Nurse Thank You Quotes

I think-I need to ask an embarrassing question. Do you think I could borrow a pair of scrubs? I-uh-my pants-" "Oh!" Cried the poor nurse. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll be right back." [...] "Thanks," I mumbled. "I'll just change here. He's not looking at anything at the moment." I gestured toward Sam, who was looking convincingly sedated. The nurse vanished through the curtains. Sam eye's flashed open again, distinctly amused. He whispered, "Did you just tell that man you went potty on yourself?" "You.Shut.UP." I hissed back furiously.

I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make-believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim’s grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she know that Beatrice was yawning and glancing at her watch? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it right, it was a duty, so that when she got home afterwards Beatrice would be able to say, “Well, that clears my conscience for three months”? Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of hers but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold? I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with color in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head. “We’ve got a treat today, you know,” said the nurse, “watercress sandwiches for tea. We love watercress, don’t we?

no one’s held my hand since I was like six. No one’s touched me in a few years except nurses and a lot worse. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don't mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more then mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I'm just going to miss you guys. I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you're crazy but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset. And don't be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny

We part, then, for the nonce, do we?' 'I fear so, sir.' 'You take the high road, and self taking the low road, as it were?' 'Yes, sir.' 'I shall miss you, Jeeves.' 'Thank you, sir.' 'Who was that chap who was always beefing about gazelles?' 'The poet Moore, sir. He complained that he had never nursed a dear gazelle, to glad him with its soft black eye, but when it came to know him well, it was sure to die.' 'It's the same with me. I am a gazelle short. You don't mind me alluding to you as a gazelle, Jeeves?' 'Not at all, sir.

I’d also like to take a moment to salute the many caregivers out there working in hospitals, nursing homes, and in patients’ houses. These often-unsung heroes heal the sick and comfort the suffering on a daily basis, going about their work with diligence, dignity, and pride. You care. Thank you.

Andy: Andrew Makepeace Ladd, the Third, accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Channing Gardner for a birthday party in honor of their daughter Melissa on April 19th, 1937 at half past three o'clock. Melissa: Dear Andy: Thank you for the birthday present. I have a lot of Oz books, but not 'The Lost Princess of Oz.' What made you give me that one? Sincerely yours, Melissa. Andy: I'm answering your letter about the book. When you came into second grade with that stuck-up nurse, you looked like a lost princess. Melissa: I don't believe what you wrote. I think my mother told your mother to get that book. I like the pictures more than the words. Now let's stop writing letters.

I found the head nurse and asked her, and she said Dan has been flown back to America on account of they can take better care of him there. I asked her if he is okay, and she said, 'Yeah, if you can call two punctured lungs, a severed intestine, spinal separation, a missing foot, a truncated leg, and third degree burns over half the body okay, then he is just fine. I thanked her, and went on my way.

When the nurse leaves, Doctor Rose mouths, “Act like you’re in pain.” Then she mimics a painful expression in case Summer doesn’t understand. On the contrary, Summer’s an expert at interpreting body language and reading lips. It’s all thanks to her observant nature while enslaved on the Cosmos. Who else could tell that Peter’s discomfort is due to him wearing the same pair of underwear for a week straight? Ah, yes, she always knew when day six and seven approached. She watched the crew member with much amusement as he waddled, pulled wedgies, and scratched his bum relentlessly. Not that anyone else cared to know that little nugget of information.

Victor is extremely intelligent," Nurse Ratched said. "He can fix almost anything. And he decided to fix you, so you should be thankful to your father. Your dad. Your daddy. Error. Error. Do not call people 'daddy.' That is unprofessional.

Went home briefly to get my halter dress for Hero's party, and Mom was waiting for me at the kitchen table. Either she's psychic, or she totally reads my journal, because I haven't said a word about Ben, but somehow she knows something is up. She was siting with a tray of peanut butter crackers, milk, and about twenty pamphlets on STDs she got from her friend Connie, a nurse at Kaiser. When she started showing me pictures of genital warts, I put my cracker down and said, 'Mom, is this really necessary?' She said, 'Honey, I just want you to understand the risks.' 'Yeah, thanks. Now I'm so traumatized I won't have sex until I'm a senior citizen.' She smiled. 'Great. I guess I've done my job then. Do you want a sandwich.

And let me tell you something else, my friend," she said in the precise enunciation of a trained nurse talking to a worried patient. "It is all very easy for a man to talk about living in the present. Much more so than for a woman, who is liable to get knocked up higher than a kite every time the man enjoys himself in the present. Thats one thing I dont have to worry about, thank God. But there are a lot of others: such as what I am going to do when my husband kicks me out and then my lover throws me over when he has to support me, and me not being trained for anything but to be somebody's wife and having to do all my politicking and achieving and gain what little success I can by getting behind some stupid man and pushing him.

When we finally had a patient, he welcomed me with open arms. He invited me to sit down and it was obvious that he was eager to speak. I told him that I did not wish to hear him now but would return the next day with my students. I was not sensitive enough to appreciate his communications. It was so hard to get one patient, I had to share him with my students. Little did I realize then that when such a patient says “Please sit down now,” tomorrow may be too late. When we revisited him the next day, he was lying back in his pillow, too weak to speak. He made a meager attempt to lift his arm and whispered “Thank you for trying”—he died less than an hour later and kept to himself what he wanted to share with us and what we so desperately wanted to learn.

Feeding (more on this in chapter 8) Breast pump Breast pads Breast cream (Lansinoh) Breast milk containers Twin nursing pillow Boppy Formula Baby bottles (8-oz. wide neck; 16–20 bottles if you’re doing formula exclusively) Dishwasher baskets Bottle brush High chairs Booster seat Food processor or immersion blender Bottle warmer Bottle drying rack Bowls and spoons Baby food storage containers Keepsakes Baby books Thank-you notes/stationery Newspaper from birthday CD player/dock for music Twin photo albums/frames

Say!” Benedict exclaimed. “Why don’t you save her, Hastings?” Simon took one look at Lady Bridgerton (who at that point had her hand firmly wrapped around Macclesfield’s forearm) and decided he’d rather be branded an eternal coward. “Since we haven’t been introduced, I’m sure it would be most improper,” he improvised. “I’m sure it wouldn’t,” Anthony returned. “You’re a duke.” “So?” “So?” Anthony echoed. “Mother would forgive any impropriety if it meant gaining an audience for Daphne with a duke.” “Now look here,” Simon said hotly, “I’m not some sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered on the altar of your mother.” “You have spent a lot of time in Africa, haven’t you?” Colin quipped. Simon ignored him. “Besides, your sister said—” All three Bridgerton heads swung round in his direction. Simon immediately realized he’d blundered. Badly. “You’ve met Daphne?” Anthony queried, his voice just a touch too polite for Simon’s comfort. Before Simon could even reply, Benedict leaned in ever-so-slightly closer, and asked, “Why didn’t you mention this?” “Yes,” Colin said, his mouth utterly serious for the first time that evening. “Why?” Simon glanced from brother to brother and it became perfectly clear why Daphne must still be unmarried. This belligerent trio would scare off all but the most determined— or stupid— of suitors. Which would probably explain Nigel Berbrooke. “Actually,” Simon said, “I bumped into her in the hall as I was making my way into the ballroom. It was”— he glanced rather pointedly at the Bridgertons—“ rather obvious that she was a member of your family, so I introduced myself.” Anthony turned to Benedict. “Must have been when she was fleeing Berbrooke.” Benedict turned to Colin. “What did happen to Berbrooke? Do you know?” Colin shrugged. “Haven’t the faintest. Probably left to nurse his broken heart.” Or broken head, Simon thought acerbically. “Well, that explains everything, I’m sure,” Anthony said, losing his overbearing big-brother expression and looking once again like a fellow rake and best friend. “Except,” Benedict said suspiciously, “why he didn’t mention it.” “Because I didn’t have the chance,” Simon bit off, about ready to throw his arms up in exasperation. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Anthony, you have a ridiculous number of siblings, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time to be introduced to all of them.” “There are only two of us present,” Colin pointed out. “I’m going home,” Simon announced. “The three of you are mad.” Benedict, who had seemed to be the most protective of the brothers, suddenly grinned. “You don’t have a sister, do you?” “No, thank God.

Kyle, I was so afraid.” Cole lifted his head from the comfort of her bosom to see her face again. She smoothed back his wild, knotted hair. “It’s you. It’s you. It’s you.” A crowd in the doorway interrupted their loving revelation. Nurse Susan stormed into the room. Cole ignored them all and kissed Kyle’s sleepy lips. “I love you, Kyle. Thank you for being alive. They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Kyle sighed. “They hurt me so much when they took you, Cole. That’s the worst pain on earth. The worst.” Kyle kissed his forehead and ran her hands over his back. “I’m your shadow. I love you too.

You're an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature,' he murmured. 'There'll be time for all the sweet whispers later,' Jasper said, and when Casteel pulled back, there was a fire in his eyes. 'You do look quite lovely, Penellaphe.' 'Thank you,' I said. 'What about me?' Casteel asked, and behind him, Naill sighed. 'You look passable.' 'That was rude,' he replied. 'Would you like to go sit in the shade and nurse your wounded feelings? Like you did when you were young and inevitably injured yourself doing something incredibly stupid?' Casteel's brows lowered as he looked over at Jasper. 'This marriage ceremony is starting off in a really weird way.

But it still hurt anyway. You know a guy a long time, and I mean really know him, you don’t get used to the idea that he’s dead just overnight. Johnny was something more than a buddy to all of us. I guess he had listened to more beefs and more problems from more people than any of us. A guy that’ll really listen to you, listen and care about what you’re saying, is something rare. And I couldn’t forget him telling me that he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t been out of our neighborhood all his life—and then it was too late. I took a deep breath and opened the book. A slip of paper fell out on the floor and I picked it up. Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. It was Johnny’s handwriting. I went on reading, almost hearing Johnny’s quiet voice. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don’t mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I’m just going to miss you guys. I’ve been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you’re a kid everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That’s gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you’re crazy, but ask for me. I don’t think he’s ever really seen a sunset. And don’t be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There’s still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don’t think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny.

