Get out. Sarah didn’t move. She walked to the counter and set the tray down. The doctor will be here in 2 hours for rounds. Until then, you have me. And your leg needs to be flushed, Colonel. Don’t you use that rank with me. Graves snapped. You didn’t earn the right to say it. You’re just another civilian paycheck player.
You think because you wear scrubs, you know about pain. You know nothing. He leaned forward, the heart monitor spiking as his blood pressure rose. I have been fighting this infection for 10 years. I have had better medical care in a muddy hole in Helmond Province from a 19-year-old kid named Private Miller using a dirty rag than I have had in this entire multi-million dollar hotel you call a hospital. So, do me a favor, Sarah.
Get someone else. Get me a man. Get me someone strong enough to do what needs to be done. It was sexist. It was cruel. It was the lashing out of a man who felt his control slipping away. Most nurses would have walked out. Most would have reported him. “Sarah just turned around, picked up a pair of shears, and looked him dead in the eye.
” “Private Miller,” she said softly. “Miller was a good kid from Ohio, right?” The room went silent. The only sound was the hiss of the oxygen tank in the corner. Graves narrowed his eyes. How the hell do you know about Miller? The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy and electric. Colonel Graves forgot his pain for a split second.
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