Chapter Text
It was the first rainy day of the season, bringing with it a wave of unusual humidity that was entirely unwelcome by the healthcare staff. The hospitals were set to a temperate twenty-two degrees, but it might as well have been thirty degrees when the patient assist buzzers were sounding non-stop. The continuous requests hardly left any room to rest.
Within one of the many wards, there was a man who was especially run off his feet this morning. Working casually in the hospital was a source of chaos and was something Emile didn’t particularly enjoy. However, full-time did not suit his life goals, not when he needed a greater level of freedom than it could provide. Travelling the world and seeing his family was everything to him, and a strict work schedule with only four weeks off just didn't accommodate that well.
He was just about to complete a double shift, two PM to seven-thirty AM, how was that even legal? Regardless, it had to be done. The pay was too enticing to give up when his funds were at an all-time low from his previous adventures.
Checking his watch, the time read six-fifty. It was just about time for handover. He knew if he could just make it through the next ten minutes, the last thirty would be a breeze, and he would be home-free.
The man could already imagine the comfort his bed would bring when he inevitably collapsed into his sheets.
Ten more minutes.
●
The last thing I wanted to do right now was climb the rotten stairs of my apartment complex. The place itself was not too bad, but the elevator didn't pass the safety inspection this month and had been closed off for maintenance. On an average day, that wouldn't have been too big a problem, but after a sixteen-hour shift, my legs were not in the same shape as the day before.
Sighing, I began my trek to the third floor. Despite my earlier complaints, in reality the stairs weren't rotten. They were a beautiful hardwood with a strip of carpet running down the centre, making it quite easy to climb- on a regular day, that is. Right now, I was just so ready for a nap that they took on more the appearance of a rocky incline rather than a smooth pathway, paved for one’s convenience.
Pulling out the keys to my house, I fumbled around like a newborn who had barely learned how to grasp objects. I just couldn’t quite get my fingers to grasp the small piece of metal correctly, despite it being the only thing standing between me and my perfectly constructed dreamland. If the thing would just go in the goddamn-
“Oh, a new face.”
The voice came from a woman off to the side who successfully drew my attention away from my own personal hell and to her instead. It was only after I took in her figure that I realised I had heard the sound of a door opening. I was too dazed by my depleted energy to be aware of my surroundings, leaving it up to my presumed neighbour to acknowledge my presence.
“Recently moved in?” she asked in an inviting tone, not at all phased by my dishevelled appearance. Somehow, the woman presented as an extremely friendly person, chipper even though the sun had risen barely three hours prior.
“Yeah,” I breathed, offering a small smile as I tried to be friendly despite the growing heaviness weighing on my eyelids. Maybe I had been awake too long because I could have sworn I heard my sheets whispering my name sweetly. Maybe I needed help or, better yet, sleep.
“Just got off the night shift?” I nodded, my hand still pressed firmly to the key I, somehow, managed to get into the lock. It was begging me to make the turn and drag myself inside, but that would have been rude, so I resisted. “Of course you're tired, then. I'm Carla, it's nice to meet you. I'll let you get inside, I'm actually on my way out myself. Just if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to come on over.”
Carla went to leave, adjusting her bag on her shoulder before turning to head down the very stairs I had just come from. I thought about just letting her go, ignoring my unwelcoming attitude and making my way inside, but that was just not how I wanted people to think of me. I never wanted to act rudely to someone with genuine intentions. So, I decided against it, calling out to stop her before she had the chance to disappear out of sight.
“I'm Emile. It's nice to meet you.” I gave a proper smile this time, trying not to ruin my first impression. You only get one right? “I might take you up on the offer on a better day.”
“Of course,” she said, a look of knowing on her face before we both parted ways. I let out a relieved sigh, my shoulders sagging as my screaming feet dragged me forward.
I was finally able to enter my house, boxes stacked all over the place acting as trip hazards everywhere I went. But that was for another time. I was sure now, my bed had my name written all over it and I could no longer fight off the fatigue.
●
Shooting up out of bed, my heart raced a million miles a minute, and, for a second, I didn’t know where I was. My skin was clammy from sweat, the heat of the afternoon sparing no mercy for people catching up on sleep after night shift. The way I woke up, anyone would have thought I had skulled a metric ton of coffee.