By the front door is a table normally used for mail and car keys. On it sits a single sheet of paper bearing six typed lines. Holding my breath, I pick it up and begin to read. At sixty-nine, Virginia Hope Wrote her nurse this little note Thank you, dear, for saving me Now it’s time to let you be I take my leave, walking tall Knowing that I fooled them all

[My mother] related a childhood anecdote about one of her sisters who had an appendix operation and afterwards had been given a beautiful purse by another sister. My mother was fourteen at the time. Oh, how she yearned to have an exquisitely beaded purse like her sister's, but she dared not open her mouth. So guess what? She feigned a pain in her side and went the whole way with her story. Her family took her to several doctors. They were unable to produce a diagnosis and so opted for exploratory surgery. It had been a bold gamble on my mother's part, but it worked--she was given an identical little purse! When she received the coveted purse, my mother was elated despite being in physical agony from the surgery. Two nurses came in and one stuck a thermometer in her mouth. My mother said, 'Ummm, ummm,' to show the purse to the second nurse, who answered, 'Oh, for me? Why, thank you!' and took the purse! My mother was at a loss, and never figured out how to say, 'I didn't mean to give it to you. Please return it to me.' Her story poignantly reveals how painful it can be when people don't openly acknowledge their needs.

the Signal Corps recruited U.S. switchboard operators who were bilingual in English and French and loaded them into ships bound for Europe. Known as the “Hello Girls,” these were the first American women other than nurses to be sent by the U.S. military into harm’s way. The officers whose calls they connected often prefaced their conversations by saying, “Thank Heaven you’re here!

Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don't mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more then mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I'm just going to miss you guys. I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you're crazy but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset. And don't be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny" ~Johnny's letter to Ponyboy "The Outsiders

Something about that temporary and jarring loss of mobility can really encourage people to see what they are capable of.” She pats my hand and moves toward the door. “Make sure you tell the nurses if you need anything. And if you have any other questions, I’m here,” she says. “Thanks,” I say, and then I turn to Gabby. “Great. So not only am I unable even to walk myself to the bathroom right now, but if I don’t start dreaming of marathons and Nikes, I’m a slacker.” “I believe that is what she said, yes. She said if you don’t start training for the L.A. Marathon this very second, your life is a waste, and you might as well pack it in.

The lady is ninety-two years old, petite, well poised, and proud. She is fully dressed each morning by eight o’clock, with her hair fashionably coiffed and her makeup perfectly applied, in spite of the fact that she is legally blind. Today she has moved to a nursing home. Her husband of seventy years recently passed away, making this move necessary. After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiles sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvers her walker to the elevator, the staff person provides a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet curtains that have been hung on her window. “I love it,” she states with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy. “Mrs. Jones, you haven’t seen the room… just wait,” the staff person says. Then Mrs. Jones speaks these words: “That does not have anything to do with it,” she gently replies. “Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like the room or not does not depend on how the furniture is arranged. It is how I arrange my mind that matters. I have already decided to love it. It is a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice. I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or I can get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do work. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I will focus on the new day and all of the happy memories I have stored away… just for this time in my life.

Thanks, Elizabeth,” Rachel said, jumping eagerly to her feet. “Sorry to have wasted your time.” “Oh, it was nice to have something to do,” Elizabeth replied. “I usually see a dozen or more campers every day with various bumps and bruises, but you’re the only ones I’ve seen so far today.” She picked up another roll of bandages. “So I decided to organize my medicine cabinet instead.” “That’s because of Leona’s unicorn,” Kirsty whispered to Rachel as they went to the door of the cabin. “His healing powers mean that the campers don’t need the nurse!” “Help yourself to a lollipop from my jar on your way out, girls,” Elizabeth called. There was a big glass jar of brightly colored lollipops on a shelf near the door. As Rachel reached for it, she noticed that the jar had a strange

The nurse brought out some knitting, and clicked her needles sharply. She turned to me, very bright, very cheerful. “How are you liking Manderley, Mrs. de Winter?” “Very much, thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful spot, isn’t it?” she said, the needles jabbing one another. “Of course we don’t get over there now, she’s not up to it. I am sorry, I used to love our days at Manderley.” “You must come over yourself sometime,” I said. “Thank you, I should love to. Mr. de Winter is well, I suppose?” “Yes, very well.” “You spent your honeymoon in Italy, didn’t you? We were so pleased with the picture-postcard Mr. de Winter sent.” I wondered whether she used “we” in the royal sense, or if she meant that Maxim’s grandmother and herself were one. “Did he send one? I can’t remember.” “Oh, yes, it was quite an excitement. We love anything like that. We keep a scrapbook you know, and paste anything to do with the family inside it. Anything pleasant, that is.

We live in a world where we have to sacrifice our comfort for the sake of others. Where we have to go an extra mile to meet others' needs. Where we have to dig deep in our resources to please others. I have gone out of my comfort zone for some people. Some people have gone out of their comfort zone for me. And I'm grateful. It's life. It's a common thing. There is no right or wrong to this behaviour. We do it because either we want to or that we must. By the way, our self-sacrificing service can be unhealthy to us. Some people burn themselves down trying to keep others warm. Some break their backs trying to carry the whole world. Some break their bones trying to bend backwards for their loved ones. All these sacrifices are, sometimes, not appreciated. Usually we don't thank the people who go out of their comfort zone to make us feel comfortable. Again, although it's not okay, it's a common thing. It's another side of life. To be fair, we must get in touch with our humanity and show gratitude for these sacrifices. We owe it to so many people. And sometimes we don't even realise it. Thanks be to God for forgiving our sins — which we repeat. Thanks to our world leaders and the activists for the work that they do to make our economic life better. Thanks to our teachers, lecturers, mentors, and role models for shaping our lives. Thanks to our parents for their continual sacrifices. Thanks to our friends for their solid support. Thanks to our children, nephews, and nieces. They allow us to practise discipline and leadership on them. Thanks to the doctors and nurses who save our lives daily. Thanks to safety professionals and legal representatives. They protect us and our possessions. Thanks to our church leaders, spiritual gurus and guides, and meditation partners. They shape our spiritual lives. Thanks to musicians, actors, writers, poets, and sportspeople for their entertainment. Thanks to everyone who contributes in a positive way to our society. Whether recognised or not. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don't mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more then mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I'm just going to miss you guys. I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you're crazy but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset. And don't be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny ~Johnny's letter to Ponyboy The Outsiders

Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. It was Johnny’s handwriting. I went on reading, almost hearing Johnny’s quiet voice. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don’t mind dying now. It’s worth it. It’s worth saving those kids. Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it’s worth it. I’m just going to miss you guys. I’ve been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you’re gold when you’re a kid, like green. When you’re a kid everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That’s gold. Keep that way, it’s a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He’ll probably think you’re crazy, but ask for me. I don’t think he’s ever really seen a sunset. And don’t be so bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There’s still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don’t think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny.

When there’s a knock at my door, I scream, “Go away!” The knock gets more persistent. “Fuckin’ leave me alone!” As the door creaks open, I hurl a cup at the door. The cup doesn’t hit a hospital employee; it hits Mrs. P. squarely in the chest. “Oh, shit. Not you,” I say. Mrs. P.’s got new glasses, with rhinestones on them. “That’s not exactly the greeting I expected, Alex,” she says. “I can still give you a detention for cussing, you know.” I turn on my side so I don’t have to look at her. “Did you come here to give me detention slips? ’Cause if you did, you can forget it. I’m not goin’ back to school. Thanks for visitin’. Sorry you have to leave so soon.” “I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out.” Oh, please no. Anything except having to listen to her lecture. I push the button that calls the nurse. “Can we help you, Alex?” a voice bellows through the speaker. “I’m bein’ tortured.” “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. P. walks over to me and pulls the speaker out of my hand. “He’s joking. Sorry to bother you.” She puts the remote speaker on the nightstand, deliberately out of my reach. “Don’t they give you happy pills in this place?” “I don’t want to be happy.

When we arrived they led us into a room to meet privately with some of the nurses and doctors. They lined us all up in chairs and we went down the line introducing ourselves. I was the last one in the line. When it was my turn, suddenly I was overcome with emotion. I was too choked up to even say my name. I stood up but could only muster, “I can’t talk.” And I sat back down. I don’t know where it was coming from, but my emotions were powerful and paralyzing. Everyone carried on with the question-and-answer session and I just sat there taking deep breaths, trying to regain my composure. Finally, after I was sure my voice was steady and my tears were dry, I stood up and said that I’d like to speak. “I don’t remember coming through here, but I haven’t felt this emotional anywhere else. I know none of you were here when I came through or when these other guys came through, but you’re doing the same job. You’re doing it for other guys here now and I just want to say thank you for what you do, what you have to see day in and day out, not knowing how things go afterwards. I hope that with our being here, you’re able to see that we do move on. We do recover. And I wanted to say thank you.” I barely made it through the last few words before I choked up again. Tears streamed steadily down my cheeks. I looked around and everyone else was crying, too. Every guy in our group as well as every doctor and nurse. It was emotional for all of us.

As we were getting Mia’s things ready for her discharge, her nurse started to excuse herself to get a wheelchair to transport Mia to the car. Instantly, Mia said, “I’m not riding in a wheelchair.” “Yes, you are, Mia. It’s a hospital regulation,” I said, believing that was true. “Mom,” she protested, “they said I’m supposed to walk as much as possible. I’m walking to the car.” I saw a certain look in Mia’s eyes as she made this announcement, the look that says “I am going to push hard for this.” I knew she was determined, and I would fight a losing battle to try to talk her out of it. “I’m walking out of here,” she said again. I guess the medical staff noticed that look too because they allowed her to try to walk, with a nurse close beside her. Seeing that little girl limp her way down the hall, holding Reed’s hand, was one of the proudest moments of my life. I was absolutely amazed by her spunk and determination. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse and snapped a picture. She is such a fighter, I thought as Jase and I followed her. Visually, she looked roughed up, as though she had been through about fifteen rounds in a boxing match. But in that moment, she showed a level of toughness and resilience I have never seen in a child. Remembering the information we were told on that first visit to ICI when Mia was seventeen days old, that she would need physical therapy to help her walk again after this surgery, I thanked God as I watched our daughter walk right out of the hospital twenty-four hours postoperation! When we got into the car, Jase asked Mia, “Well, what do you think about that?” “I’m a little tired, but I made it,” she replied. Indeed she did.

