All entries for Tuesday 15 November 2005

Anna's Story so far!

Will probably still change this b4 friday so feel free to comment. Remember I'm a poor sensitive soul though!

Communication

For the first time in months I feel calm, almost happy as I walk into work, feeling like I could enjoy the day, that I should enjoy my day without worrying about Nikki. I take my time getting ready, checking the little details of my uniform, enjoying the precise image it’s my job to project whilst I’m inside the home. Hair pulled back into a neat bun, name tag clipped to my pocket, all these things I do every day almost mindlessly but appreciate today. I pause by the office as usual, listening in on the phone call someone is always making, whether it be to another floor, a friend or relative, or last weeks entertainer angry because he hasn’t been sent the cheque he was promised. No-one communicates properly here, that’s the problem. Today it’s Kris, one of the nurses dialling, and I slow down almost absent-mindedly as I go past the desk, half interested in what she’s going to say, half delaying the moment when I actually have to start working.

‘…and you heard about the heart failure in room eight did you?
Yeah, seven this morning, found her when they went in to get her dressed. Who what, found her? Oh, Claire, I know poor thing, that’s her second in two weeks; it’ll be putting her off the early shift at this rate!
I’m just about to phone them, we’ll need her stuff shifting by the end of the week, there’s an assessment at St James could do with the bed’

It takes me a minute to realise its Annie their talking about. Christ, the poor bugger. Only seventy five and chirpy as a sparrow, when there’s some we’ve got at the moment that have been lying in bed for months, hardly able to talk and yet they just keep on going. I like Annie – suppose that’s liked now, funny how often we have to start using past tense around here so suddenly, and just accept it as routine. They say these things get easier the more often you go through them, well I’ve been working here three years now and I can’t feel it changing. I manage to leave most of it behind at the end of the day but that’s about as far as any sign of it getting easier goes. Problem is, no matter how upset you are it doesn’t do to show it; there are other residents to consider, and it’s not good for them to worry. I suppose it must be quite a concern really, to see people your age going so regularly. If it was me I know I’d be wondering when it was going to be my turn, after all by the time you get to that age you’ve got to be half expecting it haven’t you? Not like when it’s someone young, not like Nikki. Not that she’s going to die, I know she’s going to be fine, but just suppose. That would be a whole different story, a tragedy. I don’t know how I’d cope. Unlike here, now, when we don’t have any choice other than to get on with the day, but ready to be understanding and sympathetic should any grieving relatives come to visit.

I take a last look in Annie’s room as I go past, and bump into Catherine who seems to have had the same idea. I suppose it’s our way of saying a little good bye so we can move on and care for whoever comes along to take their place. And there will be a new lady in her bed by next week, especially if Kris is on the case already, but then, I suppose that’s business. Empty beds just don’t pay.
‘Sad, isn’t it? It always seems to be the sweet ones that go first.’
I smile in reply, an understanding between us of how little we can let ourselves feel sad. There’s always that urge to turn the mood round, find a memory that will somehow justify the death, one that’s somehow always cute or funny, the funny one’s are the best.
‘Do you remember that time when’ – see what I mean? – ‘she threatened to ring the police because she thought poor little Dorothy had stolen her best nightie?’
We laugh, and carry on down the corridor; time to get on with the day, and with everybody else’s lives.

The day moves relatively quickly, as it always does when you work mornings, there’s just so much stuff to get done – breakfasts to give out, beds to make, baths to give, tea to pour, lunch to serve, always something else to keep you busy. There’s a strange mood in the air all day, a respectful quiet in the staff room overcompensated for by loud, bubbly exchanges with the residents. Annie’s family do come in after lunch, and we offer our condolences, noting as we do that the family doesn’t actually seem in much need of consolation.
‘Of course, we’d been expecting it for a while now, it makes it easier.’ Yeah right, try telling that too Nikki’s mum and dad – they heard the news three months ago but they still won’t accept their baby girl could be dying. Not that she can be of course, not my best friend. She’s too strong to give up.
The fact that the last time anyone saw Annie’s niece in the building was last Christmas Eve doesn’t really prompt the highest level of sympathy anyway. She always said it was us that made her smile each morning, not them. They didn’t mean anything to her by the end, and I don’t think she meant much to them either. Except that on their way out Catherine hears them talking about the will. That’s always the thing their interested in. It makes you sick.

I do feel relieved to be leaving work today, funny that I felt so bright about it this morning, but I suppose that’s part and parcel of the job; you never know what you’ll have to deal with in any one day. Anyway, at least I can push it out of my head as I walk own the road, forget about it until tomorrow. For now I’m thinking about me, and only me. And Nikki of course, but that does go without saying, she’s my best friend, I don’t know what I’d do without her. It’s early enough for the sky to still be blue though there’s a crisp autumnal chill that clears my head, and I enjoy breathing. Until you’ve worked in the heat of a nursing home I’m sure you can never appreciate the shiver of stepping outside into the cold air.

I pause at the playground where I used to stop sometimes on my way home from school, and sit down on the swings. The gentle rocking has a soothing effect on me, I find it’s a good way to clear my head after a hard day at the home; a good way to empty it of all the work thoughts and refill it with me. I remember playing on these swings with Nikki when we were little, talking about all the exciting adventures we were going to go on when we grew up, what exotic holidays we’d take, how we’d make the world a better place, and, of course, who could swing the highest. One time I fell off and cut my leg and it was Nikki that took me back home to my mum, Nikki who told me not to cry, that I’d be alright. How come I find it so hard to say that to her, now that she needs the comforting and not me? Why do I long for her to reassure me, to tell me everything’s going to be O.K when it’s her that’s going through all this, when I know how scared she is? I look for the words every day, but they never come. I remember the day she told me about the cancer, she looked so scared, and I just thought, why my friend? It just didn’t seem fair. I didn’t want to lose my best friend when I was only twenty, it just didn’t seem fair. I cry, and am soothed by the steady motion of the swing until I feel like I can cope again, until life seems manageable once more.

Walking home I smile again, thinking about plans for the night. I know John’s cooked for us, and then we’re all going out. Its ages since I’ve been out with all my housemates, that’s the problem with shift work. Sometimes it feels like every time they all go out for a good time, I’m stuck at work caring for old, sick people, half of whom can’t even remember my name. Not that I mind, really, its just I don’t want to feel old before my time. We should make the most of being young, you never know what’s round the corner; Nikki’s proved that. So I’m going to have a really good night tonight, I’ve decided, nothings going to get in my way.

Going in through the door, I know at once that I’m wrong. One look at John’s face is enough to tell me what I somehow already knew. And yet as I hear the words I can’t believe they could be true, can’t see John’s expression anymore through the stream of tears running down his face, down my face. It’s not fair. Young people don’t die, my friends don’t die, Nikki can’t die. I never said goodbye

: 15 Nov 2005 22:12 |  Comments (2) |  Close comments |  Report a problem