What Jett and Roxanne had was real
love, a love that was reciprocated between them. The only love involving Cruz
was purely one sided—her side. Always had been and always would be. And their
brief sexual encounters were… just…raw animal lust—his side. Well, she admitted
the sexual attraction was both sides. Her heart wrenched and fresh pain washed
over her. JJ straightened her shoulders just as she’d done hundreds of times
before. Facts were facts. Cruz was in lust, not in love her.
“Dr. Jones?”
Yanked from her musings, JJ stopped midstride in the hall
and turned her attention to an elderly balding man with a white goatee and kind
dark eyes. Like herself, he wore a white doctor’s coat, but she didn’t
recognize him. “Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Daryl Smythe. I’m one of the pharmacists here.” He
glanced around quickly and then at the manila file clutched in his hands. “Is
there somewhere private we can talk?”
Unease skittered along her spine. She had a weird sense of
déjà vu. “Sure. There’s a doctor’s consultation room just down the hall here.”
They entered the brightly painted room with plush chairs and
a conference table centered in the middle. JJ took a seat at the table and
Doctor Smythe sat across from her. JJ wiped her damp palms on her scrub pants.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, I’m sure this is nothing,” he
began and pulled out documents from the folder and spread them before JJ on the
table. “But whenever there is an incident such as this, hospital policy required
that we investigate. Is this your signature, Dr. Jones?”
JJ leaned forward and examined the patient records in front
of her. They were physician orders sheets with verbal orders taken from her
that she had signed off on. “Yes,” JJ replied, glad her voice remained steady.
Flashbacks of the interrogations she’d been subjected to at
Beverly Hills
Medical
Center
curdled her blood.
Her heart rate accelerated a few notches. “Why?”
“Well, there is no order for morphine for this patient. There
is no documentation that morphine was ever administered although the drug was
removed several times from the Pyxis under this patient’s name in ten milligram
increments. Can you explain that?” he asked.
His tone was polite, non-accusatory. JJ exhaled a pent up
breath she’d been unaware she’d been holding. She paged through the chart from
the beginning. A frown creased her brow as she recalled the details of this
patient’s particular case. She closed the file, pushed it back across the table,
and folded her hands in front of her.
“Sure,” she began, “I remember this patient. If you’ve
looked through the file, which I’m sure you have, then you would know that
morphine was not ordered because the patient was allergic to that medication. The
reaction morphine would’ve caused was anaphylaxis. He was given fentanyl for
his pain instead.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. The fentanyl is
clearly documented. If morphine was pulled from the med machine by mistake, it
should’ve been either wasted or returned per policy. ”
“Exactly,” he agreed. The fluorescent lights glinted off his
shiny head as he nodded.
JJ’s unease escalated. “So, what is it that you needed from
me exactly? I’m sure nursing took care of that.”
“Nursing?” Surprise lit up his face. “Nursing never pulled
the morphine, Dr. Jones. You did. I’m sure you probably just forgot to waste
the meds once you realized you would need to use a different drug.” He slid a
narcotic reconciliation form across the table into her field of vision. “Now,
if you just write where and how the meds were wasted and tell me the name of
your witness—RN or physician—we can clear this matter up quickly.”
JJ’s head reeled. She sat immobilized, her throat
constricting. Painful memories of previous accusations of stolen narcotics
assaulted her. How could this be happening all over again? Were the forces of
Karma at work
love, a love that was reciprocated between them. The only love involving Cruz
was purely one sided—her side. Always had been and always would be. And their
brief sexual encounters were… just…raw animal lust—his side. Well, she admitted
the sexual attraction was both sides. Her heart wrenched and fresh pain washed
over her. JJ straightened her shoulders just as she’d done hundreds of times
before. Facts were facts. Cruz was in lust, not in love her.
“Dr. Jones?”
Yanked from her musings, JJ stopped midstride in the hall
and turned her attention to an elderly balding man with a white goatee and kind
dark eyes. Like herself, he wore a white doctor’s coat, but she didn’t
recognize him. “Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Daryl Smythe. I’m one of the pharmacists here.” He
glanced around quickly and then at the manila file clutched in his hands. “Is
there somewhere private we can talk?”
Unease skittered along her spine. She had a weird sense of
déjà vu. “Sure. There’s a doctor’s consultation room just down the hall here.”
They entered the brightly painted room with plush chairs and
a conference table centered in the middle. JJ took a seat at the table and
Doctor Smythe sat across from her. JJ wiped her damp palms on her scrub pants.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, I’m sure this is nothing,” he
began and pulled out documents from the folder and spread them before JJ on the
table. “But whenever there is an incident such as this, hospital policy required
that we investigate. Is this your signature, Dr. Jones?”
JJ leaned forward and examined the patient records in front
of her. They were physician orders sheets with verbal orders taken from her
that she had signed off on. “Yes,” JJ replied, glad her voice remained steady.
Flashbacks of the interrogations she’d been subjected to at
Beverly Hills
Medical
Center
curdled her blood.
Her heart rate accelerated a few notches. “Why?”
“Well, there is no order for morphine for this patient. There
is no documentation that morphine was ever administered although the drug was
removed several times from the Pyxis under this patient’s name in ten milligram
increments. Can you explain that?” he asked.
His tone was polite, non-accusatory. JJ exhaled a pent up
breath she’d been unaware she’d been holding. She paged through the chart from
the beginning. A frown creased her brow as she recalled the details of this
patient’s particular case. She closed the file, pushed it back across the table,
and folded her hands in front of her.
“Sure,” she began, “I remember this patient. If you’ve
looked through the file, which I’m sure you have, then you would know that
morphine was not ordered because the patient was allergic to that medication. The
reaction morphine would’ve caused was anaphylaxis. He was given fentanyl for
his pain instead.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. The fentanyl is
clearly documented. If morphine was pulled from the med machine by mistake, it
should’ve been either wasted or returned per policy. ”
“Exactly,” he agreed. The fluorescent lights glinted off his
shiny head as he nodded.
JJ’s unease escalated. “So, what is it that you needed from
me exactly? I’m sure nursing took care of that.”
“Nursing?” Surprise lit up his face. “Nursing never pulled
the morphine, Dr. Jones. You did. I’m sure you probably just forgot to waste
the meds once you realized you would need to use a different drug.” He slid a
narcotic reconciliation form across the table into her field of vision. “Now,
if you just write where and how the meds were wasted and tell me the name of
your witness—RN or physician—we can clear this matter up quickly.”
JJ’s head reeled. She sat immobilized, her throat
constricting. Painful memories of previous accusations of stolen narcotics
assaulted her. How could this be happening all over again? Were the forces of
Karma at work
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