Once people believed her careful documentation, there was an easy answer—since babies are cute and inhibit aggression, something pathological must be happening. Maybe the Abu langur population density was too high and everyone was starving, or male aggression was overflowing, or infanticidal males were zombies. Something certifiably abnormal. Hrdy eliminated these explanations and showed a telling pattern to the infanticide. Female langurs live in groups with a single resident breeding male. Elsewhere are all-male groups that intermittently drive out the resident male; after infighting, one male then drives out the rest. Here’s his new domain, consisting of females with the babies of the previous male. And crucially, the average tenure of a breeding male (about twenty-seven months) is shorter than the average interbirth interval. No females are ovulating, because they’re nursing infants; thus this new stud will be booted out himself before any females wean their kids and resume ovulating. All for nothing, none of his genes passed on. What, logically, should he do? Kill the infants. This decreases the reproductive success of the previous male and, thanks to the females ceasing to nurse, they start ovulating. That’s the male perspective. What about the females? They’re also into maximizing copies of genes passed on. They fight the new male, protecting their infants. Females have also evolved the strategy of going into “pseudoestrus”—falsely appearing to be in heat. They mate with the male. And since males know squat about female langur biology, they fall for it—“Hey, I mated with her this morning and now she’s got an infant; I am one major stud.” They’ll often cease their infanticidal attacks. Despite initial skepticism, competitive infanticide has been documented in similar circumstances in 119 species, including lions, hippos, and chimps. A variant occurs in hamsters; because males are nomadic, any infant a male encounters is unlikely to be his, and thus he attempts to kill it (remember that rule about never putting a pet male hamster in a cage with babies?). Another version occurs among wild horses and gelada baboons; a new male harasses pregnant females into miscarrying. Or suppose you’re a pregnant mouse and a new, infanticidal male has arrived. Once you give birth, your infants will be killed, wasting all the energy of pregnancy. Logical response? Cut your losses with the “Bruce effect,” where pregnant females miscarry if they smell a new male. Thus competitive infanticide occurs in numerous species (including among female chimps, who sometimes kill infants of unrelated females). None of this makes sense outside of gene-based individual selection. Individual selection is shown with heartbreaking clarity by mountain gorillas, my favorite primate. They’re highly endangered, hanging on in pockets of high-altitude rain forest on the borders of Uganda, Rwanda, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. There are only about a thousand gorillas left, because of habitat degradation, disease caught from nearby humans, poaching, and spasms of warfare rolling across those borders. And also because mountain gorillas practice competitive infanticide. Logical for an individual intent on maximizing the copies of his genes in the next generation, but simultaneously pushing these wondrous animals toward extinction. This isn’t behaving for the good of the species.

Blood pressure check!” The doorknob rattled, as if the nurse were intending just to walk in, but the lock held, thank God. The nurse knocked again. “Oh, shit,” Gina breathed, laughing as she scrambled off of him. She reached to remove the condom they’d just used, encountered . . . him, and met his eyes. But then she scooped her clothes off the floor and ran into the bathroom. “Mr. Bhagat?” The nurse knocked on the door again. Even louder this time. “Are you all right?” Oh, shit, indeed. “Come in,” Max called as he pulled up the blanket and leaned on the button that put his bed back up into a sitting position. The same control device had a “call nurse” button as well as the clearly marked one that would unlock the door. “It’s locked,” the nurse called back, as well he knew. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, as he wiped off his face with the edge of the sheet. Sweat much in bed, all alone, Mr. Bhagat? “I must’ve . . . Here, let me figure out how to . . .” He took an extra second to smooth his hair, his pajama top, and then, praying that the nurse had a cold and couldn’t smell the scent of sex that lingered in the air, he hit the release. “Please don’t lock your door during the day,” the woman scolded him as she came into the room, around to the side of his bed. It was Debra Forsythe, a woman around his age, whom Max had met briefly at his check-in. She had been on her way home to deal with some crisis with her kids, and hadn’t been happy then, either. “And not at night either,” she added, “until you’ve been here a few days.” “Sorry.” He gave her an apologetic smile, hanging on to it as the woman gazed at him through narrowed eyes. She didn’t say anything, she just wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, and pumped it a little too full of air—ow—as Gina opened the bathroom door. “Did I hear someone at the door?” she asked brightly. “Oh, hi. Debbie, right?” “Debra.” She glanced at Gina, and then back, her disgust for Max apparent in the tightness of her lips. But then she focused on the gauge, stethoscope to his arm. Gina came out into the room, crossing around behind the nurse, making a face at him that meant . . .? Max sent her a questioning look, and she flashed him. She just lifted her skirt and gave him a quick but total eyeful. Which meant . . . Ah, Christ. The nurse turned to glare at Gina, who quickly straightened up from searching the floor. What was it with him and missing underwear? Gina smiled sweetly. “His blood pressure should be nice and low. He’s very relaxed—he just had a massage.” “You know, I didn’t peg you for a troublemaker when you checked in yesterday,” Debra said to Max, as she wrote his numbers on the chart. Gina was back to scanning the floor, but again, she straightened up innocently when the nurse turned toward her. “I think you’re probably looking for this.” Debra leaned over and . . . Gina’s panties dangled off the edge of her pen. They’d been on the floor, right at the woman’s sensibly clad feet. “Oops,” Gina said. Max could tell that she was mortified, but only because he knew her so well. She forced an even sunnier smile, and attempted to explain. “It was just . . . he was in the hospital for so long and . . .” “And men have needs,” Debra droned, clearly unmoved. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.” “No, actually,” Gina said, still trying to turn this into something they could all laugh about, “I have needs.” But it was obvious that this nurse hadn’t laughed since 1985. “Then maybe you should find someone your own age to play with. A professional hockey player just arrived. He’s in the east wing. Second floor.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Lots of money. Just your type, I’m sure.” “Excuse me?” Gina wasn’t going to let one go past. She may not have been wearing any panties, but her Long Island attitude now waved around her like a superhero’s cape. She even assumed the battle position, hands on her hips.

a guitar. A hammock is swung near the table. It is three o'clock in the afternoon of a cloudy day. MARINA, a quiet, grey-haired, little old woman, is sitting at the table knitting a stocking. ASTROFF is walking up and down near her. MARINA. [Pouring some tea into a glass] Take a little tea, my son. ASTROFF. [Takes the glass from her unwillingly] Somehow, I don't seem to want any. MARINA. Then will you have a little vodka instead? ASTROFF. No, I don't drink vodka every day, and besides, it is too hot now. [A pause] Tell me, nurse, how long have we known each other? MARINA. [Thoughtfully] Let me see, how long is it? Lord—help me to remember. You first came here, into our parts—let me think—when was it? Sonia's mother was still alive—it was two winters before she died; that was eleven years ago—[thoughtfully] perhaps more. ASTROFF. Have I changed much since then? MARINA. Oh, yes. You were handsome and young then, and now you are an old man and not handsome any more. You drink, too. ASTROFF. Yes, ten years have made me another man. And why? Because I am overworked. Nurse, I am on my feet from dawn till dusk. I know no rest; at night I tremble under my blankets for fear of being dragged out to visit some one who is sick; I have toiled without repose or a day's freedom since I have known you; could I help growing old? And then, existence is tedious, anyway; it is a senseless, dirty business, this life, and goes heavily. Every one about here is silly, and after living with them for two or three years one grows silly oneself. It is inevitable. [Twisting his moustache] See what a long moustache I have grown. A foolish, long moustache. Yes, I am as silly as the rest, nurse, but not as stupid; no, I have not grown stupid. Thank God, my brain is not addled yet, though my feelings have grown numb. I ask nothing, I need nothing, I love no one, unless it is yourself alone. [He kisses her head] I had a nurse just like you when I was a child. MARINA. Don't you want a bite of something to eat? ASTROFF. No. During the third week of Lent I went to the epidemic at Malitskoi. It was eruptive typhoid. The peasants were all lying side by side in their huts, and the calves and pigs were running about the floor among the sick. Such dirt there was, and smoke! Unspeakable! I slaved among those people all day, not a crumb passed my lips, but when I got home there was still no rest for me; a switchman was carried in from the railroad; I laid him on the operating table and he went and died in my arms under chloroform, and then my feelings that should have been deadened awoke

The tea was brought. Mumbling her thanks, she took the cup in her hands, not bothering with the saucer. She drank it all without tasting it. “What are you using to dress the wound?” West asked, looking over the collection of bottles on the table. “Glycerin and disinfecting drops, and a layer of oiled muslin.” “And you’re keeping him packed with ice.” “Yes, and trying to make him take a sip of water at least once every hour. But he won’t . . .” Garrett paused as a swoosh went through her head. She closed her eyes—a mistake—the entire room seemed to tilt. “What is it?” she heard West ask. His voice seemed to come from very far away. “Dizzy,” she mumbled. “Need more tea, or . . .” Her lashes fluttered upward, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. West was in front of her, easing the china cup from her lax fingers before it could drop. His assessing gaze ran over her, and it was then that she realized what he’d done. “What was in my tea?” she asked in a panic, trying to rise from her chair. “What did you put in it?” The room revolved. She felt his arms close around her. “Nothing but a pinch of valerian,” West said calmly. “Which wouldn’t have had nearly this much of an effect if you weren’t ready to drop from exhaustion.” “I’m going to kill you,” she cried. “Yes, but to do that you’ll have to have a nice little rest first, won’t you?” Garrett tried to strike him with her fist, but he ducked easily beneath her flailing arm, and picked her up as her knees buckled. “Let go! I have to take care of him—he needs me—” “I can manage the basics of nursing him while you sleep.” “No, you can’t,” Garrett said weakly, and was horrified to hear a sob breaking from her throat. “Your patients all have four legs. H-he only has two.” “Which means he’ll be half the trouble,” West said reasonably. Garrett writhed with helpless rage. Ethan was on his deathbed, and this man was making light of the situation. He contained her struggles with maddening ease. As West carried her along the hallway, Garrett desperately tried to stop crying. Her eyes were on fire. Her head throbbed and ached, and it had become so heavy that she had to rest it on his shoulder. “There, now,” she heard him murmur. “It’s only for a few hours. When you awaken, you’ll have any revenge you want.” “Going to dissect you,” she sobbed, “into a million pieces—” “Yes,” West soothed, “just think about which instrument you’ll start with. Perhaps that two-sided scalpel with the funny handle.” He brought her into a pretty bedroom with flowered paper on the walls. “Martha,” he called. “Both of you. Come see to Dr. Gibson.

