The oldest of the nurses, a short Hispanic lady named Doris, took Linda aside for a quick orientation: patients could elect to receive treatment in either the front or the back.
The front of the center was the part that resembled a blood bank. At the back, patients could receive their treatment semi-privately, in a room rigged with curtains similar to what was used in emergency departments. "All of the patients have a pole with a light at the top of it. They're told to press a button attached to a cable when they're in distress and we need you to bring the cart to them."
"When they're in distress?" Linda repeated.
Doris smiled wryly. "When they're gonna toss their cookies."
For the next three hours, Linda raced from chair to chair with her cart, watching the nurses switch out IV bags for the patients, administer shots to them or bark at her to be ready with the emesis pan. One jaundiced looking lady wearing a bandana vomited with such force that it sprayed onto Linda's smock, and her chin. "Get another one," the nurse said.
"And wipe off your face."
Linda had to change into the new smock in a closet-sized washroom, where she also wiped vomit off her cheek. She took a moment to say a quick prayer: "Lord, please give me the strength."
Her shift wasn't even half over. As she passed through the aisles between the chairs, another nurse quickly whispered to her. "When someone's gonna rock and roll, the best thing to do is turn away and make sure your mouth is covered. You'll thank me later."
Awhile after that, she ran the cart to the semi-private area, where a man who'd lowered his chair so that it lie flat, like a bed, wheezed and thrashed around. Jenny, a tall, thin nurse said "Mr. Milton…" parted the curtain and said "Oh no." Linda frantically reached for the emesis pan but Mr. Milton spewed as if he'd been the old faithful geyser, raining chunks down onto her fresh smock, bits of it clumping in her hair.
Linda slumped, feeling like she was going to cry, but Jenny reached out to steady her. "Here comes another one!" Mr. Milton, who'd rolled sideways, opened his mouth and vomited over the side of the chair and onto the floor, well before Linda could scramble down to place a pan beneath him. They both looked down at the mess on the floor. "You'd better call housekeeping, darling," Jenny said.