Caleb: Hey, Whitney, the news said the hospitals are maxed out from the bombing. I hope to hell you’re hanging in there. Have you gotten a chance to sleep? Eat?

Me: Hi! It’ll be a long time before I see a bed or a meal, I’m afraid. Thanks for checking on me.

Caleb: In about an hour, there will be food in your break room, enough for the whole floor. Go eat—that’s an order. ;)

I skimmed the words of Caleb’s text as I ran down the hallway, shoving my phone back into my pocket when I reached the patient’s doorway. The unit secretary had said the patient’s pain was intolerable and he needed assistance. After quickly reviewing his chart, I saw he’d had a spinal fusion, the bombing fracturing multiple vertebrae in his back that were now surgically connected.

I could understand why the poor guy was miserable.

“I’m here,” I said as I entered the room, grabbing gloves from above the sink. “Let’s see if I can get you some comfort.”

“Cut my fucking leg off!” he shouted. “I can’t take another second of this!”

The monitor showed his heart rate was skyrocketing, his response telling me his pain was at a ten on our scale. “I’m going to call the doctor about increasing your dose.” As I neared his bedside, his skin was clammy, his neck lifted in an uncomfortable angle, his feet far too low for the surgery he’d just had. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have you feeling better.”

I pressed the pain pump that would deliver more meds through his IV, and I began working on his positioning.

“Come eat,” Rebecca said as she found me kneeling in the supply room.

I was digging through the bottom shelf, my brain so delirious that I couldn’t remember what I was even looking for. “I don’t have time. I—”

“You’re going to crash if you don’t put something in your stomach.” When I still didn’t move, she grabbed my hand and hauled me up. “Girl, you’re making me get all nursey on you.”

We laughed as she led me into the hallway and then through the door of our break room. I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t taking me to the cafeteria, where there was much more than just the leftover bags of chips and uneaten fruit that we normally found in here.

Once we stepped inside, I understood.

Each of the three counters were covered in catering platters and baskets of desserts. A large table had been set up in the middle that held even more varieties of both.

The text I had read earlier came flooding into my mind.

Caleb.

Rebecca handed me a plate. “The unit secretary said someone sent it over.”

I gripped her arm, keeping my voice low. “It was Caleb.”

“You’re joking.”