As the sun set, I ate a hospital meal and watched TV. Every few minutes, I glanced at the girl on the bed and tried to see Raven. I struggled to remember her smile and laugh. With her face so swollen, she didn’t seem like my love. I worried I’d lost her because I brought Caleb to Ellsberg. Eventually, the nurse showed me how to turn the chair into a pull out bed. I thanked her, but the thing was too damn small for me to fit on. Besides, I didn’t want to sleep until Raven woke up. Finally, I gave into my weird little urge to kiss the sleeping beauty. I needed to know she was okay. Know she wanted me to stay because she still loved me. I felt nervous until her swollen lips twitched into a smile after my kiss. “Tell me a story,” she mumbled while gripping my shirt with her good hand and tugging me into the bed with her. I adjusted our bodies just enough for me to rest next to her. While the position wasn’t comfortable, I finally relaxed at knowing my woman wanted me close. Caressing her battered face with my fingers, I loved how she smiled for me. Even in pain and after a hellish day, she soothed my fears. “Once upon a time,” I said and she smiled again, “there was a lonely fool who wasted one day after another of his life. One day, he met the most fascinating chick and she quickly wrapped the fool around her finger. She loved him in the best way and saved him from himself. He loved her too and only wanted for her to be happy and safe.” Hesitating, I frowned at the sight of her suffering. As if knowing what I was thinking, she reached up and ran a finger of my lips. “More.” “After the evil… let’s call them gnomes because I hate those ugly little fuckers. So, once the gnomes were destroyed, the fool and his lovely savior bought a big house for all the beautiful blond babies they would have together.” As Raven smiled at this idea, my uneasiness faded. “Their kids all had names with a V in them to honor their hot parents.” Raven laughed then moaned at the gesture. Still, she kept smiling for me. “The fool, his beautiful woman, and their army of glorious babies played videogames, bowled, and roller skated. They were always happy and never sad in a town with their friends and family. They all lived happily ever after.” Raven swollen lips smiled enough to show her missing tooth. Even though she was essentially blind with her battered eyes, she knew I’d seen her mouth and covered it with her hand. “You’re beautiful, darling. Nothing will ever change that.” Raven grunted, unconvinced. “There’s more to love about you than your beauty.” Another grunt followed by a hint of a pout. “Sugar, if I got all banged up and my stunning good looks were damaged, you’d still love me, right?” Raven laughed, but said nothing, so I answered for her. “Of course, you would. My amazing personality and giant brain would keep you horny even if my hot body wasn’t at its best.” Laughing harder now, Raven leaned against me. “I liked your story.” “Unlike most fairytales, this one is coming true.

One letter was addressed to me personally in large, shaky handwriting with little circles over the i's instead of dots. [...] It was from Sid. Dear Debbie [Nancy's mother], Thank you for phoning me the other night. It was so comforting to hear your voice. You are the only person who really understands how much Nancy and I love each other. Every day without Nancy gets worse and worse. I just hope that when I die I go the same place as her. Otherwise I will never find peace. Frank [Nancy's father] said in the paper that Nancy was born in pain and lived in pain all her life. When I first met her, and for about six months after that, I spent practically the whole time in tears. Her pain was just too much to bear. Because, you see, I felt Nancy's pain as though it were my own, worse even. But she said that I must be strong for her or otherwise she would have to leave me. So I became strong for her, and she began to stop having asthma attacks and seemed to be going through a lot less pain. [Nancy had had asthma since she was a child.] I realized that she had never known love and was desperately searching for someone to love her. It was the only thing she really needed. I gave her the love that she needed so badly and it comforts me to know that I made her very happy during the time we were together, where she had only known unhappiness before. Oh Debbie, I love her with such passion. Every day is agony without her. I know now that it is possible to die from a broken heart. Because when you love someone as much as we love each other, they become fundamental to your existence. So I will die soon, even if I don't kill myself. I guess you could say that I'm pining for her. I could live without food or .water longer than I'm going to survive without Nancy. Thank you so much for understanding us, Debbie. It means so much to me, and I know it meant a lot to Nancy. She really loves you, and so do I. How did she know when she was going to die? I always prayed that she was wrong, but deep inside I knew she was right. Nancy was a very special person, too beautiful for this world. I feel so privileged to have loved her and been loved by her. Oh Debbie, it was such a beautiful love. I can't go on without it. When we first met, we knew we were made for each other, and fell in love with each other immediately. We were totally inseparable and were never apart. We had certain telepathic abilities, too. I remember about nine months after we met, I left Nancy for a while. After a couple of weeks of being apart, I had a strange feeling that Nancy was dying. I went straight to the place she was staying and when I saw her, I knew it was true. I took her home with me and nursed her back to health, but I knew that if I hadn't bothered she would have died. Nancy was just a poor baby, desperate for love. It made me so happy to give her love, and believe me, no man ever loved a woman with such burning passion as I love Nancy. I never even looked at others. No one was as beautiful as my Nancy. Enclosed is a poem I wrote for her. It kind of sums up how much I love her. If possible, I would love to see you before I die. You are the only one who understood. Love, Sid XXX.

No, Anna, thank you,” Jo said. “Now go see your husband.” Anna nodded. She looked into Jo’s dark eyes and wondered more about the wet nurse. To be banished from her home because she had a gift. That’s what it was too, a gift. Without Jo’s breast milk, Thomas Jr. couldn’t survive. Yet somehow Anna knew there was more of a reason why Jo wanted Anna and Thomas together so bad. Anna didn’t have the time to explore it. Jo smiled and had a mischievous look in her eyes. “Your first night as husband and wife,” Jo said. “Go enjoy...” Jo turned and Anna walked down the hall towards Thomas’s bedroom - our bedroom, Anna’s mind reminded her - and when she stepped inside, she saw Thomas standing, slowly taking his boots off. “Hello,” Anna announced. “My Anna,” Thomas said.

The girl’s eyes widened and she stared at Caitlyn in astonishment for a moment, then a small smile tugged her lips. “Thanks,” she said. “Yeah, she was a right cow, Edith Brixton. I mean, I’m sorry she’s dead,” she added hastily. “But everyone’s been goin’ around talkin’ like it’s such a tragedy an’ nobody realised what a nasty piece of work she was!” “Yes, I was shocked when I heard her threatening you,” said Caitlyn, her voice full of sympathy. The girl eyed her sideways. “I wasn’t really stealin’, you know. That’s what I told the police. I was just helpin’ someone out.” Something in Caitlyn’s expression made her add defensively, “For a small fee, of course. But you can’t expect me to do all the work for nothin’, can you? An’ I needed the money. I have a sick mother, you see, an’ she needs full-time nursing. I help to pay her medical bills.” Caitlyn felt a pang of pity, but then something—a glint in the girl’s eyes—made her wonder how much of that sob story was true. She had a feeling that Amelia was the kind of girl who had a quick tongue and a knack for spinning a story so that she always came out looking good in any situation. “What do you mean, ‘helping someone out’?” she asked. “I thought the police said you received an anonymous note asking you to steal the ring. How would you have known whether you were helping somebody?” “They explained in the note, see,” said Amelia. “They said that the

I jumped out the bed, and I started to dance. I started full-on dancing. Nurse: Ms. Haddish, you can't dance. Ms. Maddish, you are scaring people. Tiffany: I'm free!! I'm free!! Thank God almighty, I am free!! I started doing the Running Man, and then I ran my ass right into the ground. Those drugs they give you are strong.

Charlene moved through the house as quietly as her abused body would allow. She hadn’t been able to stand upright in nearly two weeks thanks to the two broken ribs courtesy of her husband. But those two broken ribs had given her a new lease on life. Charlene would never forget the minute when the nurse looked up and said those magic words: you’re pregnant. Even though the nurse’s disgusted look spoke volumes, Charlene’s heart soared; then the terror set in. Charlene might not have the courage to stand against her husband for herself, but she knew she could do it to protect her unborn daughter. She didn’t know why she knew it was a girl, but she did.

two and a half,’ Jack was saying. ‘And?’ she muttered, half asleep and not really paying attention. ‘I was just thinking,’ Jack went on, his voice coming to her almost like a lullaby. ‘Maybe we should begin to think about another one.’ ‘Another one?’ Stella repeated sleepily. Then she was suddenly wide awake. ‘A child, you mean?’ She felt Jack nod, his head brushing her own, then she heard him chuckle. ‘Of course a child! We haven’t got a dog or a goldfish, thank God.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It’d be just over a three-year gap, if you got pregnant right away, like you did with Jonny.’ Stella looked up at him, his face just visible in the glow from the streetlight filtering through the calico blinds. They had always wanted a second child. Neither she nor Jack had siblings and they both felt they’d missed out. Stella didn’t want Jonny growing up with the sort of maternal monitoring – the need to be perfect because you’re the only one – that had blighted her own childhood. ‘He’ll need someone to visit the nursing home with, when we both go dotty,’ Jack said. Which made them laugh in disbelief that they could ever be old, let alone demented.

THIS IS YOUR WIFE,” THE CAPTION OF THE BELL TELEPHONE ad reads. Above it, five identical women’s heads are lined up in a row. One head wears a chef’s toque; the next, a nurse’s bonnet; another, a chauffeur’s cap; and so on. Thanks to the telephone, readers are told, “the pretty girl you married” can order groceries, call for a sick child’s medicine, find out what time to meet her husband’s train, and more. Behold the modern American housewife: five women neatly bundled into one.

Thanks, Baba. You are always such a comfort." She gave him a wry look. "I know. I've been considering becoming a counselor. Or possibly a nurse." Day shook his head. "If I were you, Baba Yaga, I'd stick to your day job.

All those songs I used to pretend to understand, all the angsty, heartbroken songs I had heard all my life, they suddenly made so much more sense. "Well, then she probably needs a giant coffee, a huge box of your creations, and some time to nurse her feelings in private, don't you think?" Brantley Dane, local hero, saves girl from sure death brought on by sheer mortification. That'd be his headline. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, moving behind me, casually touching my hip in the process, and going behind counter. "What's your poison? Judging by the situation, I am thinking something cold, mocha or caramel filled and absolutely towering with full fat whipped cream." That was exactly what I wanted. But, broken heart aside, I knew I couldn't let myself drown in sweets. Gaining twenty pounds wasn't going to help anything. There was absolutely no enthusiasm in my voice when I said, "Ah, actually, can I have a large black coffee with one sugar please?" "Not that I'm not turned on as all fuck by a woman who appreciates black coffee," he started, making me jerk back suddenly at the bluntness of that comment and the dose of profanity I wasn't accustomed to hearing in my sleepy hometown. "But if you're only one day into a break-up, you're allowed to have some full fat chocolate concoction to indulge a bit. I promise from here on out I won't make you anything even half as food-gasm-ing as this." He leaned across the counter, getting close enough that I could see golden flecks in his warm brown eyes. "Honey, not even if you beg," he added and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was absolutely some kind of sexually-charged edge to his words. "Say yes," he added, lips tipping up at one corner. "Alright, yes," I agreed, knowing I would love every last drop of whatever he made me and likely punish myself with an extra long run for it too. "Good girl," he said as he turned away. And there was not, was absolutely not some weird fluttering feeling in my belly at that. Nope. That would be completely insane. "Okay, I got you one of everything!" my mother said, coming up beside me and pressing the box into my hands. She even tied it with her signature (and expensive, something I had tried to talk her out of many times over the years when she was struggling financially) satin bow. I smiled at her, knowing that sometimes, there was nothing liked baked goods from your mother after a hard day. I was just lucky enough to have a mother who was a pastry chef. "Thanks, Mom," I said, the words heavy. I wasn't just thanking her for the sweets, but for letting me come home, for not asking questions, for not making it seem like even the slightest inconvenience. She gave me a smile that said she knew exactly what I meant. "You have nothing to thank me for." She meant that too. Coming from a family that, when they found out she was knocked up as a teen, had kicked her out and disowned her, she made it clear all my life that she was always there, no matter what I did with my life, no matter how high I soared, or how low I crashed. Her arms, her heart, and her door were always open for me. "Alright. A large mocha frappe with full fat milk, full fat whipped cream, and both a mocha and caramel drizzle. It's practically dessert masked as coffee," Brantley said, making my attention snap to where he was pushing what was an obnoxiously large frappe with whipped cream that was towering out of the dome that the pink and sage straw stuck out of. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he said, shaking his head as I reached for my wallet. "Thank you," I smiled, and found that it was a genuine one as I reached for it and, in a move that was maybe not brilliant on my part, took a sip. And proceeded to let out an almost porn-star worthy groan of pure, delicious pleasure. Judging by the way Brant's smile went a little wicked, his thoughts ran along the same lines as well.

