The Pain Nurse - Jon Talton

A book in the Cincinnati Casebook series

Copyright © 2009 by Jon Talton

For Susan

Many people generously helped in the research and writing of this novel. Eddie Lueken, RN, first intrigued me with the idea for this book, then she spent many hours with me explaining pain management nursing. Ellie Strang, RN, helped refine my ideas and keep the details accurate, and gave invaluable insights into the daily life of a hospital and its nurses. I’m also grateful for the excellent suggestions of Dr. Verna Corey.

On the law-enforcement side, retired Phoenix Police detective Cal Lash provided me a veteran’s perspective from both the homicide and internal affairs details. Retired Mesa Police Officer Skip Redpath gave me additional insights. My Cincinnati friends and writers Sue MacDonald and Kathy Doane helped fill out my knowledge of this singular, magical, haunted city. Blame me for inconsistencies, deliberate changes in procedure or descriptions, or errors.

My abiding thanks go to Barbara Peters, my editor, for her perfect pitch in helping me bring to life this nocturnal world of nurses and cops.

The pain always gets worse when the sun goes down. As often happened, it brought Cheryl Beth Wilson back to Cincinnati Memorial Hospital that December night. And like most nights, Cheryl Beth beat the pain. Mrs. Dahl told her how she loved her, tears in her filmy, gray eyes. She started telling a story Cheryl Beth had heard four times before, but she sat and listened. Then the old woman instantly dropped into sleep, the stencil of cancer momentarily leaving her face. Mrs. Dahl, who an hour before had been screaming from the postsurgical mess that had once been her belly. Cheryl Beth eased the old woman’s hand down to the sheet, checked her IV flow one more time, turned down the light in the long fixture on the wall at the head of the bed, and walked out into the quiet, darkened hall. The room’s persistent smell of decaying flesh, ointment, and deodorizer faded.

She walked to the nurses’ station. With most of the hall lights off, it stood brightly lit in the distance like a truck stop on the interstate. After making notes in Mrs. Dahl’s chart, she turned to her own notebook, drawing a happy face next to the woman’s name: her shorthand for a patient in pain, just that. She knew she could fix that easily. In another situation, she might draw a face with slits for eyes-someone who was oversedated. She could fix that, too. Then there was the face she would draw with wide eyes and wide mouth, an addict seeking pain meds. To this she would add her FC scale-one through ten-for “fucking crazy.” Fucking crazy and mean can get you in trouble. The faces told it all.