Chapter 5 - The Arrival Of Nurse Hannah
Wednesday morning broke with gray skies and a steady, cold drizzle tapping against the bedroom window.
At 9:30 AM, Ryan came upstairs wearing fresh khaki trousers and a crisp ironed polo shirt, looking like the picture of an attentive, devoted father.
He carried a tray with buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and another small paper cup holding two round white pills.
"Big day today, Meg," Ryan said with a bright, encouraging smile. "The visiting nurse will be here in half an hour to check your dressing. I want you looking neat and rested."
"Thank you, Ryan," I said softly, keeping my eyes downcast just as my father had instructed.
Ryan nodded approvingly, pleased by my sudden obedience.
"See? When you cooperate, everything runs smoothly. I'm going to take Iris downstairs to the living room so she's settled when the nurse arrives."
He lifted our daughter gently from the bassinet, rocking her against his shoulder as he walked out the door.
I forced myself out of bed, washed my face with cold water, and pulled on a clean pair of loose navy sweatpants and a maternity top.
At 9:46 AM, the gravel in the driveway crunched.
I looked through the blinds and saw my father’s dark green pickup truck pull in right behind Nurse Hannah’s white compact crossover.
Dad stepped out of the cab wearing his old brown leather jacket and work boots, his face unreadable and hard as granite.
Downstairs, the front doorbell chimed.
I made my way down the stairs slowly, using both hands on the handrail, my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.
When I reached the living room, Nurse Hannah was already setting her black medical bag onto the coffee table.
She was a brisk, professional woman in her late forties with kind eyes and short graying hair.
My father was standing by the coat rack, nodding quietly to Ryan, who was holding Iris in an ergonomic baby wrap against his chest.
"Good morning, Megan!" Nurse Hannah greeted me warmly, pulling on a pair of purple latex gloves. "How are we doing today? Let's take a look at that incision first."
She helped me sit back on the sofa, gently pulling up my shirt to inspect the surgical site.
Her brow furrowed slightly as she examined the red, swollen ridge of skin.
"The healing looks stable, but there's significant local inflammation and tension," Hannah noted, gently pressing the tissue around the staples.
I flinched, unable to hide the sharp gasp of agony that escaped my throat.
Hannah looked up, her clinical gaze shifting from my face to Ryan, who stood near the fireplace with a polite, concerned frown.
"Megan, what is your current pain level on a scale from one to ten?" Hannah asked.
"It's an eight," I whispered honestly. "It’s been an eight since Saturday."
Hannah frowned, reaching for her digital tablet.
"An eight? The discharge summary from Lancaster General indicates you were sent home with thirty tablets of oxycodone, five milligrams, to take every four to six hours as needed for severe breakthrough pain."
Hannah looked directly at Ryan.
"Mr. Mercer, please go get Megan's prescription bottle so I can reconcile her doses and record the lot number."
Ryan didn't move.
The polite, attentive smile on his face froze into a stiff, brittle mask.
"Well, Nurse Hannah," Ryan began, his voice dipping into that patronizing, reasonable tone he had used on me for six days, "we've actually been managing her recovery using a much more conservative holistic protocol."
Dad stepped forward from the coat rack, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor.
May you like
"The nurse asked for the bottle, Ryan," Dad said, his gravelly voice dropping like an anvil into the room.
"Go get it."