In the end, this nice teacher is not giving you what you need in order to be successful when you take the boards. As a rule, the easier the class is, the harder you must study on your own. Learn to appreciate your difficult or challenging nursing professors. The ones who have the hardest exams followed directly by huge reading assignments are truly looking out for your best interests. The professors who make you absolutely nuts and stressed out of your mind are the individuals you will owe thanks. I

I doubt you cared this much about their feelings when you chose this path,” Iolaus said. He didn’t raise his voice. The truth doesn’t need to be shouted. “Maybe not,” I answered, looking him in the eyes. “But I had to choose it.” “That’s ridiculous.” “No more ridiculous than why you’re ready to sail into the unknown. The only person who needs to chase after the Golden Fleece is Prince Jason, yet you and all the others are joining him for the sake of pure adventure. You hunger for it! Why can’t I?” “Enough.” Iolaus raised his hand. “You win, for your brothers’ sake and because I’ve got the feeling you’d find a way to sneak aboard no matter how much they or I try to stop you. I wish some of the men I know had half your boldness. It’s strange to see it in a girl. Perhaps you’re really Atalanta’s daughter.” My smile answered his. “My nurse, Ione, said I was Zeus’s child.” “My uncle Herakles is supposed to be Zeus’s son. You two must be related. He’s a great one for following his heart first and thinking about the consequences afterward. Or never.” His teeth flashed in the shadows of the old fishwife’s home. “I’ll keep your secret.” “Thank you. You won’t have to do it for very long. You said I didn’t care about my brothers’ feelings when I decided to join this quest. You were right. I’ve only been thinking about what I want.” I took a deep breath. What I was about to say tore at my heart, but I couldn’t escape it. “I’ll go back to Delphi. It’s one thing to take a chance with my own life, but not with so many others.” “Oh, I agree,” Iolaus said. “Which is why I intend to take very good care of my new weapons bearers.

swing it open. Tom’s standing there, smiling with a bunch of red roses in his arms. He looks good with his cropped black hair, soft brown eyes, and crooked smile. He’s dressed to impress in a navy shirt and dark beige trousers. The nurses at his hospital must be drooling over him, so why aren’t I? His eyes travel up and down my body. “You look lovely, Andi.” “Thank you,” I answer. “I brought you these.” He hands me a mixed array of pink tulips, white daises, yellow sunflowers, and red roses. “They’re

Nurse, nurse,” the soldier reached out toward her with his uninjured hand, “Nurse, could you hold my hand?” And as Maisie took his hand in hers, the young man smiled. “Thank you, nurse.” Suddenly Maisie was aware that someone was bending back the soldier’s fingers and moving his arm to his side, and she looked up at the nursing Sister in charge. An army chaplain placed his hand on her shoulder for barely a second before lifting it to perform last rites over the young soldier’s not-yet-cold body, while two stretcher-bearers waited to remove him to allow room for more wounded.

You do look quite lovely, Penellaphe.” “Thank you,” I said. “What about me?” Casteel asked, and behind him, Naill sighed. “You look passable.” “That was rude,” he replied. “Would you like to go sit in the shade and nurse your wounded feelings?

A Thank You to My Body I just want to say "Thank You." Thank you for keeping your promise Thank you for... having kept our heart beating, and healing it when it was broken Thank you for... recognizing the negativity and toxicity in others before I did, and for warning me by making me feel that shit in our gut Thank you for... nursing us back to health, when our immune system either rebelled or failed Thank you for... loving me during the times, that I neglected you, or just outright failed to love you Thank you for... being the ballast when our mind, felt unstable, in the midst of chaos Thank you for... always having recovered when I, nearly destroyed us, or pushed us past our limit Thank you for... always having believed in us, and not quitting on us when I, stopped believing and wanted to quit Thank you for today, and for waking us up ---"ready!" Excerpt from: Jacob's Ascent, New Collected Poems by Mekael © Mekael Shane 2024

You’re cheating,” I mutter sleepily. “The nap worked, I’m healed,” Garrett declares. “Me too, all healed,” Kenzo agrees, kissing across my shoulder. “So fucking healed.” “Uh-uh, we could tear your stitches,” I protest. “Nurse, I require you to heal me.” Kenzo grins against my skin as Garrett caresses over my knickers. Shit. “Me too,” Garrett murmurs. “I’ve heard the best form of treatment is with orgasms.” “Healing,” I blurt. “Rest.” But they ignore me, the stupid wankers and their stupid, seductive penises. Peni? What’s the plural of penis? Oh, who the fuck cares. “Fuck it,” I mutter, and Kenzo breathes out a laugh. “Thank fuck.

impressions barrage, Lee could no longer grasp the meaning of Vivian's voice as it went on and on explaining things like "crystal cells," "selenoid cells," "grey matter pyramidal cells," powered somehow by atomic fission, "nerve loops" and "synthesis gates" which were not to be confused with "analysis gates" while they looked exactly the same…. Apart from this at least one half of his mental and physical energy had to be expanded in suppressing nausea and bracing himself against the gyrations which still jerked his feet from under him and made friction disks of his shoulders as his body swayed from side to side. All of a sudden he felt that he was being derailed. There was an opening in the plastics wall of the cylinder; a curved metal shield like the blade of a bulldozer jumped into his path, caught him, slowed down his momentum and delivered him safely at a door marked "Apperception-Center 24." It opened and within its frame there stood an angel neatly dressed in the uniform of a registered nurse. "There," said the angel, "at last. How did you like your little Odyssey through The Brain, Dr. Lee?" Lee pushed a hand through the mane of his hair; it felt moist and much tangled up. "Thanks," he said. "It was quite an experience. I enjoyed it; Ulysses, too, probably enjoyed his trip between Scylla and Charybdis—after it was over! It's Miss Leahy, I presume." The reception room where he

Chapter 15 Grace One morning, after an uneventful sojourn at the bath house. The ward received a rare visit from the Physician Superintendent. He walked into the day room accompanied by the charge nurse just as me and Art were preparing the patients for lunch. “Do you say Grace before meals?” inquired the Superintendent of the charge. “Yes Sir.” The charge was well aware of the hospital rules and snapped almost to attention in reply. His response was true. Our charge, being a stickler for the rule book of the institution, always insisted on saying grace. The order was; “Stand behind your chairs.” Usually bellowed by the deputy although Art and I occasionally got the chance. The seventy odd patients milling round in the dining gallery would stand behind their chairs in absolute silence. Years of institutional living had taught them that meals would only be served after a period of absolute silence, followed by grace. The charge, not leaving his chair, would open his office door and poking his head out would call. “For whayouare aboutorecieve maythelor mayoutruly thankful.” To which the patients would dutifully chorus “Amen” and sit down to eat. On this day the “Big Chief” was present and Art and I could tell things were going to be different. “Stand behind your chairs.” Was said. Nothing happened.—Louder, “Stand behind your chairs.” Nothing.—Art bellowed “Stand behind your chairs.” The effect was electric and the mass moved into its lunchtime position of silence standing behind their chairs in the dining room. The charge had slipped into his long white nursing coat. He was going to assist with lunch. He moved away from the side of the Physician Superintendent and stood in the centre of the dining room. There he adopted a posture which he adjudged spiritually appropriate. Hands clasped in front of him, eyes lowered, he bowed his head. Not wishing to get on the wrong side of our boss. Art and I stood one either side of him and followed suit. Absolute silence reigned. Before the charge could proceed any further with this charade the ward kitchen door opened to reveal Benny and Jimmy. They were two long standing ward worker patients who’s job it was to prepare the plates on the servery ready for the meal. Patients assisting with serving meals was against the “rules” and Benny realising that the Superintendent was present blurted out. “For Christ’s sake shut that bloody door.” Seventy nine patients solemnly responded with “Amen.” and promptly sat down in eager anticipation of their dinner. “I see.” said the Physician Superintendent and walked poker faced from the dining room with the red faced charge trailing in his wake. We never said Grace again after that.

He has Down Syndrome. He can live a normal life, but you need to know that the United States Health Administration is on the lookout for children that will cost them a lot of money. Normally, I’m supposed to report this, and I know you’re FBI, but they’ve taken way too many children and it needs to stop,” “The USHA takes kids?” Brian asked, since he’d never heard that before. “Yes. Ever since the health care bill became effective in the mid-2010’s, the government has taken newborns they think will cripple our economy. I’m sure the only reason you haven’t heard about it, is because parents are threatened, and there’s a tight control of what’s said online about it. I just thought I’d warn you of that possibility,” “Thanks, Doc. Will your nurses support your decision?” “Yes, they feel the same way. Be lucky that you found me as your Doctor.

Finally, on Wednesday, they began to lower the sedation again, and immediately he reached for the ventilator tube and tried to pull it out. “Don’t fight it,” I told him again and again, trying to explain what was happening. I held his hand. The nurse came in and told me they were going to try to take the ventilator out. “Do you want me to stay, or leave you?” I asked him. His eyes were closed, but he put his hand out and rubbed my back. Just for a moment. He’s there! I wanted to shout. Everything’s going to be okay. The antibiotics must be working! I wanted to sing and shout and dance. After the ventilator was out, he began opening his eyes just a crack when someone came in to say hello. And things got even better--he was calm although he was still tied down, and when a friend and Willie came in to say hello, Jep said, “What’s up?” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Those were the first words I’d heard him say since he’d gone deer hunting. I questioned him a little, wanting to know what he remembered, but he couldn’t talk much and still seemed very sleepy, dozing off every few minutes. Thursday morning was one of the best days of my life because Jep woke up bright-eyed. “Why am I in here? What happened?” he asked. He didn’t remember anything. He looked awake and alert and rested. But I was exhausted, having gotten very little sleep or food and not knowing if Jep would live or die, while he’d been taking the longest nap of his life. We held hands, and though I was exhausted, I was happy. Thursday afternoon he talked a little more and ate a cracker. He was back. Slowly but surely, he was coming back. He knew who I was, so I believed he would know who the kids were. And he started talking more and more. Thank you, Lord, for bringing Jep back to me.

