Book English Patient Novels & Stories

Darren asked, burning with anxiety. “I will speak frankly, Mr. Venzor. The patient is in a bad shape. She’s lost too much blood and has fallen into coma. The worst part is that she seems to have no will to survive. You need to encourage her somehow. Otherwise, nobody can save her,” said the doctor.

I stopped by the receptionist's desk and the young lady flashed me a bright smile as soon as I got to her. “Hello, how may I help you?” the receptionist asked and I sucked in a sharp breath. “I'm here to visit a patient named Edward Peterson,” I said, my voice faltering slightly. “He was a patient here in Ward 21 three years ago. He was diagnosed with cancer.” I watched the receptionist's mouth form an "oh" as she looked down at the file in front of her. I knew what she was thinking - Edward had been here for so long, and it was a surprise to hear that he was still in the hospital.

Nurses like her kept disappearing every day. Luckily It didn't take me long to find Blake. The butler had his room number on that piece of paper and he was lucky to have a room of his own unlike the others who I saw sharing a bed, lying on the cold tiled floor and groaning in pain. Blake was lying on an adjustable patients bed, wearing blue robes. The bleeping sounds from the oxygen support machine and that of his heart rate were so saddening. His face and hands were bruised and his lung was covered with a bandage.

He got me out of his nice office quickly, since he had surgery scheduled and had to prepare for it, while I had to check on some patients with the seasonal flu. After doing so, I took a short break and went to the garden that the hospital had, where the sick people who have been here for a long time are taken for a walk and their mood improves. From afar I saw that little pain-in-the-ass girl named Liza. She was reading a book that was quite mature for her age, called "The Last Election" and since she was alone, I didn't hesitate to approach her. “Hello.” I greeted her as I stood next to her wheelchair.

Chapter 2: I told myself that I wasn't going to go to room 355 unless it's necessary. But still I found myself staring at his name on the patient list . Enrico Valguruez Vitals:stable Pain management: Moderate Sedation:not needed. I shook my head and moved onto room 306. I wasn't going to play into his little games. Three hours into my shift I was pouring lukewarm coffee into a paper cup until a nurse called out my name,I looked back as stared the nurse wondering what the problem might be.

--- Sitting in a daze he didn't hear the call for his cue number, after the nurse ended shouting for him the nth time, the intercom, called for his number much louder. “Patient number 038 please, in the doctor's room.” His eyes landed on the piece of paper his holding with the number 038 printed on it, he stands abruptly that caused the people around him, to be weary, he walked pass ignoring them, and entered the doctor's office, in daze. “Oh, sit, here, what do you want to consult?” the folder containing the data he had filled-up, was now being read by the doctor. “I'm a Beta, but last night's intercourse with an Alpha, I felt something grows bigger and teared me apart inside.”

They are just so much unbelievable. I take my car out of there to the pub. I want to jerk off all the bad energy roaming all around me with dance and some drinks. ***************** A few years ago “Can you tell me what is the name of the patient?” the nurse behind the reception desk asked me. “ESTHER! Her name is ESTHER PAYNE.” “Ninth floor, room number 902,” she informed and my feet rushed to the elevator as soon as possible. It’s closed. The elevator was closed. I kept on pressing the button. I knew it was useless but I had so much anxiousness and fear that I couldn’t stand still over there.

Kristoff The Latino nurse pulls open the door and ushers us in, slamming it shut behind her. Patrick is lying on the bed with his face to the wall, looking smallish and pale in his blue patient uniform. His hair is overgrown, sticking out everywhere like a maniac's, and generally, he looks worse than the last time I came to see him. He turns his head when we enter, then sits up, his movements slow and his hands trembling. “Titania,” he calls, his voice hoarse.

Elizabeth The common room hums with a low murmur of voices, the occasional scrape of a chair against the tile floor, the shuffle of slippers as patients wander aimlessly. I sit in the corner, book in hand, though I haven't turned a page in the last ten minutes. My eyes skim over the words, but I don’t absorb them. I’ve learned to pretend—pretend to be cooperative, pretend to trust Dr. Maggie, pretend I’m nothing more than ‘Jane,’ a quiet, submissive patient who no longer questions why she’s here.

My hand pressed weakly against the sheet as I tried to push myself upright. A soft click at the door made me freeze. A woman entered, stepping lightly, deliberately. Her hair was pulled back neatly; her posture was perfect, almost rehearsed. “Good morning, Miss Abigail,” she said, her voice honeyed and calm, carefully measured. “My name is Elena. I’m a patient advocate. I’ll be here to help you through your recovery.” I blinked at her, trying to locate her in my fog. “Patient… advocate?” I croaked. My words felt heavy, weighted like the air I breathed.