Going South ... continued

Not-particularly-funny things became hysterical under the continual pressure. Staff Nurse sweeping down the ward, consulting the bowel action chart: 'Detonate him, detonate him, and detonate him.' My friend Esther, setting up a therapeutic lamp to treat some nasty mouth sores on a 90-year-old. 'Turn this way, Mr. Patel, that's it, smile for the birdy ... click! That was a beaut photo, mate, we'll have your phisog in The Listener next month.'

Robert, according to his chart 'a cretin from birth,' came in from a sheltered home to have his appendix out. When I took off his dressing I was shocked at the reckless incision gaping against the metal clips. I got Robert up for the first time after a week in bed, and walked him to the solarium. The average patient would have been weak and needed support, but to my amazement, Robert walked unassisted the length of the ward.

I settled him in the solarium, and saw his eyes on a Women's Weekly. 'Want to read this?' I asked him. He nodded. I checked that the ward sister wasn't watching and sat next to him. 'What does this say?'

To my amazement, he began reading. I was delighted, and then I became enraged. He'd been sitting in his bed for a week, staring into space 18 hours a day. Nobody had explained what was happening to him, nobody spoke to him, nobody gave him a book or magazine. I swore bitterly at Ward Sister, and got sent to Matron for a lecture. Next day I brought Robert crayons and two coloring books.

Gradually the pressure of too much work, humiliating criticism from the matron, Happy Bum (her name was Gladys), and the senseless regimentation got us all down. Several nurses from my class collapsed, two got pregnant deliberately and one accidentally, several said it really wasn't for them and disappeared. One became compulsive about cleanliness, scouring her ears with a washcloth several times a day. Those of us who were by nature cut out for the job blew off steam by smoking, drinking, and having sex.

© 2000 Trout &
Kerry Wilke