If you think I’ll believe anything you have to say from this point forward, Mr. Haverstein, you’re more delusional than I’m giving you credit for. Although, do know that I’m not blaming you for everything. I will take some responsibility for being caught in a compromising situation.” “I’m the one who stole you away from the rehearsal.” “True, you did, but . . .” Lucetta drew herself up. “In hindsight, it was a mistake on my part to accompany you there so readily. You’re obviously not a gentleman I can trust, and that means . . . I expect you to keep your distance from me until I can make arrangements to depart Ravenwood for a safer environment.” With that, she spun on her heel and was out of the dungeon before he could even consider stopping her. “Don’t just stand there, go after her,” Tilda said. “She’s not going to listen to me.” “You’ll have to tell her the truth. Tell her you’re Mr. Grimstone.” “I was about to do just that, but . . . well, matters seemed to get quickly out of hand.” “That’s because Miss Plum thinks you’ve lied to her, sir,” Ernie said. “I have lied to her—I’ve lied to everyone, for that matter, by keeping Mr. Grimstone a secret.” Ernie shifted the shovel to his other shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time for you to make amends for that. I believe your family will be more accepting of having an author in the family than you’ve given them credit for, sir.” “Except for maybe Ruby,” Tilda said, speaking up. “Especially since she was considering tracking Mr. Grimstone down and convincing him he should court her.” “Good thing she’s been showing a bit of interest in Mr. Skukman,” Stanley pointed out from his position on the ground. “That way you won’t be dealing with a sister nursing a broken heart over a love that can never be hers.” Bram’s lips quirked ever so slightly “Yes, thank you for that, Stanley.” Heading for the door, he looked over his shoulder and caught Ernie’s eye. “Will you see Stanley released? I wasn’t able to retrieve the spare key from the kitchen.” “Don’t you give it another thought, sir,” Ernie said with a nod. “And don’t fret over what you need to tell Miss Plum. Just remember what Reverend Gilmore was preaching the last time we were back in the city—the truth shall set you free.” Bram smiled. “A good reminder. Thank you, Ernie.

When they got back to town the hunters had returned and Mel was delighted to see no evidence of murdered wildlife in the truck beds or tied to roofs. But her elation was short-lived, because once inside the bar she learned that they had bagged two bucks, four-by-fours, both of which had already been taken to the meat processor to be butchered. “Oh,” she whined emotionally. “Who did it?” Jack looked at his feet. But he made an attempt. “I think Ricky did it.” Mel met Rick’s eyes and the boy put up two hands, palms toward her. It wasn’t him. Mel leaned against her husband and, unbelievably, started to cry. Jack shook his head, put an arm around her and led her away from the gathering, back toward the kitchen. As he did so, David was bouncing up and down on Mel’s hip, waving his arms wildly and reaching for his dad. “Melinda,” Jack said. “You knew we were going hunting. We didn’t torture the deer. We’re going to have venison.” “I hate it,” she sniveled. “I know you hate it, but it’s not a cruel thing. It’s probably more humane than the way cattle are slaughtered.” “Don’t try to make me feel better about this.” “Jesus, I wouldn’t dare,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?” “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I’m weepy.” “No shit. Here, let me have him. He’s out of his mind.” “Sugar,” she said. “I should go nurse him.” “He’s going to be riding his bike up to the breast before long.” “He doesn’t want to give it up.” “Understandable. But you’re worn out. Maybe you should go home and go to bed.” “I don’t sleep till he sleeps. And he isn’t going to sleep until he detoxes.” “All right,” Jack said, taking his son. “Go cry or wash your face or nap or something. I’ll hang on to the wild one until he calms down a little.” He kissed her forehead. “This really isn’t like you. Not even over deer.” “By the way, you smell really bad,” she said. “Thank you, my love. You smell really good. I’ll wash this off before I smell the rest of you, how’s that?” She

Rubbing her forehead Cat forced back a yawn, suddenly struck by tiredness. She’d been here twenty-four seven for the past couple days. “Why don’t you go back to your hotel and chill for a while?” Cat looked at him in surprise. Even unsighted he had the sharpest senses she’d ever seen. “I think I may. I’ll be back in the morning.” Then came the awkward point when she didn’t know how to say goodbye. Did she kiss him? Squeeze his hand? Fuck it. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to a clear spot on his cheek. “If you need anything the nurses have my number.” He nodded and clutched her hand. For a moment it felt like he wasn’t going to let her go, then, abruptly, he did. “I’ll be fine.” And she knew he would be. It was just so natural for her to worry about him. “I’ll stick around for a few hours.” Cat gave Duncan an appreciative look. “Thank you. I thought you might.” Chad stepped forward to take her hand. “I have to go back to Denver for a while, but I’ll be back in a few days if he’s still here.” “You people are talking about me as if I’m not even here. I don’t need babysitters.” Cat shared a wince with the other men. “Quit it,” Harper snapped. Cat laughed and turned to leave the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow, big guy.” Harper mumbled a goodbye. She

Harper opened the blade of the Kershaw knife. It wasn’t nearly as big as what he was used to carrying, but it was as big as she wanted to get him. He tested the weight of the blade and the sharpness of the edge before clipping it into the corner of his pocket. When he looked up there was appreciation in his expression. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed having something there. Thank you.” Cat actually did have some idea. His hand had gone to his hip several times over the past few days, whether he realized it or not. “You’re welcome. Just don’t flash it at the nurses.” He chuckled then winced, holding his chest with his un-slung arm. “What are they going to do, kick me out?” Cat laughed. “I think they’re already kicking us out early. They just don’t want to deal with your temper tantrums. God forbid you hit one of their scrawny asses. You’d break them.” He

Mid June 2012 …Young, as time passed, I missed you more than ever. My exasperation with Toby festered with each passing day. When I finally could not tolerate our tempestuous relationship, I confronted the young man. After a heated emotional argument, Toby left our unfinished discussion in a state of vexation. I did not realize he was using the age-old psychological threat of overdosing himself to obtain my attention. I found him unconscious, foaming at the corner of his mouth from consuming an entire bottle of sleeping pills. He was rushed to hospital. I would not have been able to live with my guilt if Toby had died. He recovered from this ordeal, but my respect for him had plummeted. Instead of loving him, I felt sorry and pitied him. This was a malignant sign of what was to come. To appease him, we often kissed and made up after impassioned disputes. I made false promises that I had no intention of keeping. These desolate pledges soon dissolved into self-abhorrence. I had allowed myself to be trapped into a situation, and I could not figure out a solution. Throughout this ordeal, I threw myself into my engineering studies, channeling my unhappiness into what I enjoyed best. I could not give myself fully to the boy, and had little respect for him. When we made love, I shut him out. Instead, I saw you in our sexual liaisons. Toby was merely a vehicle to satisfy my sexual desires to be with you. Throughout the years we were together, it was you I made love to, not Toby or anyone else. I could not and would not release you from my mind. The pain of losing you was too oppressive, until the fateful day I suffered a nervous breakdown. I ended up in a hospital, in the psychiatric ward. Aria and Ari came to nurse me back to health. Aria stayed for two weeks until I could commence classes again. I knew I had to get away from this toxic relationship. The day I graduated I enrolled in a postgraduate program in Alberta, Canada. I desired to be as far away from New Zealand as possible; I needed to be away from Toby and to find myself again. I finally had a solid and legitimate excuse to separate from the boy. I was glad when Toby’s parents demanded their son’s return to the Philippines after his graduation so that he could take over his father’s business. Toby did not wish to return to Manila, but had no choice. His father threatened to cut off his financial support if he did not return. Thanks to universal intervention, my freedom was restored. I began a new life in Canada. That, my dearest Young, was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The rest will be revealed to you in our next correspondence. For now, be happy, be well, and most importantly, be you at all times: the Young whom I love and cherish. Andy, Xoxoxo

I was crying so hard that I didn’t even want to bring my hands away. “Babe, stop crying,” he said with a chuckle. He looked at me and bit down on his lip making me all shy-like again. I backed away and tried to pull away from him to keep myself from crying even more. “You did all this?” I asked him, and he nodded. “I mean…I made sure it got set up. Tangie helped, but that’s why ain’t nobody been up here. They been taking care of this and making sure everything was right for you. Remember the chick that came through and said she needed our IDs and for us to sign for some insurance and shit?” “Yes,” I said and looked up at him and into his eyes. “That was my homegirl from the clerk’s office. She was filling the shit out we needed for the marriage license.” I laughed and hit Khi on the arm. I looked around, still amazed at how beautiful everything was. The place was filled with flowers, and a few candles were even lit at the front of the small chapel. “What about my hair…and what about what I have on?” I asked Khi, and he bit down on that damn lip again. “Don’t worry about your hair. You was ugly when I met you, so it’s only right I marry you looking the same way.” I cracked up laughing, and so did the nurse that stood by next to the wheelchair that she had wheeled Khi down in. I looked up at him with seriousness in my eyes and mouthed thank you to him. This wasn’t the dream wedding that I had wanted, but it was better, because my soon-to-be husband had planned it.

