A day in the life
It was 1630 hours. I had half an hour left before I made my escape from the ward.I had made myself a terrible cup of coffee, lukewarm and super-sweet, trying to ignore the coffee and concentrate on the caffeine.
Starting at 8, I sleep walked to the hospital in the bitter cold, crushing the thin,stiff sheet of stillborn snow on the grass,bemused to observe that my bum had turn numb in the cold.As was usual,I had woken up unprepared, slightly late and tired.Ironed my clothes desperately with the cheap stem iron, and said my prayers running.Hungry and stinging from a hurried shave with an old razor, I reached the ward and fond that my colleague's car had "broken down" once again.That left the two of us to man a post designed for the services of six men.
Avalanched with strange and perplexing jobs by the nurses, I snapped more than once, raving and ranting that I needed to get out of this shithole, I needed to get back to my warm country, I needed to die.
I smiled politely at patients walking around, dragging their intravenous lines behind them.Some out of the jaws of death, wearing death metal t-shirts. I flirted with a pretty young nurse, and went for a couple of clandestine cigarette breaks with her,sweet moments of self harm between the hours spent working like a zombie.
I smirked as I said "sharp scratch coming" before I plunged the needle in. I felt nothing.
I made myself buttered toast as I waited for the radiogy results to come in.
Then, at half past four, all the jobs were done, and I was free at last. Nothing to do but hide away till the next man came in and took over. Not my headache anymore.Switch off the bleep and be my own man.Get drunk and watch a few shows on BBC-4.
Then Arlene came into the doctor's room and told me that Peter Laughton had died.
She wanted me to confirm his death.
Peter was in his early 50s, and till a few weeks back had been leading an unremarkable life,newly retired and looking after his grandchild. He looked in his early forties and had been admitted with a short history of feeling unwell, with pain in his flank and little else.
The next day he was told that he had advanced kidney cancer,rapidly multiplying in his lungs, liver and brain, and he was doomed.
That was a week back.
I asked his wife and two daughters to wait in the doctor's room while I went in.
It felt slightly creepy, so I took Arlene in with me. There he was. I remembered just two days back, sitting at the bedside, mechanically saying "sharp scratch coming" before I plunged the needle in. He said "why now?. why this hospital, this town of all places?"
I stayed silent and tried to look professional. After a three year expeience of dealing with the dead and the dying,I still felt inadeqate.
He was unblinking and his mouth was half-open. I felt his pulses, listened to his chest and shone light in his eyes
"I went to examine Mr Laughton, and I am very sorry to tell you that he has died" I quickly mouthed the mentally rehearsed line to his family."If you want to be with him, we shall wait. we will give you some time alone". His daughters, red eyed and tired,nodded silently.
It was 20 minutes past 5.I wanted to ring up home and speak to my parents.Cursing my luck for being late again,I hurried to my room, and left that world behind
The only conection being that I have to fill in his death certificate tommorow by 10 a.m.
Starting at 8, I sleep walked to the hospital in the bitter cold, crushing the thin,stiff sheet of stillborn snow on the grass,bemused to observe that my bum had turn numb in the cold.As was usual,I had woken up unprepared, slightly late and tired.Ironed my clothes desperately with the cheap stem iron, and said my prayers running.Hungry and stinging from a hurried shave with an old razor, I reached the ward and fond that my colleague's car had "broken down" once again.That left the two of us to man a post designed for the services of six men.
Avalanched with strange and perplexing jobs by the nurses, I snapped more than once, raving and ranting that I needed to get out of this shithole, I needed to get back to my warm country, I needed to die.
I smiled politely at patients walking around, dragging their intravenous lines behind them.Some out of the jaws of death, wearing death metal t-shirts. I flirted with a pretty young nurse, and went for a couple of clandestine cigarette breaks with her,sweet moments of self harm between the hours spent working like a zombie.
I smirked as I said "sharp scratch coming" before I plunged the needle in. I felt nothing.
I made myself buttered toast as I waited for the radiogy results to come in.
Then, at half past four, all the jobs were done, and I was free at last. Nothing to do but hide away till the next man came in and took over. Not my headache anymore.Switch off the bleep and be my own man.Get drunk and watch a few shows on BBC-4.
Then Arlene came into the doctor's room and told me that Peter Laughton had died.
She wanted me to confirm his death.
Peter was in his early 50s, and till a few weeks back had been leading an unremarkable life,newly retired and looking after his grandchild. He looked in his early forties and had been admitted with a short history of feeling unwell, with pain in his flank and little else.
The next day he was told that he had advanced kidney cancer,rapidly multiplying in his lungs, liver and brain, and he was doomed.
That was a week back.
I asked his wife and two daughters to wait in the doctor's room while I went in.
It felt slightly creepy, so I took Arlene in with me. There he was. I remembered just two days back, sitting at the bedside, mechanically saying "sharp scratch coming" before I plunged the needle in. He said "why now?. why this hospital, this town of all places?"
I stayed silent and tried to look professional. After a three year expeience of dealing with the dead and the dying,I still felt inadeqate.
He was unblinking and his mouth was half-open. I felt his pulses, listened to his chest and shone light in his eyes
"I went to examine Mr Laughton, and I am very sorry to tell you that he has died" I quickly mouthed the mentally rehearsed line to his family."If you want to be with him, we shall wait. we will give you some time alone". His daughters, red eyed and tired,nodded silently.
It was 20 minutes past 5.I wanted to ring up home and speak to my parents.Cursing my luck for being late again,I hurried to my room, and left that world behind
The only conection being that I have to fill in his death certificate tommorow by 10 a.m.
posted by Lupus Solitarius at 4:14 PM
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