NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile. Lynne Marshall

around gloom, and had learned early on how to create her own joy, for survival’s sake. Some way, somehow she’d think of something to lift the ward’s spirit, or she wouldn’t be able to keep her hard-earned title of professional people pleaser.

      A physical therapist came by, assisting one of the teen patients who did battle with a walker. Polly gave a cheerful wave to both of them. The P.T. merely nodded, but the boy was concentrating so hard on his task that he didn’t even notice.

      Orientation factoid number four: Angel’s is the friendliest place in town!

      Really?

      Polly turned back to Darren. “Can you show me how to work that Hoyer lift? I’ve got a special patient to be weighed, and I need to change her sheets, too.”

      “Sure.”

      “Sweet. Thanks!”

      “Now?”

      “There’s no time like the present, I always say.” Polly finished her charting and escorted Darren into her assigned room. Together they gently repositioned and lifted Angelica from the bed. The child stared listlessly at them, her pretty gray eyes accented by blue-tinged, instead of white, sclera. “Are you from New York, Darren?”

      “Yeah, born and raised. Where’re you from?”

      “Dover, Pennsylvania.” She smiled, thinking of her tiny home town. “Our biggest claim to fame was being occupied overnight by the Confederates during the civil war.”

      Darren smiled, and she saw a new, more relaxed side to his usual military style.

      “Don’t blink if you ever drive down Main Street, you might miss it.” Self-deprecating humor had always paid off, in her experience.

      He laughed along with her, and she felt she’d made progress as they finished their task. She could do this. She could whip this ward into shape. Hadn’t that always been her specialty? Just give her enough time and maybe the staff would actually talk and joke with each other. She accompanied Darren to the door and sat at the small counter where the laptop was, and prepared for more charting.

      “Yo. Whatever your name is.” Rafael the ward clerk said, peering over his computer screen. “I’ve got some new labs for you.”

      After looking both ways for foot traffic, Polly scooted across the floor on the wheels of her chair instead of getting up. “Special delivery for me? Sweet. I love to get mail.”

      He cast an odd gaze at Polly, as if she were from another planet. When he found her lifting her brows and smiling widely, he quit resisting and, though it was halfhearted, offered a suspicious smile back. “Just for you,” he said, handing her the pile of reports. “Don’t lose ’em.”

      Brooke came by as Polly perused her patients’ labs. “How’re things going so far?”

      “Great! I really like it here. Of course, it’s ten times bigger than the community hospital where I worked the last four years.”

      “We call it controlled chaos, on good days. I won’t tell you what we call it on bad days.” The tall woman smiled.

      Orientation factoid number five: Teamwork is the key to success at Angel’s Hospital.

      Hmm. Maybe the staff needed to go through orientation again?

      “As long as we all help each other, we should survive, right? Teamwork.”

      Brooke glanced around the ward, with everyone busily working by themselves, and her mouth twisted. “Sometimes I think we’ve forgotten that word.”

      Which put a thought in Polly’s mind. As soon as Brooke strolled away, she checked to make sure everything was okay in her assigned room, then went across the ward to a nurse who looked busy and flustered. “Can I help you with anything?”

      The woman glanced up from calculating blood glucose on the monitor. “Um.” Caught off guard, she had to think, as if no one had ever asked to help her before.

      “Anyone need a bedpan or help to the bathroom? I’ve got some free time.”

      The woman’s honey-colored eyes brightened. She pushed a few strands of black hair away from her face. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask my broken-pelvis patient in 604 if he needs a bedpan?”

      “Sweet,” Polly said, noticing a surprised and perplexed expression in the nurse’s eyes before she dashed toward 604.

      Polly took her lunch-break with two other nurses and a respiratory therapist in the employee lounge. They’d all brought food from home like she had. She’d have to count her pennies to survive living in New York City.

      “Is your hair naturally curly?” One of the other young nurses asked, as they ate.

      Polly slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Drives me nuts most days.”

      “Are you kidding? People pay big money to get waves like that.”

      “And people pay big money to have their hair straightened, too,” the other nurse chimed in.

      “Well, I can’t pay big money for anything but rent,” Polly said. The two nurses and R.T. all grinned and nodded in agreement. “That’s why I stick to my hairband and hope for the best.” She thought about her most uncooperative hair on the planet, and as if that wasn’t curse enough, it was dull blonde. Dishwater blonde as her aunt used to call it. How many times had she wished she could afford flashy apricot highlights, or maybe platinum. Maybe get a high-fashion cut and style to make her look chic. Only in her dreams. The last thing she’d ever be described as was chic, and hair coloring was completely out of the question these days.

      She took another bite of her sandwich and noticed everyone zoning out again. The silence was too reminiscent of her childhood, being shipped from one aunt and uncle to another, and how they’d merely tolerated her presence out of duty. The sad memories drove her to start yet another conversation.

      “Do you guys ever go out for drinks after work? I mean, I know I just said I’m counting my pennies, but seeing that it’s my first day on the ward and all, well, I’d kind of like to get to know everyone a little better. You know, in a more casual setting?”

      She saw the familiar gaze of people once again thinking she’d arrived from another universe. “How expensive could a drink or two at happy hour be?” she said. “And wouldn’t we miss the rush hour on the subway that way, too?”

      “You know, I don’t even remember the last time we went out for drinks,” the first nurse said, forking a bite of enchilada into her mouth.

      “Have we ever gone out for drinks?” the second nurse asked, sipping on a straw in her soft drink can.

      “I think once in a while we organize potlucks, but …” The respiratory therapist with a hard-to-pronounce surname on his badge said, scratching his head. “I wouldn’t mind a beer after work. What about you guys?”

      “That’s a great idea,” Polly said, making it seem like the R.T. had thought up the plan. “Count me in.”

      “Where’re we going?” Another nurse wandered into the lounge.

      “To O’Malley’s Pub, a block down the street,” the first nurse said. “I hear they’ve got great chicken hot wings on Monday nights, too. Spread the word.”

      Well, what do you know, she’d pulled it off. One moment the room had been dead, now somehow she’d managed to infuse some excitement into her co-workers as they made plans to do something different. They smiled and chatted about their favorite beer and mixed drinks, and laughed with each other.

      It always felt good to please people. It had been how she’d survived, growing up. She had a long history of perfecting her talent, too. A set of narrowing brown eyes and a raspy voice came to mind. “So who’s going to invite Dr. Griffin?”

      All went silent again. Polly glanced from face to face to face as they stared at her