The confusion began to fade away with the slowing of my heart and I was able to identify the noise that had awoken me. It was the annoying jingle of my alarm, telling me it was one PM and time to start a new day- or, more accurately, the same day.
I had crashed as soon as my body made contact with my bed, my covers still retaining some residual coolness from the morning, yet to be taken over by the rising sun. All of which a vague memory now that my room felt like an oven. I wasn’t given any time to dwell on the matter, though, since I had to get ready for the afternoon shift at the hospital.
Why didn’t I turn the air conditioning unit on before I fell asleep? That would have been smart and not knocked a few years off my life. Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn back time, so I had to just get up and go about my day as if I had gotten more than five hours sleep.
I pulled myself out of bed and threw myself into the shower to try and wake myself up better in preparation for a long shift. Once I was as awake as I was going to get, my stomach decided to make itself known. I realised I hadn’t eaten anything when I got home, too focused on my hazy mind to even acknowledge my empty stomach. Unfortunately, now that the exhaustion was pushed back, I was feeling the effects of starvation full force. If I didn’t get something into my system soon, I would be the one needing medical assistance. However, there was nothing in my fridge yet and none of my kitchenware was clean from the move, leaving me no choice but to eat out, though it was not ideal.
There was this beautiful cafe just across from where I work, it was always busy the few times I had stopped in, but had the most delicious baked goods. It was clear they cared about their food quality and customer service from the atmosphere and taste. If I had to eat anywhere for breakfast, this place would definitely be my first choice.
“Good morning,” I greeted the afternoon staff in the tea room.
It was a small room at the back of the ward, it had a table and chairs in the middle and some more comfortable lounge chairs around the sides. There was a fridge, microwave, sandwich toaster, anything you could possibly need for lunch, dinner, or morning coffee. If you could think of it, there was one there since nothing made staff happier than a fully stocked breakroom- well, maybe a good day without new admissions. The staff used it for rest, to eat, and to gossip. The nurse in charge would describe the talk between nurses as ‘debriefing’, but it was more a place to complain about the patients that got under their skin than discuss how everyone was feeling. Well, there were some discussions of feelings going on.
“Are you still here?” One of the nurses, Olivia, asked in disbelief. It was a common question, but no one meant it seriously. We had worked together the day before and she knew I had done a double, so it was more a statement of amazement and wonder. It was an expression similar to ‘you basically live here, how do you have any time for yourself?’.
“No, of course not,” I laughed, putting my lunch in the fridge and joining the ladies at the table to eat my cheese and tomato croissant. “How are you, Liv?”
The woman in question just looked at me and groaned, everything she experienced during the day so easily and accurately being summed up by the incomprehensible sound. It must have been a busy morning.
“Bed 19’s parents act like they are the only people in the world that need care. I understand that they are just concerned, and I can appreciate that, but there are only so many times I can say ‘they aren’t your daughter’s doctors, hers will be around soon’ and ‘mam, I understand that you are concerned, but she is sleeping soundly at the moment, her obs are fine, and she isn’t due for more nurofen yet’ before I will have a mental break down.” she rambled, scoffing down the last bit of her lunch with the energy of someone who really needed a nap.
Olivia wasn’t normally on the Paeds ward, but she had been moved down for a few days due to insufficient staffing. She and I had similar experience levels when it came to working with children, so we were often the first to be rotated here. I personally had no complaints about it, having found it to be an amazing experience seeing as I love children, but Olivia never seemed to get along with the parents. She was a great nurse, however, she also had a short fuse, specifically for fussy parents which resulted in her avoiding this section of the hospital entirely unless otherwise necessary.
“Is it the same people from yesterday?” I asked, rotating my food to find the right side to start from. I got to work early and I was taking the opportunity to nourish myself and rest before jumping straight back into work.
“No, they went home this morning. It's a new family, five years old, came in with increased work of breathing and fever with mild tracheal tug. Doing better now. Is on the ward for monitoring and aim home Wednesday.”
“Well, not long now,” I hummed, savouring every bite, satisfied by my decision of where to grab something to eat. “How long have you been hiding out here for?”
“What is this? An interrogation?” she countered, side-eyeing me as if I were a spy for the higher ups. I couldn’t help but laugh at the notion. Who knows, maybe if I were then I'd get paid more . “I didn't get a lunch break.”