Ow! Son of a—” Before she could complete the expletive, Baird was there, staring at her with concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?” he demanded even as he scanned the area with those inhumanly golden eyes, obviously searching for a threat. “I’m fine. I just…” Liv gestured to her wounded foot with irritation. “I dropped my orange juice when those goons came to get me and I stepped on a shard of glass.” His face fell. “You were hurt all this time and I didn’t notice?” “I didn’t notice half the time myself,” Liv assured him. “I had, uh, other things on my mind.” Like finding out exactly what I was getting myself into with you. “I’ve stopped bleeding so I guess I forgot until I stepped on it out here.” “You’re bleeding?” He looked even more alarmed. Getting down on one knee he gestured her forward. “Let me see.” “No, honestly, it’s all right.” Liv felt both annoyed and shy. Why was he making such a big deal out of this? She’d seen people with foreign objects imbedded in their bodies every day of the week as a nursing student in the Tampa General ER. Didn’t they ever step on sharp things where he came from? “Olivia, come here.” His voice was a low growl—not menacing so much as stern. To her intense irritation, Liv found herself obeying him. “It’s just a piece of glass,” she protested even as she allowed him to settle her on his knee and lift her foot. “If you’ll just give me a first aid kit I can take care of it myself.” “No you won’t.” He examined the heel of her foot with care as though assessing a grave and dangerous injury. “Wait until we get up to the ship and let Sylvan look at it. He’s a medic.” “And I’m a nurse,” Liv protested, feeling even more irritated. “I can handle myself, thank you.” “Even a small injury like this can get infected and it’s hard to work on yourself.” The growl had come back to his voice again and his eyes flashed from dark amber to pale gold in a second. “You need a medic and that’s what you’ll get, Lilenta.” “My

I love you, Harper.” His hands reached up but he only cupped her hips, letting her continue on her journey. She pressed a kiss to the scar across his right deltoid, an old injury from one of his first deployments, then his left collarbone, broken on a training trip to California. Then, moving carefully, she pressed kisses to the new scar still healing on his chest. That one had been too close to taking his life. Thank goodness he had been able to receive medical care as quickly as he did. Cat moved down Harper’s muscled abs and the slim line of black hair there. “I think everything about you is beautiful.” He puffed out a little laugh but she looked up at him with reproach. “I do. Your body is superb, even wounded. It always has been. That’s why I always have to beat the nurses off you.” She flashed him a grin. “Your mind is devious and brilliant, but I love that. The loyalty to your family and your men is humbling.” She stroked a finger over the tattoo that echoed those sentiments on his right pectoral. “Your unfailing courage in the face of everything that has happened is astounding. I know whatever we have to face you will conquer with that same indomitable, dogged, Navy SEAL will. And your heart,” she moved back up his chest to press a kiss to his sternum, “your heart is more loving and willing to try than I ever could have hoped. We’re going to put our family back together,” she promised. Harper stared up at her for several long seconds before he closed his eyes, but not before she’d seen the shine of moisture in their depths. He pulled her down on top of him, burying his face into her neck. “You are every bit the woman you’ve always been, calm and understanding, willing to put up with my shit. And I have to tell you. All of those things you see in me? I wouldn’t be any of them without you. And I mean that. You’ve supported me through everything. You flew across the country to be at my bedside even though you didn’t know the kind of reaction you’d receive. It amazes me that you would take that chance. But I’m so glad you did. I love you, Catherine Marie Preston. I always have.” She flashed a smile at the use of her full name. “And I love you, Harper Broderick Preston. I always will.” They

You wanted to thank me for nursing you,” she said abruptly and her face went crimson the moment the words left her tongue. She cleared her throat sharply and squared her shoulders. “You’ve done that, Mr. Fairfax. You’re welcome, and good-bye.” Chloe was watching the tableau with interest from beside the liquor cabinet, a snifter of brandy in one hand, and she offered no contribution. “Not good-bye, Miss Emma,” Steven drawled, and his brazen gaze rested on her breasts for a moment, to remind her, she was sure, that he’d bared and enjoyed them with practically no protest from her. “Like I said, I’ll be around.

To the Worst Wingman Ever, You, kind sir, have restored my faith in humanity. I did see the sensor alert. I stopped and put air in it before I parked it the first time you saw it. I was hoping it was just a slow leak and I could put off going to a tire store until my schedule opens up a bit, but I guess the plan failed. I’m a hospice nurse. I’m caring for someone in the building, and it’s been very time consuming and mentally and emotionally draining. I think coming out and seeing a flat tire would have done me in. I can’t thank you enough for helping me. Here’s a small token of my appreciation. I trust your anxiety over the air in my tire will ensure you find this before a thief does. If it doesn’t and a thief is reading this instead of you, have the day you deserve, jerk. —H.

Certain ARBs (Already Read Books) came in multiples over Christmas. She would write a nice thank-you and pass the duplicates on—to a friend, to a nurse—or leave them on a book-swap table in her building.

So DCI Hudson explained the legal niceties to me, and warned that he would be forced to arrest anyone who blocked the diggers. I said that I was sure he wouldn’t actually arrest anyone, and he agreed that this was true. So there we were, back to square one. Ron then asked DCI Hudson if he was proud of himself, and DCI Hudson replied that he was an overweight fifty-one-year-old divorcé, and so, by and large, no, he wasn’t. This made Donna smile. She likes him—not like that, but she likes him. I do too. I was going to say to him that he wasn’t overweight, but he actually is a bit, and as a nurse, it’s best to never sugarcoat things, even when your instinct is to be protective. Instead I told him he should never eat after six p.m.—that’s the key if you don’t want diabetes—and he thanked me. That’s when Ibrahim joined us and suggested that DCI Hudson might try Pilates, and Donna said that was something she would pay to see. Ian Ventham didn’t want to join in the fun, and told Donna and DCI Hudson that he paid their wages. Donna said in that case could she ask him about a pay rise, and that’s when Ventham started shouting the odds about this, that, and the other. People without a sense of humor will never forgive you for being funny. But that’s an aside. Anyway, Ibrahim, who is very good with this sort of thing—conflict and inadequate men and stalemates and so on—stepped in and offered to “thin the crowd out” to give everyone a bit of breathing space.

Some girl would be on YouTube three years from now, doing her makeup while she covered the chilling Valentine’s Day death of a local single Burbank nurse, who died because she didn’t have a boyfriend to walk her to her car. No, thank you. Kill me tomorrow.

I was not getting unalived on Valentine’s Day, on principle. Some girl would be on YouTube three years from now, doing her makeup while she covered the chilling Valentine’s Day death of a local single Burbank nurse, who died because she didn’t have a boyfriend to walk her to her car. No, thank you. Kill me tomorrow.

Kohtake wrote all kinds of things in her letters. She wrote about herself, of course. She wrote about what went on at the nursing college, of good books she had read, and dreams of the future. She wrote of events which ranged from the mundane to the major news of the day, explaining in detail her feelings and reactions. Sometimes the letters were as long as ten pages. Fusagi’s replies, on the other hand, were always short. There were even times when he would send one-line replies like, “Thanks for the interesting letter,” or, “I know just what you mean.” At first, Kohtake thought he must be busy with work and didn’t have the time to reply, but in letter after letter Fusagi continued to give these brief replies. She took this to mean that he wasn’t very interested in her. Kohtake wrote in her letter that if he wasn’t interested then he shouldn’t bother replying, that with this letter she would stop writing if she didn’t get a reply.

Sometimes, codependent behavior becomes inextricably entangled with being a good wife, mother, husband, brother, or Christian. Now in her forties, Marlyss is an attractive woman—when she takes care of herself. Most of the time, however, she’s busy taking care of her five children and her husband, who is a recovering alcoholic. She devoted her life to making them happy, but she didn’t succeed. Usually, she feels angry and unappreciated for her efforts, and her family feels angry at her. She has sex with her husband whenever he wants, regardless of how she feels. She spends too much of the family’s budget on toys and clothing for the children—whatever they want. She chauffeurs, reads to, cooks for, cleans for, cuddles, and coddles those around her, but nobody gives to her. Most of the time, they don’t even say, “Thank you.” Marlyss resents her constant giving to people in her life. She resents how her family and their needs control her life. She chose nursing as her profession, and she often resents that. “But I feel guilty when I don’t do what’s asked of me. I feel guilty when I don’t live up to my standards for a wife and mother. I feel guilty when I don’t live up to other people’s standards for me. I just plain feel guilty,” she said. “In fact,” she added, “I schedule my day, my priorities, according to guilt.” Does endlessly taking care of other people, resenting it, and expecting nothing in return mean Marlyss is a good wife and mother? Or could it mean Marlyss is codependent?

dustpan that he emptied into a larger trash can. If I were him, picking up after people who carelessly dropped stuff on the ground, I’d be nothing but angry. They call it littering when you carelessly drop things. They call the careless folks who drop things by a cute name: litterbug. There’s nothing cute about dropping things carelessly. Dropping garbage and having puppies shouldn’t be called the same thing. “Litter.” I had a mind to write to Miss Webster about that. Puppies don’t deserve to be called a litter like they had been dropped carelessly like garbage. And people who litter shouldn’t be given a cute name for what they do. And at least the mother of a litter sticks around and nurses her pups no matter how sharp their teeth are. Merriam Webster was falling down on the job. How could she have gotten this wrong? Vonetta asked me again. Not because she was anxious to meet Cecile. Vonetta asked again so she could have her routine rehearsed in her head—her curtsy, smile, and greeting—leaving Fern and me to stand around like dumb dodos. She was practicing her role as the cute, bouncy pup in the litter and asked yet again, “Delphine, what do we call her?” A large white woman came and stood before us, clapping her hands like we were on display at the Bronx Zoo. “Oh, my. What adorable dolls you are. My, my.” She warbled like an opera singer. Her face was moon full and jelly soft, the cheeks and jaw framed by white whiskers. We said nothing. “And so well behaved.” Vonetta perked up to out-pretty and out-behave us. I did as Big Ma had told me in our many talks on how to act around white people. I said, “Thank you,” but I didn’t add the “ma’am,” for the whole “Thank you, ma’am.” I’d never heard anyone else say it in Brooklyn. Only in old movies on TV. And when we drove down to Alabama. People say “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am” in Alabama all the time. That old word was perfectly fine for Big Ma. It just wasn’t perfectly fine for me.

