Probably she should have pumped instead of doing the micro, but there was a stool Gram stain labeled DO ON WARM FRESH SPECIMEN. When she called the floor the nurse turned her over to the intern who ordered it.
``We don't do Gram stains on stool,'' she said.
``Yes you do. I ordered one yesterday.''
``Its not an order we routinely receive...''
``This is not routine.''
``Then its stat? A life threatening emergency?''
Her breasts were beginning to leak. She sneezed and felt a rush of milk.
``You could call it that. Yes. Call it that. Stat!''
As he hung up she heard him say ``Does no one in the lab on nights speak English?''
So now she had a useless stat Gram stain and when she went through the plastic tub of received specimens she found a real stat from surgery. Then three spinal fluids came in from ED within twenty minutes and some fool had ordered everything on all of them including cryptococcal antigen.
Elliot was tearing his hair out in coags because one machine was down and his controls were out. Meanwhile there were eight CBCs from ED on the rocker, three stat urines and two drug screens. A line of samples was running through the chemistry analyzer, hopefully without mishap. She loaded the CBCs onto the analyzer. The alarm went off. Out of wash reagent. She switched the specimens to the back up machine and ran to finish the micro. Milk was pouring from her breasts, soaking through her tee shirt and lab coat.
An hour later they were nearly caught up. Elliot's ears were turning red. A bad sign. She had seen a cram course for the medical school admission test on his lap top. He wouldn't stick around long. Now he'd frozen the urine terminal. She showed him how to free it up. He looked at her lab coat. ``You're all wet,'' he said.
``It's milk. I need to pump.''
Her lab coat was fluid repellant. Her milk filtered through and dripped down onto her shoes and the floor. She took a handful of paper towels and blotted at herself.
``Gunshot wound in ED. Four uncrossmatched,'' the processor said.
``I'll get right to it. Elliot there's a low white count on the rocker...it needs a diff...''
Maybe it was the combination of milk and sweat but she was beginning to smell funny - kind of sickening. She ran the four O negs up to ED then sat quiet in blood bank for about ten seconds to clear her mind. You could kill someone.
The gunshot patient had an antibody, probably K but she'd have to work it up. She called ED.
``Forget it,'' the secretary said, ``basically dead on arrival.''
``I need the blood back. I'm busy. Someone bring it down.''
``Thank God,'' she whispered, and slipped out to the rest room to pump.