, scrutinizing my face. "You really took your time with this. Must've taken you an hour or two, right? What time do you have to wake up in the morning to get all that done?"

I was completely fed up. But then I looked at her, alone in this sterile, impersonal room late at night, with no one by her side. A flicker of pity cut through my irritation. Maybe she was just lonely, desperate for someone to talk to.

"It doesn't take that long. Five, ten minutes, maybe," I said, my tone softening slightly. I was about to gently ask her to stop pressing the button when a thought struck me. It had been over an hour. Her first bag of antibiotics should have been empty by now.

I glanced up at the IV stand. The bag was still more than half full. The fluid was dripping at a glacial pace, one drop at a time.

Shed slowed it down again.

This time, I didn't hide my frustration. "I told you not to touch the flow rate. You have three bags to get through. At this speed, you'll be here all night."

"I already slowed it down for you once. Please, stop messing with it." I reached for the dial, my movements sharp and angry. My only intention was to get her treatment done so she could go home and rest. The plastic chairs in the waiting area were cold and uncomfortable; no one wanted to spend the night in one.

But she just sat there, wearing that same infuriatingly cheerful expression.

"Oh, dear. Am I going too slow? Am I holding you up from your date? I'm so, so sorry."

My patience snapped. I didn't say another word. I set the drip to the correct rate and stalked back to my station.

At least this time, she didn't press the button again.

I let out a sigh of relief and did one last round through the ward before heading to the prep room to mix medications for the next wave of patients. I had just finished when my charge nurse, Mrs. Davis, came in for her nightly inspection.

She did a quick walk-through. "Everything okay out here?"

"All good," I said, shaking my head. "Everyone's hooked up, and I've double-checked all the meds."

"Good work." Mrs. Davis glanced at my chart. "You're the most meticulous of the new hires. Keep it up."

She was just turning to leave when the bell chimed again.

I looked at the flashing light above the patient's cubicle and my heart sank.

It was her. Again.

This time, she'd pushed other patients too far. The man in the next cubicle, who had been trying to sleep with a blanket over his head, threw it off in a rage.

"Will you give it a rest?" he snapped. "How many times have you pressed that thing tonight? Can't you just say what you need all at once? Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

The woman flinched, her voice shrinking. "I don't feel well. I'm not allowed to say so?"

Mrs. Davis walked over. "What seems to be the problem? Where are you uncomfortable?" She checked the IV bag and the line. "The medication is fine wait a minute. Why is this drip so slow?"

"It hurts when it's too fast," the woman said, darting a look at me. "This young nurse keeps speeding it up. I think I'm keeping her from her date."

She let out a little chuckle. "Young people these days, always have plans, you know? A pretty girl like her, must have a lot of suitors. It's understandable. I can just take it faster if it's a problem. I don't want to mess up her night."

I saw red. "I did not speed it up," I said, my voice rising. "I set it to the standard rate. In fact, I already slowed it down for you. If you're in pain, you need to tell me specifically what's wrong. And for the last time, I don't have a date. Stop making things up!"

The man in the next cubicle chimed in again. "She's right. The nurse has been over here half a dozen times. You say you're uncomfortable, she adjusts it for you. What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem!" the woman shot back, her voice thick with fake outrage. "I'm sick, and I'm not allowed to say so? And you," she snarled, pointing at the man, "you're only defending her because she's pretty. You trying to get her number or something?"

The man rolled his eyes. "You're crazy."

Mrs. Davis took control, her voice calm but firm. "This flow rate is far too slow. You have two more bags after this. You'll be here all night, and you won't get any rest. Can you tell me exactly what's bothering you? We can try a different medication if we need to."

"No, no, that's okay," the woman said, waving her hands dismissively. "It's probably just the needle. I asked this nurse her age, and she's only twenty-three. She must be a new graduate, right?"

"A trainee, I bet. It's normal for students to not have much experience. It's okay, I'm not a picky person. I understand."

I felt a surge of fury. I knew, for a fact, that the IV placement was perfect. It was just a simple IV. I'd practiced at home until my hands were sore, and I'd done hundreds at the hospital without a single failure.

I clenched my fists. "You said the placement is bad. What, exactly, is wrong with it?"

"Oh, how would I know? I'm not the professional here. All I know is that it hurts. And look, there's blood backing up." She pointed to her hand. There wasn't a speck of blood in the line.

"Where?" I challenged.

"Oh, well, it was there a second ago. It's probably gone now." She shrank back into her chair. "Don't be mad, miss. I won't say anything else. I'm just not an expert, and it scared me. I didn't mean any harm."

Mrs. Davis examined her hand carefully. "The needle placement is fine. There's no blood, and even if there were, a small amount of backflow is perfectly normal. There's nothing to worry about."

"Oh," the woman said with a sheepish little laugh. "Well, maybe I saw it wrong. I feel much better now. You can adjust it. It's fine."

Mrs. Davis reset the flow rate. "Our nurses are all highly responsible professionals. They work their scheduled hours and not a minute less. You can rest assured that someone will always be here for you. If you have a problem, just tell the nurse."

"Heh, heh," the woman replied with a hollow laugh.

...

The first bag finally emptied. I went over to change it, my face a mask of professional indifference.

The womans apple cheeks bunched up in a smile. "I'm so sorry, nurse. This is my first time coming to the hospital by myself, so I was a little scared. Please don't take it personally."

I took a deep breath. "If there is a problem, let me know, and I will take care of it. I am not leaving early to go on a date. And when my shift ends, another nurse will take my place. This department is staffed twenty-four hours a day. You have nothing to worry about."

"Right, right. You run along now. Sorry again. I'm fine."

I'd dealt with difficult people before; it was part of the job. It wasn't worth the energy to stay angry. I had other patients to prep meds for.

A while later, my work finally done, I walked back through the ward. As I passed the woman's chair, I saw she was on her phone, her back to me.

My eyes snagged on her screen, and I froze.

She was posting another TikTok. On the screen was the freshly hung bag of IV fluid.

The caption was what made my blood run cold.

"This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight."

"So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. Im in no rush."

"LOL. Looks like that date's not happening."

My head snapped up, a roaring in my ears. I looked at her IV pole.

She had turned the drip rate all the way down. Again.