by Emma Glass
If You Will Make All That Noise
The door rattles in the frame, the clattering shakes me, breaks me out of the soothing moment that I was swaying in, soothing Danny to sleep. I stop tapping his tummy and hold my breath. I listen to the student shuffling in the antechamber, the slopping of the water in the sink, the splashes against the plastic apron she has ruffled in a hurry to pull over her head. I quickly but quietly shift the cot side up and secure the catches. I tiptoe to the door, I glance at Danny’s mum, she hasn’t stirred, despite the racket carrying through the room. The bin lid slams and the door handle turns. As the student bursts through, I step towards her and press my finger tightly to my lip, showing her a silent exaggerated SHHH. She jumps back, her eyes are wide, terrified. She slowly brings her finger to her own mouth and nods.
I drop my hand and beckon her towards the cot. She stands across from me and I demonstrate how to pull the cot side down without making any noise. She mimics my actions and nods, her ponytail swishing over the plastic apron around her neck. She smiles at me. Her white young teeth are eerie in the luminous blue light of the monitor. I smile back, looking at her face fully for the first time. Her face is heart-shaped and eager. Her skin is pale and flecked with freckles in all the right places, perfectly settled by skin-kissing sunrays. Her eyes are brown or blue or green but her pupils are so dilated with joy and wonder they are round black shining balls. She is taking me in. She is taking him in. She stands straight, her uniform is white and ironed. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She could be me, standing there. That used to be me. My ponytail used to swish. But her face is so full of eagerness. I never had that. She was born, she came out of her mother singing. Everything heart-shaped. This is all she ever wanted. And now she’s here, no more longing. She can’t bounce. Her heart is too big and will get in the way. She will learn to float. I wish she could keep her eagerness. I will her to keep it.
I feel bad that I can’t remember her name. I feel annoyed that she isn’t wearing her name badge. I watch her lowering her head to look closer at Danny. She is gentle. She lightly touches a gloved finger to Danny’s tiny clenched fist. She looks up at me, her face full of alarm. ‘He feels cold,’ she whispers, ‘and spongy. He is like a little sponge.’
I nod my head slowly. She looks at me, into my eyes, and she knows. Our eyes open and close together, our eyes fill full of tears we won’t cry yet but the wetness is there and we glisten together. We wait in the quiet. She waits for me. But it is quiet and I want to stay like this and show her calmness so that she can be calming.
Crack crack crack the window cracks, the sound is sharp and we both turn our heads towards it. Jennifer is there, her hand raised to the glass, confusion covering her face. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ she calls through the intercom. I shrug my shoulders. ‘What’s going on? What do you mean?’ I say, my voice hushed; I glance behind me, Danny’s mum doesn’t stir. The student looks scared. ‘You pulled the crash bell, don’t you hear it?’
I step towards the window and look above Jennifer’s head. The alarm bell is lit, the red light reflects in the glass across the corridor. I look at the wall behind Danny’s cot.
It’s impossible.
The alarm is protruding from the wall, triggered and glowing. I squeeze myself behind the space and push the button back into the wall. It is stiff, it is rarely used. It is impossible. Impossible to move without forceful fingers. ‘Jen, it’s okay,’ I say through the intercom. ‘I don’t know how that happened. We’re fine in here, Danny is sleeping.’ The confusion on her face gives way to concern. ‘That’s so strange. I thought something had happened, the alarm made me jump.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I really don’t know. We’re just standing here.’ She nods. ‘We’re coming out now,’ I say. ‘We’re going to get things ready to change his dressing.’
I’ll See You in a Minute
We leave the room in silence, remove our aprons and wash in silence. Outside the room, the student pours. ‘It wasn’t me, I swear,’ she says. She looks scared. ‘It’s okay,’ I say. I touch her shoulder. ‘How could it have been you? You didn’t pull the alarm. It must be a trip in the wires, or something.’ She looks up at the little light bulb above the door. ‘I didn’t even hear the alarm,’ she says, ‘did you?’ I shake my head. Jennifer is back at the nurse’s station. ‘Jen, we didn’t even hear the alarm,’ I say. ‘Well, it was certainly going off out here. Although Rudy didn’t even come out to see what was going on, I’ll have to speak to him,’ she says. She seems annoyed. ‘I can’t explain it. I’ll phone the estates department and see if they can take a look at it today,’ I say. She sighs. ‘No, it’s all right, I’ll do it. You have enough to do today,’ she says, a little lighter.
