The Doctor's Nanny

by Emerson Rose

  “She’s so beautiful. I wish she could stay. Make me pretty, Daddy,” Sasha slurs, and I roll my eyes. This day just keeps getting stranger by the minute.

  Sometimes life gives you drugs, and drugs make you stupid.

  5

  Sasha

  I open my eyes and close them again. It’s bright. Where am I? What happened? I hear a woman’s voice calling my name encouraging me to wake up. I’m sleepy, and I don’t want to wake up.

  “Sasha? Hey there, can you open your eyes for me, dear?” the woman says repeatedly. After the third time, it’s irritating, and I open my eyes so she will stop asking me the same annoying question over and over.

  An older woman probably in her late fifties, early sixties, is standing over me smiling. She’s wearing pink scrubs and… pearls? Where the hell am I?

  “There you are. Did you have a nice sleep? I’m your nurse, Dorothy. You finished your surgery a little while ago. Everything went wonderfully. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” I croak, and her eyes go wide.

  “Are you having pain or nausea or maybe both?” she sweetly asks when she has regained her composure.

  “Yes, to all of that.”

  She smiles ear to ear like she’s glad to know I feel like hurling and my head is pounding like a Polynesian drum. “I have some medication that will fix you right up.” She holds up a syringe, and I close my eyes again. I don’t like needles, and I have no idea where she thinks she’s sticking that one. I wait for a poke, and when there isn’t one, I open one eye to see if she’s still there. She’s standing there pushing the medicine into my IV line. Yes, no shot.

  It’s starting to come back to me now. Hit and run accident, broken nose, surgery, sexy surgeon, sexy surgeon’s kid. Wait, Dr. Sullivan has a kid? How do I know that? Why do I know that?

  I root around in my head trying to remember how I acquired that information, but nurse Dorothy interrupts me. “There, you should be feeling better in a jiffy. Are you thirsty? I can get you a sip of water if you like.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Dorothy all but skips away to an ice and water dispenser across the recovery room. Damn, either she loves her job, or she’s got access to some great drugs. She hustles back to me still smiling and helps me take a drink. “Not too much. We can’t have you getting sick now.”

  No, we can’t have that. “Twyla?” I ask. I want my best friend. I want her to come and take me home and baby me. Grandma Dorothy and her pearls are too much. I need sarcasm and sass, not Cheshire cat smiles and pink scrubs.

  “Your friend? She can come in when we move you out of immediate recovery. It won’t be long.” She flashes her big white horse teeth that I’m starting to think are dentures and taps something into a computer mounted next to the bed.

  I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep my eyes open, so I fight to stay awake, but with the medication Dorothy put into my IV, it’s a losing battle. When I wake next, I’m in a recliner covered with a pink thermal blanket with Twyla and a little girl at my side.

  “Hey sleepyhead, it’s about time you joined the living,” Twyla says, and the little girl sitting on her lap smiles. I look at Twyla with confusion. “Oh, this is Tori, I believe you met before your surgery. She’s Dr. Hottie’s kid.”

  Oh my God, she did not just call Dr. Sullivan Dr. Hottie.

  “Oh, and by the way, he’s like a twelve.” She shakes her head like she’s disappointed. “Can’t believe you kept that from me.”

  “Daddy’s not twelve, he’s forty-five,” Tori says giving away a bit of top-secret information about her dad. I didn’t think he was that old, late thirties early forties maybe, but forty-five?

  “Yeah, sugar, you’re right. He’s forty-five easy.” Twyla wiggles her eyebrows up and down, and I want to laugh, but they warned me against it before surgery. There are a lot of things I’m not supposed to do for a week including blowing my nose, laughing, smiling, putting a shirt on over my head, and the list goes on.

  “Why? How did…” I say searching for the right words to say why the hell is this kid in here with you without hurting her feelings.

  Twyla sits up straight and leans around Tori. “So, you see, I was sitting in the waiting room minding my own business, ya know, and this one comes running out all wild-like waving a pair of scissors around. And I was all like, hey squirt, you can’t do that, somebody’s gonna get hurt, mainly you. Some little Latina came running out yelling her name looking all flushed and worn out. She told tiny Tori she was naughty, and I… well you know… I snapped at her and told her she was a suck-ass babysitter if she couldn’t keep up with a…” she stops and looks at Tori. “How old are you again?”

  “Five and a half,” she says with a proud nod.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I told her if she can’t keep up with a five-year-old, then maybe she should find a new job.”

  “Then, she started to cry!” Tori adds obviously annoyed with the babysitter’s weakness.

  “Yeah? She cried, huh? What a pussy,” I say, and Tori bursts out laughing. I can’t help but smile, she’s too damn cute, but I regret it right away when pain shoots through my face.

  “Oh crap, you’re not supposed to smile, I forgot. Hey, Tori, we can’t be funny. Sash’s face hurts and stuff.”

  “Daddy didn’t do a very good job, did he?” Tori says looking at me with worry.

  “I did a fantastic job, what are you talking about?” Dr. Sullivan says opening the curtain.

  “No, Daddy. She can’t smile, and her nose hurts,” Tori says.

