A NURSES LIFE, PART 2.

  

                  Part two of a Nurses life.

       A reprisal of part 1/

       I arrive at work at 2PM on a sunny July day.  The humidity is horrendous, stifling and causing my cotton clothing to stick to my body. Not liking this as I walk toward the Dark Foreboding place we call TURNEY TECH, I yank on my blouse to take the sticky/clingyness away from me. 

       While walking the pathway to the entrance, I notice a few crows squawking and eating something and squirrels doing laps around oak trees chasing and playing.   I smile at these things. The air, though humid, smelled clear. 

                  Enter the building of the Insane.

        When I walk into this place each and everyday, it takes me a while to adjust to the odor of this place. Everything smells like either shit or alcohol mixed with bleach.

         I do this 5 shifts a week and face this fucking hellhole and try to maintain some sense of dignity for our patients as well as myself. 

         This  so-called STATE Hospital is a horror show.  

         Before clocking in, I scope the lay of the land before me:  

          There's two people on the floor tossing around unattended by anyone except gawkers watching their bodies act like fish out of water.

           Okay, I think, just a normal day at work. I do my job requires me to do and clock in.

          My Head Nurse, Mary,  approaches me and says I am needed in bed  17 on this floor.

           17?!? I thought to myself , how lovely this shift will start...

           "Oh, God, what did he do this time?"

           Mary looked at me with a weird combination of sad and smiling expression, saying: "You'll see... Sorry, Marion..." 

         Sorry my ass.

          I wonder what a mere 50 steps down a stinky illuminated corridor I will encounter at Bed 17.

          While heading there, a visitor, somehow having fallen to the floor, grabs my right ankle, causing me to fall and smack the disgusting tile floor.  I gave an OUCH!  As I helped the fallen lady to rise, she apologized  and  I went about my shift. 

             Not really surprising for visitors to fall down in a place like this. So many wheelchairs covering the walls on both sides of  aisle ways where WWII injured taken outside their rooms to perhaps socialize with one another.  So many of these boys shattered, my heart cried out for them, more often than not  the staring with blank expressions  after having lost a leg/arm/eyesight as they served Our Country to protect us and others across the globe. 

         Heading, as my HeadNurse said I should do, my mind is thinking about something to make me happier. Perhaps an embrace from a man named Ted..

          Such dream wishes fall short as....

            I'm approached by a man I only am allowed to know as 'h' as I begin  my rounds.   I say "Hi H!" 

            "Mare, you need to get to 17!"  he says to me clearly as his so fragile body appears so tiny in a wheelchair after having lost both arms and legs during the D-day invasion on June 6th this year.  God love him! His mind and thinking is as clear as a bell. 

            "Thanks, H!' I saying, reaching down and giving him a hug. Feeling his scruffy face against mine, I say to him: "If I get a chance I'm gonna give you a shave."  

           "Mare, do I really need  a face lashing, darling?"  he said with a thick Scottish accent , a wicked smile mating his mouth to eyes for sincerity. 

          "Well,  Sir!  You most certainly do and I will do that for you."

                     END OF PART ONE OF THIS SERIES.

I thank you for reading,

              On to Part two of my Mothers sharing to me.

         My lord I will! I said in a strong Nurses voice that would gain respect of all except doctors as they believed themselves gods on Earth.  Doctors love to think they are the end-all be-all when it comes to human survival. Well, most of the them are pompous possessors of tiny penises and love to SHOUT AND BLAME NURSES.  

        Feeling a cough rising in my throat I gave out a nasty, flemingly cough as I  walked to Bed 17. 

       Bed 17 is both a horrific place yet sometimes amazing area to take care of. It's  dweller.  calling him 'S'. We called him S as his dogtags were barely left on him as most of his head was blown to bits during the D-Day invasion of Normandy. Seriously speaking, the MEDICS thought him a Nazi  wondering how he could still be alive. Apparently a few of his BOOTCAMP  buddies corrected the medics for his treatment instead of tossing him to the sands of death.