The World I Fell Out Of. Melanie Reid
was particularly cruel.
Always in the night there were the needy patients, the ones who became queasy or overcome with pain, or indeed were just desperate for human contact to break their desolation. We had call buzzers on wires; paraplegics had theirs on the bedside table, because they could reach. Tetraplegics with some arm function had them draped across their bedclothes, as in my case. Those who could move only their heads and shoulders had them by their cheek, so they could turn their head and press them. I hated using mine, but many people didn’t have the same hang-up. There were also the confused souls who couldn’t locate their buzzers, and they would just cry out, ‘Nurse … nurse …’ Of course the nurses couldn’t hear, but the rest of us in the room would be woken, and someone in a nearby bed would press their buzzer instead.
Doobie had a habit of rushing in, crying theatrically: ‘Who’s buzzing NOW?’ and striding crossly towards the patient with the flashing call button above their beds.
‘It’s Elsie,’ the buzzer-ringer would stammer, defensively. ‘She can’t press her buzzer.’
And we lay awake and listened to poor wee Elsie being administered to, because we had no choice. One night, when I was on a further course of antibiotics for a lung infection, I woke with an overwhelming need to vomit. I pressed my buzzer and heard for the first time the distinctive slap, slap of a footfall I would come to dread.
‘What is it?’ she said. Not kindly.
‘I’m sorry but I feel really sick,’ I gasped. I was panicking inside. This had never happened before. I didn’t even know if I could be sick.
She said nothing, but turned on her heel and disappeared. Soon she returned with a papier-mâché NHS sick bowl, the grey bowler hat of despair. Her body language was contemptuous. She thrust, almost threw, it at me, and walked away, leaving me to be sick alone. She didn’t say a word.
It was my first introduction to Nettles.
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