Celina asked the nurse. The woman was short and plump and holding a syringe filled with something the ER doctor had rattled off a few minutes ago in his orders. Celina figured it was the morphine she’d told him she didn’t want. The doctor had ignored her refusal and now the nurse was doing the same. “That broken wrist must be painful.” Dark curls of hair framed the nurse’s face. Her nurse’s top was covered with cartoon cats. “On a scale from one to ten, ten being the most painful, give me a number for your pain level.” Ten, Celina thought. Ten plus a few, actually. Her wrist, her hand, her whole arm ached. The ER doctor had stripped the EMT’s handiwork off, x-rayed her wrist, confirmed she had a fracture, and then rewrapped it. Since her job required her to shoot a gun accurately, any problem with her wrist was serious. A specialist had been called in to discuss surgery. Celina’s whole right side throbbed from the indelicate treatment. Her hand and wrist were propped on pillows.
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