‘Wait here,’ I say to the student. ‘Unless Rudy needs you. I’m just going to check on my patient next door quickly.’ She nods, her eyes are fixed on the window to Danny’s room.
Again, the shredding and shedding of skin as I scrub my hands, the silent dance to the bedside. His breaths, his beats, settled and soothed. No trouble here. On his way to health. He has blood in his cheeks, the blood is beautiful because it circulates quickly around his body, rising to the surface of his skin in beautiful pink rounds. He has white-blond hair. He is not ready to be woken yet. Dad snores and Harriet is right, the smell of microwave meals and cigarettes has settled over his bed like a cloud. I wave the imaginary fumes away from the baby. I’ll come back later.
You Need Me to be Clean
The student is waiting for me as I exit the antechamber. Her focus is restored, she’s back to her original purpose of eating me up. ‘Come on then, let’s go to the treatment room and get what we need.’ She is full to burst but still sucking, I feel her sucking at me, slurping up my energy, starving hungry. The hairs on my arms bristle, I am prickled by her attention and in a prickly voice ask her where her name badge is. I regret it instantly as she unravels in front of me. First she flings her hands up to her breast pockets, she pats down the front of her uniform, fingering her pockets in a frenzy. Her eyes are pierced with wounds and worries, her posture creases, I feel sorry. ‘It’s here, somewhere, it might be in my bag, oh no I’ve left it at home, oh, oh, oh.’
There was nothing to be gained and I crumple with her. ‘It’s just because you are new here, so that the parents can identify you. We ask everyone for identification when they come into the department, we should also set an example.’ I try to make my voice warmer. I feel bad for putting a pin in her. I exhale all my hot horrible air and try and start again.
‘So, what do you think we need for this dressing?’
She answers me cautiously, correctly.
Your Pain is Worse Than I Knew
Danny is still sleeping but his mother is awake, she is leaning over the cot cooing and stroking his cheek. ‘Good morning, Tracy,’ I say, ‘I have a student working with me today, is it okay if she helps me with Danny’s dressing?’ I incline my head towards the student who has taken up her position as my shadow.
‘Morning, yes I met Samantha the other day.’
Samantha. Thank goodness.
‘Hello again,’ says Samantha, beaming big bright rays around the room.
Samantha. I’ll write it down.
Tracy’s eyes are black and puffy. The dark circles of sleep deprivation warping her cheeks rival mine. Mine are ponds, hers are stormy seas. But light movements of her lips, the little smile at her son that sends ripples of dimples in her cheeks show hope. She is younger than me, she is a mother. My hand grasping the tray of sterile dressings begins to quiver, my breath aches to escape.
‘Tracy, the doctors are going to have a meeting today, they want you to be there and they’ve asked me to be there too.’ I speak gently, I try to disguise with softness the sound of the lump forming in my throat. She looks up at me, there is no fear or sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t know that there is no solution. Or she does and she’s being strong.
Tracy picks up her baby. I
help her navigate the wires and tubes. We move a chair to the window and lower her into it, with pillows on her lap and a blanket to keep warm. She rests Danny on the pillows and holds him close to her chest. She rocks him gently and I push the button, I give him a dose to keep him comfortable. I pause to watch for a moment while she whispers to him, brushing his cheek with a finger, the leads and wires coiling around her arms, they are tethered.