age of computers and programming, and he couldn’t understand either. Sure, he could send emails, had even mastered Word and Excel, but apart from that, the complexities of the machine left him baffled. There was unemployment, but he had never taken the dole, or he could go overseas, try his luck on an oil rig. Even if that were possible, he didn’t want to go, but these were desperate times, and now, to add confusion, there was a solution. Betty Galton, his former sister-in-law, had in her possession a million pounds in gold. He opened his laptop and switched it on. How does one melt gold? How does one dispose of it? he thought. He entered the search terms, fingering one key at a time, and pressed enter. If a criminal act was committed during the planning stage, then he was guilty as charged. And for once, he did not care. He hummed a tune to himself. It had been some time since he had been contented. For that night, he would forget what would be required and envisage what his life could be like with money in his pocket. Maybe a small place in the country, a dog, possibly a woman. How long had it been since he had enjoyed the closeness of another’s skin? He picked up his phone and made a call. It was a special treat for himself and for once the budget was going to be blown. He knew she’d look after him, the way she looked after so many others. Chapter 11 Clare woke early the next day; her phone was ringing. She leant over and picked it up. ‘Yarwood, I’m at the hospital,’ Tremayne said. She could tell by his voice that something was amiss. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen.’ ‘Thanks, and don’t tell anyone.’ A quick shower, some food for her cat, and Clare was out of her cottage. A murder enquiry was serious; her boss being ill, more so. Parking at the hospital, she soon found her way to outpatients, meeting someone she knew. ‘It’s Tremayne, he’s not well,’ Clare said. ‘And please, not a word to anyone.’ The woman, a friend, understood. Inside, behind some screens, Tremayne was lying flat on his back. His shoes had been removed, and his tie had been loosened. ‘How long have you been here?’ Clare said. She knew Tremayne would not appreciate lashings of sympathy, although he looked dreadful. ‘Since last night. I’d had a few drinks, a few cigarettes, and all of a sudden I’m in the back of an ambulance.’ ‘Does Jean know?’ ‘Not yet. Maybe you can phone her. She went to see her son for a few days, left me on my own.’ ‘Off the leash and into trouble, that’s you, guv.’ ‘Not today, Yarwood. Maybe Moulton’s right about me retiring.’ ‘Having you feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help, is it?’ The nurse, standing on the other side of the bed, looked over at Clare disapprovingly. ‘It’s how we work,’ Clare said. ‘That may be the case, but Mr Tremayne has had a bit of a scare. He needs to be here for a few days while we conduct a few checks.’ ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘It’s not for me to say. That’s for the doctor.’ ‘He told me to cut down on the beer, quit smoking, and take it easy.’ ‘Retire, is that it?’ Clare said. ‘They don’t get it, do they?’ Tremayne looked over at the nurse who was monitoring his condition. ‘Sorry. We’ve got a murder to deal with, nothing personal.’ ‘Don’t worry about me. We get our fair share of people, men mainly, who think they’re invincible. You’re not the first, not the last, who thinks they know more

moment.’ She smiled. ‘How old are you, Ned?’ ‘Nineteen.’ ‘You risked your life for me.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips briefly but tenderly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she left the room. * MOST PEOPLE BATHED twice a year, in spring and autumn, but princesses were fastidious, and Elizabeth bathed more often. It was a major operation, with maidservants carrying big two-handled laundry tubs of hot water from the kitchen fire to her bedchamber, hurrying up the stairs before the water cooled. She took a bath the day after Swithin’s visit, as if to wash away her disgust. She had said no more about Swithin, after kissing Ned, but Ned thought he had won her trust. Ned knew he had made an enemy of a powerful earl, but he hoped it would not last: Swithin was quick-tempered and vengeful but, Ned thought, he had a short attention span. With luck he would nurse his grudge against Ned only until a better one came along. Sir William Cecil had arrived shortly after Swithin left, and next morning he got down to work with Ned. Cecil’s office was in the same wing as Elizabeth’s private suite. He sent Ned to Tom Parry’s office to fetch a ledger of expenditure for another house Elizabeth owned. Coming back with the heavy book in his hand, Ned walked along Elizabeth’s corridor, where the floorboards were puddled with water spilled by the maids. As he passed her suite, he saw that the door was open, and – stupidly – he glanced in. Elizabeth had just got out of her bath. The tub itself was screened off, but she had stepped across the room to pick up a large white linen sheet with which to dry herself. There should have been a maid waiting beside the tub holding

My priest friend Bill Rankin said that through prayer, we take ourselves off the hook and put God on the hook, where God belongs. When you're on the hook, you're thrashing, helpless, furious, like a smaller kid lifted by the seat of his pants by a mean big kid. Jesus, on the literal hook of the cross, says to God, "Help," and God enters into every second of the Passion like a labor nurse. When you get your hooks out of something, it can roll away, down its own hill, away from you. It can breathe again. It got away from you...

Charlene moved through the house as quietly as her abused body would allow.  She hadn’t been able to stand upright in nearly two weeks thanks to the two broken ribs courtesy of her husband.  But those two broken ribs had given her a new lease on life.  Charlene would never forget the minute when the nurse looked up and said those magic words: you’re pregnant.  Even though the nurse’s disgusted look

No, I can fancy your temptations, I can picture your errors and your follies, I can understand how you drink your poison one hour because you liked its flavour, and drink more the next hour to make you forget your weakness in having yielded to it at all. That my own solitude and imagination are only peopled with shapes bright and fair, I must thank Heaven and not myself. If I had been born in squalor and nursed in vice, what would circumstance and surroundings have made me! Oh, I think, instead of the Pharisee’s presumptuous ‘I thank God that I am holier than he,’ our thanksgiving should be, ‘I thank God that I have so little opportunity to do evil!’ and we should forgive, as we wish to be forgiven ourselves, those whose temptations, either from their own nature or from the outer world, have been so much greater than our own.

You are your best doctor. Thank you, God. The best prayer

The nurse watched me gently climb in next to nanna, take her hand in mine and lean my head against hers. I didn’t know what to say to her. How do you thank somebody for being everything you needed and more?

It was for his own good. And the beast inside me roared. Every day it got louder. Nobody could tame it. Josh could calm me, but I wouldn’t let him close enough to try. Nurse Valerie buzzed me into the ICU. I slid the container of cupcakes across the counter of the nurses’ station. “Nadia Cakes.” She beamed at me. “You’re too good to us, girl.” She pulled the cupcakes down in front of her, looking over the assortment. Sloan had assigned me the job of bringing thank-yous to the nursing staff. Donuts, cookies, flowers. I tried to bring something every couple of days. The nurses had made all the difference in this situation. Valerie tapped her pen absently on top of the clear container and eyed me. “Can I ask you something?” I leaned over the counter, sorting her pens by color. “What?” I liked Valerie. She was my favorite nurse. She was no-nonsense. We’d hit it off immediately. “What did that boy do to you? ’Cause I can’t see any reason on my end why you’re not all over that man like white on rice.” Josh.Somehow in the last few weeks, the hospital staff had gotten wind of the Josh situation. “Valerie, we’ve talked about this.” She arched an eyebrow. “Have we? ’Cause you came off a little evasive if you ask me.” I shook my head at her. I wasn’t getting into it. She twisted her lips and gave me a knowing grin. “That man drives you crazy.” I snorted. “I don’t need him to drive me crazy. I’m close enough at this point to walk.

Father, in the name of Jesus, thank You for words which are always wise. Help me to listen for the voice of wisdom in my life and career, in the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.

However, I just feel that I must have a few months of London first, after the dreadful time I’ve been through since 1939. I never touch chocolate biscuits,” she added, waving an impatient hand as Reeny set the tray in front of the guest, on a coffin stool, from which she had carefully removed a used ash-tray and a packet of outsize envelopes. “Thank you, nurse,” said Mary. “You may take away the biscuits.” When the door closed behind the abashed Reeny, “Why have you had a more dreadful time than anyone else since 1939?” she inquired.

Contempt is toxic, indeed. What’s the alternative? The antidote for contempt is to express our appreciation and respect for each other, to each other, in small ways, every day. How often do we say, “Thanks for doing the dishes,” or “I love how you look when you’re nursing Annie”? It’s words like these that we need to say, often. They shouldn’t stay bottled up inside us. Admiration and fondness, when they are outwardly expressed, go a long way toward creating a culture of appreciation in our homes—that’s the antidote for contempt. •

The waiter says, Buy you a farewell cognac? I say thanks and settle in with coat covering my grease-spattered uniform. The waiter downs his own drink. Standing, he slides spare bills across the bar, adding—before he flips his cashmere scarf around his neck Lautrec-style—At least I’ve helped you to master the fish knife. I hold the glass globe in my hand as the dim yellow lights slide off its perimeter, and boy, does that drink slide down like scorched sunshine. I’m just draining it when the manager—no doubt eager to see me leaving—flies up and buys me another. And right before Warren comes, I ponder a third. What the hell, right? I’m unemployed, with school loans I can’t pay, an invalid dad whose nursing I need to start chipping in on.

Damian, who do you admire?’ I said, ‘St Roch, sir.’ The others stopped talking. ‘Who does he play for?’ ‘No one, sir. He’s a saint.’ The others went back to football. ‘He caught the plague and hid in the woods so he wouldn’t infect anyone, and a dog came and fed him every day. Then he started to do miraculous cures and people came to see him – hundreds of people – in his hut in the woods. He was so worried about saying the wrong thing to someone that he didn’t say a word for the last ten years of his life.’ ‘ We could do with a few like him in this class. Thank you, Damian.’ ‘ He’s the patron saint of plague, cholera and skin complaints. While alive, he performed many wonders.’ ‘Well, you learn something new.’ He was looking for someone else now, but I was enjoying being excellent. Catherine of Alexandria (4th century) came to mind. ‘They wanted her to marry a king, but she said she was married to Christ. So, they tried to crush her on a big wooden wheel, but it shattered into a thousand splinters – huge sharp splinters – which flew into the crowd, killing and blinding many bystanders.’ ‘ That’s a bit harsh. Collateral damage, eh? Well, thank you, Damian.’ By now everyone had stopped debating players versus managers. They were all listening to me. ‘After that they chopped her head off. Which did kill her, but instead of blood, milk came spurting out of her neck. That was one of her wonders.’ ‘Thank you, Damian.’ ‘She’s the patron saint of nurses, fireworks, wheel-makers and the town of Dunstable (Bedfordshire). The Catherine wheel is named after her. She’s a virgin martyr. There are other great virgin martyrs. For instance, St Sexburga of Ely (670– 700).’ Everyone started laughing. Everyone always laughs at that name. They probably laughed at it in 670– 700 too. ‘Sexburga was Queen of Kent. She had four sisters, who all became saints. They were called—’ Before I could say Ethelburga and Withburga, Mr Quinn said, ‘Damian, I did say thank you.’ He actually said thank you three times. If that doesn’t make me excellent, I don’t know what does. I was also an artistic inspiration, as nearly all the boys painted pictures of the collateral damage at the execution of St Catherine. There were a lot of fatal flying splinters and milk spurting out of necks. Jake painted Wayne Rooney, but he was the only one.

You don’t have more important things to do than play nursemaid?” “As always, you have such a strange way of saying ‘Thank you’.” “I’m just…” Surprised. He raised an eyebrow. “What if I told you all the nurses are afraid of you? The Nightfire queen who just tried to take down the Rishan army.” “I’d say that’s smart of them.

What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. “You don’t feel sick again, do you?” He actually felt my forehead to check my temperature. I had to fight a smile. Yeah, my defenses stood no chance against this side of him. “I’m fine, Nurse Nancy. Thank you for taking care of me, by the way.” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “It was a one-off. If you’re ever ill again, you’re on your own.