It wasn't good practice, but it was the way things went. Sometimes we didn't get a break and sometimes we were able to get everything done and have time to plan our handover. It felt like it all depended on the phase of the moon, except even that felt more predictable.
“We better get going so you can get home faster,” I said, standing up and washing my hands, having had the misfortune of already finishing my lunch, and therefore no longer retaining an excuse to remain in the sanctity that was the breakroom.
“You
know
that's not going to happen,” Olivia groaned once more, standing up before begrudgingly making her way out with me.
Handover passed by quickly and my patient load was not something to cry over today. We were fully staffed and my section was mostly made up of young teenagers that were independent, and babies with parents that insisted on doing most of the cares for them. However, when visiting hours were over, this would change as one parent would go home and we would encourage the other to get some rest while we did our jobs.
There was just one boy I was especially worried about.
“Hey, Christopher,” I said, putting the biggest smile on my face as I walked up to the bed. He was an eight-year-old boy who was three days post op after a major surgery. The doctors wanted to send him home, but because he was at higher risk of infection, we were keeping him for observations until his blood work came back. “I'm Emile and I'll be looking after you today. Do you mind if I call you Chris?”
“Okay,” he replied, his words coming out a bit slowly, but as clear as anything else. “My dad calls me Chris, too.”
His face seemed to light up when talking about his dad, a look of delight taking over as if it was his favourite topic in the world. I couldn’t help but admire the way children were able to see the best in tricky situations and in people, especially their parents. It really showed that trust and happiness was cultivated from a young age. I mean, he was a child smiling at me like nothing despite being unable to go home just yet. I bet he would rather be hanging out with his friends than being cooped up within the four walls of the hospital. However, despite the many difficulties he had faced, he still just seemed genuinely interested in talking with others.
“Does he? It sounds like he has good taste.”
“He does! He likes pizza, and so do I.”
“Wow, really? What's your favourite?”
I chatted with Christopher and the other patients for a while getting to know them and making sure they were all okay before I continued on with my work. They were all delightful individuals, maybe not all smiles, but they seemed like good kids, and their parents weren't too bad either.
The reason I was concerned about the boy specifically, was mostly due to the fact that his dad wasn't there in the morning and didn't often visit. It said in his notes that Christopher was a bright child that always conversed with staff when they did their check-ups, but it only briefly mentioned his father in the doctor's notes. It had me worried, at first, that he would be lonely or, worse case, maybe a bit neglected. But I learned very quickly with just a brief conversation that Christopher's dad had a very demanding job and loved the boy nonetheless. This knowledge only served to ease my mind by a fraction, just enough for me to move onto other important matters.
My day carried on as usual, or as usually as it could with being in an unpredictable career. The sun had set long ago, the only indication coming from the patients’ rooms as they had the only windows in the ward. It was easy to lose track of time when you worked on a grid: two o’clock: handover; three o’clock: observations; four o’clock: notes; six o’clock: medications; seven o’clock: medications; eight o’clock: medications; nine o’clock: observations; nine-thirty: handover; ten o’clock: medications.
Medications. Medications. Medications.
And that wasn’t even talking about the cares and roundings and coffees in between.
Not to mention that was just on the adult wards, in comparison it was different on the paeds wards with increased observations and decreased medications. But, it wasn’t so different that I didn’t find myself exhausted by the end of the night. My patient’s were all clean and put to bed, so I knew that I would be able to sleep easy tonight knowing they were all still breathing.
●
It was finally my weekend and I could not have been more overjoyed and, simultaneously, overwhelmed. I had been looking forward to these days since the end of my last weekend, but it was finally time that I could no longer ignore the state of my house.
I reckon, if I left it any longer, someone would have to call some sort of safety department because, with the way I stumbled home every night, it was a wonder I was still the nurse and not the patient.
“Good morning, Mamma.”
“How are you finding the new city, my boy?” she asked through the phone call. The term of endearment had never changed from when I was a child, but I never found it to be infantilising. I found the familiarity of her call to be warm and loving. It made me feel safe and welcome no matter where I was.
“Good,” I replied, pressing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I rolled up the sleeves of my button-up. I had gotten up early this morning to get a jump start on unpacking my house, but all it did was make me feel the emptiness I was too busy to feel before. Calling home always seemed to make that feeling disappear.