  “Bug, that’s what happens when you have surgery. It only lasts a week or so, and then Ms. Sasha will be back to her beautiful self again.”

  I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. No arrogance, no annoyance, just a pure, sweet explanation with a compliment mixed in, I think.

  “You said you make people pretty. That’s not pretty.” Tori points at my nose, and I’d do anything to be able to laugh. I love this kid and her honesty, she’s perfect.

  “Now, that’s not a nice thing to say, Tori. Tell Sasha you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re right I’m sure it’s hideous today, but it’ll be better in a few days.”

  “I wanna see you when you’re pretty again,” she says sliding off of Twyla’s lap.

  “Princess, you can’t do that. Ms. Sasha is going home today. She can’t take the bandage off for a week.”

  “Why? Zion’s sick, so I can come to work with you and see Ms. Sasha when she’s pretty.”

  I wonder who Zion is, a relative, or a nanny, maybe?

  “We will have to wait and see. Zion might be better next week.”

  “Then she can bring me.”

  I admire her spunk and determination. “I’m fine with it if she wants to, it’s no big deal,” I say, hoping to help her win this argument with her dad. But why?

  Dr. Sullivan bends down to pick up his daughter. “We will have to see. I’m not making any promises, but you need to go hang out with Sophia again for a while so Sasha and Twyla can go home and rest. Say goodbye and thank you to Twyla for playing with you.”

  Tori waves her little hand and kisses her daddy on the cheek. He opens the curtain and motions to someone on the other side. “Take her to Sophia and tell her not to lose her again,” he says in a stern voice.

  “Yes, sir, right away,” the disembodied voice says, and Tori disappears.

  “I apologize. We had a little run-in this morning, and she had to come into work with me.”

  “Don’t apologize, she’s awesome. I’d love to have her here next week when we take off the bandages.”

  “Her nanny is in the hospital so there is a chance you might get your wish.”

  “Oh, I hope she’s going to be all right.”

  “She will now that I know she’s a diabetic. It’ll take some time, though. So, do you have any questions about follow-up care? You have your appointmen
t made for next week, correct?”

  “Yes, it’s on Wednesday, and no, I don’t have any questions. I’m sure Twyla has the paperwork, and I’m off work all week or maybe forever if I don’t hurry up and get back.”

  “Did you file for FMLA?”

  “I couldn’t. I went part-time a year ago so I could help a friend at her flower shop. I didn’t qualify.”

  “Well, it sounds like this is the time to look for another line of work like you said earlier.”

  Another line of work? I never told him I want to quit selling shoes, did I? I mean I have wanted to for a long time, but I wouldn’t tell him that.

  He looks at me narrowing his eyes. “Do you remember that conversation?”

  “No, what did I say?” Oh God, I hope I didn’t say something stupid.

  “Just that you’d like to explore other opportunities in life. Oh yeah, and you called me Daddy and asked me to make you pretty.” He bites his lip to keep from laughing, and I start to choke and cough but stop when it hurts.

  “No way did I say that.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles. “Yes way, you did. Right after you met Tori and had some anesthesia.”

  I close my eyes. I can’t look at him, I’m so embarrassed. I unintentionally added fuel to his egotistical fire, and now he’s going to watch me burn.

  “It’s no big deal. People say a lot of crazy things when they’re on medication. I’m used to it. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

  “Maybe not, but I am. Did I say anything else stupid?”

  He reaches out and gently places his hand on my upper arm nodding his head. “No, that’s it, pretty mild when you think about it.”

  “What’s the worst thing anyone’s said?” I ask, curiosity taking over my embarrassment.

  “Hmm, well there was the time a woman going in for breast augmentation asked me if I would suck on her nipple when she had larger breasts. She would have been mortified to know she said that, but I never mentioned it.”

  “Holy shit, you’re sure you aren’t keeping anything from me?”

  “Why? What do you think you might have said?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Another time a man who was having a nose job and facelift told me he was gay and asked me not to tell his wife. That was years ago, though. He’s now divorced and remarried to a very attractive man.”

  “Wow, is it like truth serum or something?”

  “It can be like that. Some people are more sensitive to it than others. Don’t worry, I would tell you if you said something else, promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh wait, you did mention that you love kids, but that’s it.”

  I do? Okay, now I’m rethinking the truth serum thing. I like kids, but I’m not especially wild about them.

  “Yeah, kids are all right, I guess.”

  “You made it sound like they were a lot better than all right. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you to be a teacher?”

  “Oh God, no. I’d be the worst teacher, no way.”

  “I don’t know. You seemed pretty good with my daughter.”

  “I didn’t teach her anything, and I was only in the same room with her for ten minutes.”

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Sasha. My Tori has an anxiety disorder that stems from a break-in at our house. She’s very particular about who she likes, and she likes you, no questions asked, no security checks, nothing. Now I know you don’t know her, but she’s an excellent judge of character. If she likes you right off the bat, and I don’t have to call the FBI for a background check, I can pretty much guarantee you’re a natural with kids.”

  “Was she hurt?” I know that’s not the point he’s trying to make, but as soon as he said break-in, I stopped listening. Tori and I have something terrible in common.

