Title: RUNNING WITH NEEDLES
Genre: NA Contemporary
Word Count: 75,000
My Main Character is most uncomfortable with:
I used to love the snow, but that changed during my first operating room clinical. I watched an elderly woman have hip surgery after she broke it falling on the ice. It wasn’t too bad to watch until the surgeon pulled out a hammer. Yes, an actual hammer. That’s when I almost fainted. Now I’m a fan of sunshine and dry sidewalks. Oh, and Luke wears sweatshirts when it’s cold. I’m against anything that makes him cover up that gorgeous body.
Nursing school is going exactly as Morgan always planned. Well, except for that time when she heard a heartbeat on a dead body. There was also that humiliating incident when she accidentally put a patient’s suppository...well, let’s just say it went where it wasn’t supposed to go. And then, there was that awkward moment when, after two years of flirting, she was finally about to make out with Luke, her cute classmate, but realized there was vomit in her hair.
Despite these hiccups, Morgan’s dream of saving lives is becoming a reality. But with reality comes the cold, hard truth—which can be a difficult pill to swallow. When she learns that her favorite patient has only six months to live, Morgan is faced with the realization that she can’t care for people without becoming emotionally invested. Morgan must find a way to maintain her own sanity, snag that cute classmate, and somehow pass her licensing exam—all while trying not to accidentally kill anyone.
First 250 words:
I placed my stethoscope on my eighty-eight year old patient’s chest. “Big breaths.”
“You should have seen them when I was younger.” She winked and flashed me a toothless grin.
“What?” My cheeks flushed. “Oh, no. I meant please take a deep BREATH.”
“Why don’t you take me to the bathroom instead?”
I eased her to the side of the bed and made sure her feet hit the ground, socks grippy-side down. With one arm around her, we shuffled, two inches at a time, across the faded linoleum tiles. Standing together next to the toilet, she glared at me. “Aren’t you going to give an old woman her privacy?”
“Oh, sorry. I don’t want you to fall.”
“Well, I don’t want you to watch. Skedaddle.”
“I’ll be right outside the door.”
The door slammed on my butt on the way out. Whirling, I twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. This can’t be good.
“Louise? Are you OK? Can you open the door?”
“Oh, shit.” I had to fix this before my instructor found out.
I knocked on the door. Pounded on the door. Yelled “Louise!” Nothing.
I dropped to the floor and pressed my face against the cold, germ-infested tile, trying to catch a glimpse of Louise while hoping to avoid a bad case of diphtheria. Her gown was on the floor, blocking my view. Had she fallen? What had I done?
I used to consider myself a smart person. Then I became a student nurse.