I just came back to the ED after two years away as the head nurse on an in-patient floor in the same hospital. Then a leadership change in the ED had me coming back as a head nurse in the ED where I started 15 years earlier. I also thought it would be great to be surrounded by old friends as I healed from the shock of my husband’s death in a vehicular accident a year ago. I was forty-years-old with a nine-year-old son.
On my first week back, I felt someone staring at me. As soon as I turned away from a conversation with another nurse, I looked up and caught him looking at me from across the crowded room.
He was tall and handsome, his fair skin a stark contrast against his dark hair and dark long-lashed eyes. He was somebody I would have been attracted to had I been much younger. A stethoscope that hung on his neck and his blue scrubs clued me in that he was one of our ED residents. He must have started his residency in our ED just as I left the unit for the in-patient floor.
The normal sounds of an emergency room were just background noise to the sudden rush of blood to my ears. Boom. Instant connection. It was not just an innocent fleeting look, but something magical, a bit electrical, and kind of heart-fluttering awareness. At my age, it felt ridiculous to feel like a hormonal teenager. Yeah, a 16-year-old trapped in a 40-year-old body.
A wail of a siren broke through the connection. My triage nurse announced, “Jade, we have an EMS notification of a stab wound to the chest. That must be them just pulling up.”
I ran to the Trauma Room and almost collided with the mystery man. The attending physician, George, did a quick introduction as we all rushed to the trauma room. I knew George when he was just a resident, so we were pretty comfortable with each other.
Max was a medical resident in his third year of emergency medicine residency. So, this was the man that the young nurses were talking about in the lounge. He could be the pin-up boy of the nurses’ lounge. He proved to be also intelligent, confident, and decisive in the clinical setting.
The next thirty minutes passed in a blur as the patient claimed our attention. The patient was quickly intubated, then received a chest tube before he was whisked by the trauma surgeons to the OR. The trauma nurse ran after the surgeons with the chart while the other nurse went to assist another patient in the CT Scan.
Then we were alone in the room. Max lingered behind as I tried to straighten up the room. He thanked me for helping him with the chest tube. I nodded and acted nonchalantly, acting as if I did not feel like quivering jello inside. I cursed myself for my irrational thoughts. Snap out of it; quit acting like a love-sick teen.
My feelings even got stronger as the days passed. I sensed him observing me as I went about my duties. I acted like I did not notice. It was a losing battle because I felt strangely disappointed when I didn’t see him around.
Several men pursued me after my husband died, but no one haunted my every waking moment. My former husband did not turn out to be the shining knight in armor that I thought, but I was devastated when he died unexpectedly. And so, I had steeled my heart and vowed never to love again.
But it was difficult to ignore this new man who seemed to be just what I needed in my life. He seemed to charm everyone with his presence. Just thinking of him made me smile.
Max always had an excuse to talk to me, whether in meetings or just to discuss a case. I was the utmost professional, calm and detached. I kept my distance. I helped at the bedside during crisis situations, but I ran out as soon as the patient was stabilized, escaping to my head nurse duties and escaping from his smoldering presence.
I was afraid to give him any encouragement, but like a fish hungry for water, I cherished those moments when the crowds vanished around us and there were just the two of us looking at each other. The chemistry was undeniable. No words were necessary.
My emotions blindsided me; the unexpected feelings both exhilarated and frightened me. Been there, done that. Feelings long forgotten came rushing in. I must be in love; why now?
I knew he liked me; my friend George had spilled that one day. But I did not want to give Max a chance to say anything.
It finally happened one day. He cornered me in my office and told me that he loved me. I was overjoyed, and yet at the same time, I was devastated that it wasn’t meant to be. Our attraction was just an aberrancy. Even here in America, here in my ER, it would be a scandal like no other. We would have been the talk of the town.
In a society of double standards, an older man with a younger woman is more readily accepted. Machismo still lives. An older woman with a younger man is seen as a "cougar."
My world was centered on my demanding work and my nine-year-old son. Max had a whole future ahead of him; a world of adventure as a young doctor, of new accomplishments with his choice of vibrant and eager young women. He should be chasing his own dreams.
I told him he would not have liked commitments, and I could not afford to take a chance on a relationship that I felt was doomed from the start. I was too old to be playing around, and he was too young to be stuck with an older woman with a growing son. It would not be fair to him.
It was a love without a future. Our future should not, could not include each other.
One day, the clerk paged me to the nursing station. A bouquet of red roses was just delivered for me. Thinking it was from a grateful patient, I was surprised when I read the card. “Love is a gift. Give US a chance…M”.
Two years later…
My one-year-old daughter joined in singing “Happy birthday” to me while my eleven-year-old son tried to keep her from blowing the candles.
There were forty-two candles on my cake, courtesy of my husband. Such sick humor, my silly Max.
My now-bearded Max held a bouquet of beautiful red roses. Still handsome, still 12 years younger. Still in love with me.
My husband held more faith in our relationship than I did. He broke through my resistance until I could not say "No" anymore. Our love was hot and intense, but at its core was a deep, abiding love that will undoubtedly sustain us. A love to last a lifetime.
"Hey Max, have I told you that you look more and more like Alex O'Loughlin of Hawaii Five-O every day"? I teased him just so I could see him blush.
"Okay, Grace Park.", Max countered, referring to the female lead on the tv show.
"Yeah, right, older." I pretended to pout.
"A much prettier Grace Park.". Max bent forward to give me a sweet kiss, much to my daughter's delight, who laughed at anything her parents did. True to form, my adolescent son, rolled his eyes, pretending to be embarrassed by our public display of affection.
I am Jade. He's my Max. He is May. I am December. So what!
Note: Just a figment of my very fertile imagination. :)