We work together, we synchronise quickly. We strip the sheets from the mattresses, scrub them down with wet soapy cloths. They dry as we unfold fresh linen. The crisp whiteness of the sheets satisfies me. As we lift them taut into the air I hope to smell the fake flowery fragrance of fresh-washed sheets but all I smell is dry sterility, the faint smell of steel, steam and slight scorching. We smooth out the sheets over the mattress and fold the corners, our arms waving, our bodies bending, we are like synchronised swimmers and I can’t help but smile. Samantha grins back at me, she is relaxed and happy to be helping. I walk around to her side of the cot to check the folds of the sheet in the corners. ‘Did Rudy teach you how to do these?’ She blushes and nods. They’re pretty good, I’m impressed. I roll a soft flannel blanket sprinkled with a pattern of coloured stars and arrange it like a little doughnut for Danny to snuggle into.
Tracy begins to undress Danny in her lap. She knows the routine. ‘I’ll change his line dressing whilst he’s on your lap, he’s settled there and I can reach just fine.’ She looks pleased. ‘He is comfy, isn’t he?’ She gives a little laugh. ‘Snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug.’ I remove my gloves and wash my hands thoroughly. They are already abnormally red as I wring the water off them and reach for a paper towel. I wince as I apply alcohol gel and sterile gloves. Samantha removes the old dressing, it lifts with no resistance. I clean with chemicals, swirling in circles over the pink exit skin. I carefully lift the line, scrubbing over and under, over and under, over his chest and under his arm. When his skin has dried I coil the line, stick it quickly down with strips and then peel back the sheet of film. The trickiest bit. We all hold our breath whilst I position the flimsy film over the coil and one two three press it down, pinching in the middle and stretching out the edges. I smooth it out with my fingertips, making sure the film has stuck fast. ‘Perfect,’ says Tracy and she pecks Danny’s nose with puckered lips. He doesn’t stir. I get up from the floor, the blood flows back into my toes, my knees and legs ache from being crouched for too long. Samantha sees me huff and puff, I smile and say my knees aren’t what they used to be.
I Need More Than Your Hand on My Shoulder
Rudy scares the shit out of me with his face pressed up against the glass, warped and weird, one eye staring, his breath fogging from a grotesque grin. I slam into the door and drop my tray on the floor. ‘You scared the shit out of me!’ I say, putting my palm over the window to cover his face. The student rushes to the door behind me, looking at me through glass. ‘Are you okay?’ she mouths; I nod and motion to her to go back to Tracy and help bath the baby. I look back to Rudy and he is holding his belly, laughing and rolling in the corridor. I wash my hands quickly and pick up the tray, throw open the door and fold my arms, staring at him. I tap his arm with my tray and push past to the treatment room.
‘Don’t be like that, it was just a joke, I was trying to spook you.’
It worked.
‘Will you check this for me, please?’ He slides a tray in front of me, full of glass vials, water, needles and lines.
I sigh, loudly. ‘I’m not sticking my hand in that tray.’
He rolls his eyes and picks out two broken glass vials and two syringes. He slips the drug chart in front of my face and points. ‘Antibiotics due now,’ he flips the chart, ‘and she’s had all of her anti-emetics, but she’s white as a sheet, says she feels sick and I am not cleaning up any chunks today.’ He screws up his face, I can’t help but laugh. ‘Sign, please.’ He hands me a pen. ‘How is little Florence?’ I ask, I haven’t seen her for a long time. He shrugs. ‘She looks good to me, but Mum is still fussing.’
‘I’ve got your student. Samantha? She’s helping Tracy with bathtime.’
‘She’ll be ecstatic!’ He bounces around the tiny room, knocks into a shelf of fluid bags. They drop, one by one, to the floor, the weight of sandbags, the crashing wet sound of the sea. ‘Oops, I’ll come back for those.’ He beckons me out of the room and down the corridor to Florence’s room. I stand in the window with the drug chart as he washes his hands.
The curtains are drawn and the room is bright. Florence and her mother are sat in the bed wearing matching pink robes. Florence is tucked in her mother’s arms. They are both watching the television. Rudy enters the room and flicks the switch for the intercom, he gives me a thumbs-up. Mum straightens up, pats her hair down and beams at him. He points to me in the window and I give a little wave. She smiles and waves, leans and whispers in Florence’s ear. Florence’s eyes are wide, absorbing the bright colours of the cartoon. She blinks, turns for a second with a small smile for me, and turns back to the television, eyes wide, mouth wider. Mum looks at me apologetically. I say gently through the intercom, ‘Florence, you look very pretty today.’ Mum mouths ‘Thank you’, not knowing that I can hear the music from the cartoon and Rudy’s chatter. She puts her lips together and kisses Florence’s little bald head. I can see her eyes watering but I smile at her and she nods and shuts her eyes tight, she squeezes Florence tighter.