  “No, she was fine, but she’s never gotten over it. As a result, she’s extremely cautious and wary of strangers, and she has a special relationship with the security panel at our house.” He chuckles, and I look away. “Hey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks. How much longer before I can go home?” I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to think about Tori and her anxiety disorder anymore. It brings up too many of my painful memories.

  “You should be good to go now if you want. I can have your nurse bring your discharge orders in and a wheelchair.”

  “Yes, please. I’d like to go home.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you in a week then. Take it easy, stay down for the next couple of days, and call the clinic if you have any questions.”

  “I will.” He turns to leave, and I watch him go thinking how much more I like him today than I did yesterday.

  I’m glad Twyla didn’t let me keep my avocado nose.

  Sometimes life gives you a friend who knows best.

  6

  Xander

  It’s been a long, strange day from calling an ambulance in the wee hours of the morning to taking my five-year-old to work to having a beautiful patient call me Daddy—weird, weirder, and weirdest.

  And it’s not over yet. It’s 10:00 p.m., and I’m lying in my bed with Tori snuggled up under my arm watching Dallas reruns on Hulu. The show isn’t exactly appropriate material for a five-year-old but compared to the things on TV today, it’s tame.

  “Daddy, Zion turns the channel a lot when we watch, but you don’t, how come?” she asks in a sleepy voice. I know Zion, and she’s probably been channel surfing during the inappropriate scenes. Maybe I should be paying better attention to what’s going on.

  “I’m sorry, bug. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “You thinkin’ bout my Zion?” I love that she calls her my Zion like she’s hers and hers alone. She’s right. I am thinking about her and also our situation. We went to the hospital tonight on our way home from the clinic. She is very sick, more so than I originally thought. I was right about the DKA, and she will be in the hospital for at least a week correcting her blood sugar. She looked weak and defeated. I wished we didn’t have to leave her there alone, but a hospital is no place for Tori.

  Zion has no family in the U.S., but she has a few good friends, and they visited her yesterday along with us. I told her not to worry about her job or Tori. I lied and said I have it all worked out when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I’m screwed. I have no temporary sitter, no nanny, and Tori trusts no one. I have four brothers. David lives in Texas and is married and has a kid. Ethan lives in Seattle, he’s a lawyer and wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of a kid. Jacob is a Marine, and he can do just about anything including taking care of a kid because he has one of his own, but he’s overseas right now. Last, but not least, is Dean who is also capable of caring for a child but after making a gazillion dollars with his cell phone business, he picked up and moved to an island in the Caribbean.

  Star, Tori’s biological mom has relatives, but they are all trash like her, and no one from that family will ever get close to my girl again.

  I’m afraid I’m going to have to break down and hire someone temporarily tomorrow. Tori is going to hate it, but I have no choice. I can’t keep dragging her with me to work—it’s disruptive for the patients, and it’s not a properly stimulating environment for a child. I can’t expect my nurses to watch her and do their work. I know after today, that’s just an accident waiting to happen.

  “Bug, we need to talk about something. Daddy has to hire a nanny to come and help us until Zion gets home from the hospital. It isn’t permanent, just for a week or two until Z is feeling better. The new nanny might even be able to help Zion when she comes home from the hospital for a little bit, and then you’ll have two nannies. That’s cool, isn’t it?”

  She doesn’t answer. I look down and find her eyes are closed, and I hear the sound of her soft breathing telling me my speech has fallen on deaf ears. Great, now I’m going to have to do that all over again tomorrow.


  I gently move her over to the empty side of my bed and turn off the TV saying goodnight to J.R. and his brother, Bobby, under my breath. What a blast from the past it’s been watching this show. I was just a kid in the seventies when it started, and my parents never missed an episode. Tori must have inherited that from them somehow.

  I wish my mom and dad could have known Tori. They would have loved her and spoiled her rotten. They died in a car accident when I was finishing my first year of college. It was a hit and run, and they were trapped for hours in their car upside down in a ditch. The doctors couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say whether or not they would have lived if the driver of the other car had stopped to call 911. I didn’t care, they were gone, and that’s all that mattered to me. Both of them on the same day, gone just like that—poof. One morning Mom was calling to tell me she loved me, and the next I was watching my grandma sob while she spoke with a funeral planner.

  I felt alone. I had my brothers, but they had their own lives and were spread out all over the U.S. I wanted my mom to be waiting for me at the front door when I came home for holidays. And I needed my dad to remind me that I wasn’t the same kid who got beat up every day after school for being a nerd with a big nose anymore.

  My love of plastic surgery started when I was a junior in high school. My parents had been saving, unbeknownst to me, so that I could have a nose job. Ever since I could remember, I was teased for my big nose. Dad said my great-grandpa Phillip had a nose like mine. I never met Grandpa Phillip, but I cursed him every morning when I looked in the mirror and again every afternoon after school when I was lying face down in the dirt of the playground getting beat up and teased mercilessly.

  I went for my first appointment, and when I met Dr. Salisbury, I fell in love with the idea of being an all-powerful physician. Dr. Salisbury could mold and shape someone into a different person. He was a god, not to mention he looked like he stepped out of a fashion magazine, and he drove a Porsche.