I comb over the paperwork again, double-checking the spreadsheet I created and still coming up short. We are so over budget, and part of the problem is I can't get my employees to leave. Why won't they go home to their families? I could stay here for 20 hours a day and still have work to do, but at some point, I have to go home to my kids. And that's exactly what I should be doing right now.
I pile the papers up and start to go through them again. I have to figure this out before King notices. I need to trim the fat without laying anyone off, and that seems nearly impossible. But if I leave it up to administration, they'll destroy my department. Those morons have no idea what they're doing. And if we start losing nurses, we're screwed.
The pressure starts to get to me, and I groan in frustration and reach for my hidden bag of M&Ms. I quickly realize that these aren't going to cut it. I need a nice glass of wine. I grab my cellphone, but quickly dismiss every name that pops into my head. I'm really running low in the friend department. I have to get out of this hospital more.
Eventually, against my better judgement, I text Hunt and ask him if he'd like to get a drink with me at Joe's. How bad could it be?