‘Here we go, my sweet,’ says Rudy. ‘Can you tell me your date of birth, so Laura knows this medicine is meant for you and she can sign your chart.’ She keeps her eyes glued to the screen but says her full name, date of birth, hospital number, she unties her dressing gown, puts her hand under her nightshirt and pulls out the long lumens of her central line and holds them, ready to be plugged in. He chuckles. I sign the chart and wave goodbye.
As I walk away, the thought of Florence before comes close, falls like curtains over my eyes, falls like the strands of her beautiful shining auburn hair, long and flowing. Falling. Falling. Falling out. Mum cried immediately. The loss was thick.
Strands tangled in the hairbrush. She wept loudly out into the corridor and I ran to her because I thought Florence had died. She threw the hairbrush at me. Not hard, not to harm me. It skidded across the floor, it looked like a creature, like a crush of road-kill, warm, red and wasted. I brought it back to her and held her whilst she sobbed. Not yet. Please, not yet.
More hair through the night, from tossing and turning, clumps wound round the bed rails, tufts on the pillow, red and golden nests. Florence was curious, examined them, tangled them round her little fingers. But she did not cry. She did not say a word.
I came with clippers before bathtime. Mum wept again and scooped the hair as it fell into a pillow case. I whispered to Florence in her ear over the hum of the razor. I told her she was strong like a tree and her red hair was autumn leaves falling.
Mum slept with the pillowcase held to her chest. I was there in the morning when Florence woke up, she raised her hands to her head and felt with all her fingers running over the soft skin. Her little mouth fell open and she reached for me. She held my hand and said, ‘Am I an egg now?’
Sit with Me
There is bliss in the silence of the staffroom. And the sun shining through the window, the hot light falling on my face, the heat from the seat and if I could close my eyes and if I could sleep for a minute. I don’t dare and I drink my coffee. I keep the cup to my lips. The bitter wisps waft up my nose, stings because it is so strong and so hot. It keeps me awake. I sit staring across the room, out into the hallway, waiting for Jennifer or Rudy or Samantha to come and break my break any minute now.
Two string beans stride down the corridor but back-step when they see me and stop in the doorway. Both tall, both thin, one the image of the other twenty years before, or twenty years later. Grey hair still thick, spectacles slipping down a gently wrinkled nose, years of tired in the creases around his eyes, years of tired in the creases around his mouth, ey
es of endless kindness. He looks through his specs at me and says: ‘Laura, good morning, you’re here again.’
The second face is thinner, the hair thicker. I see the lines around the eyes and mouth, but they are less furrowed, the mouth has less to be sorry for. The specs are straighter. He says nothing but he smiles and turns pink.
‘Good morning, Dr Lucas, Dr Wilfred,’ I say, watching Wilf’s pink turn red and roll down his cheeks. ‘Dr Lucas, I’m looking after Danny today.’
‘Yes, good, and you know we will be speaking to his mother, it’s not good, poor little chap, we think it is close to the end and we won’t be doing more.’ He folds in the middle, he is now half his height, weighed down. He feels the hopelessness heavily. We are all paper aeroplanes today, folding and unfolding, refolding to be sharper, to fly and succeed, but our aim is slightly off, one wing slightly bigger than the other, thrust into the air, tearing through the air, to wobble and nosedive and ripped up in the end because we didn’t make it. This is how we feel.
‘Do you want me to be at the meeting? To support Tracy? Danny’s father won’t be coming.’
‘Yes please, you are essential for this discussion.’ He takes his specs off, folds them into his top pocket and squeezes the bridge of his nose between his long fingers. He shuts his eyes. Wilf is watching him.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’ll bring it to the office,’ I say. He doesn’t open his eyes but he nods and says yes please.