I didn’t mean to give a non-personal answer, I was just busy sorting out my kitchenware and found myself unable to explain how tiring everything had been.
“Emile.” The sound startled me back from my thoughts and reminded me of who I was talking to. Her tone was stern, though her intentions were soft, conveying exactly what hadn't been said. She did not answer my call to receive such a dry response as I'm good . She wanted details whether positive or negative, she wanted to hear how I was really feeling. Which meant I would have to start talking more if I didn’t want to get an earful.
“I know, Mamma. I just meant that I am settling in well,” I said, taking my phone into my left hand and placing away some cups with my right. “I haven’t finished unpacking yet, but I love my job and my neighbours are kind.”
“I worry for you,” she said, a softness taking over her tone from before, showing truly how anxious my move had made her. I had moved out before, when I was just a new adult, but, when I had to move back, it must have made me appear unreliable in her eyes. Because, ever since then, my mother began to fret more. “And so does my mother.”
“I never meant to burden you,” I sighed. No one ever wanted to trouble their parents the way I seemed to always do. It didn’t feel good to be viewed as unreliable when all I ever wanted to do was make my family proud of me.
“Then take care of yourself, my boy, and come home. You know everyone misses you.”
“I will,” I laughed, thinking about my kid siblings and cousins. I was a fair few years older than them, so it was always my role to entertain them. And, boy, were they entertained. They often used me as a jungle gym and vending machine. “I promise.”
I chatted with my mother for a little while longer as I sorted out the smaller boxes in my apartment, but, soon, I had to go. The deeper into my belongings I got, the more hands I needed to unpack them; things like my vacuum cleaner and dining table.
Some of it had been placed in the right room by the moving crew, but I still had to move things around and get them exactly where I wanted them.
“Hey, mamma. I have to go, but I’ll visit next weekend, okay?”
We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone, and, all at once, it was like the quietness of my apartment returned. Though, I guess that is how silence worked, it was the absence of sound.
I sighed and looked around at the mess I had to clean up. It was as if I had done nothing all morning and, the thought alone, left me feeling very under accomplished. Maybe I just needed a break? Go get something to eat or take a walk, and come back with a new set of eyes.
This was the first time in a while I had the space to be truly independent and I was probably just feeling the emptiness for the first time. Or, at least, that was how I was justifying everything. After moving back home, I wasn’t really able to process everything alone- I never really had to.
In the end, I decided it would be a good thing for me to clear my head. I left my building and walked around for a little while, enjoying the coolest day we had all week. It did feel refreshing to be out of the house, that’s for sure, but, without a destination, I found it difficult to be outside for hours at a time.
There was nothing to really look at. The streets were the same and the nearest park was a short drive or a long walk away. There was a lot to do in the city, but not anything that could quite get me out of my slump. I would say it was all very normal, mundane activities. Definitely nothing exciting.
I eventually found myself back on my home street, enjoying the breeze on one of the few seats just outside my apartment building. It was a loud Saturday afternoon, everyone was doing something or meeting someone, filling the air with chatter that acted as white noise to my ears. Somehow, the hustle and bustle seemed to ease the part of me wishing for my hectic family. While I was now able to enjoy the everyday peace and quiet I used to crave, I couldn't help but dwell a little longer on the past.
I had laid my head back to just soaked in the sun as I allowed myself to fall into the back of my mind. Some called it meditating and some called it zoning out- whatever it was, I was able to enjoy the moment without worrying about work and responsibilities.
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell how long I had been sitting before the small sound of acknowledgement brought me back to the present. There wasn’t much indication that the word was directed at me, but the sudden disruption of the various background noises and the personal intentions behind the tone said otherwise.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the woman who had spoken, just knowing her words were meant for me. For a second all I could do was squint, the sunlight now two times brighter in comparison to the inside of my eyelids. Lifting my hand to my brow, I shielded the light from my eyes. The shadow of my hand was just enough that I managed to adjust to the harsh contrast, allowing me to fully recognise who I was staring at. It was the woman, and neighbour, I met yesterday, Carla. She stood off to the side, at the entrance of the building. By the looks of it, she must have been on her way in when she saw me.
“Hey, honey,” she said, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she addressed me in an overly familiar manner. Despite this, it didn’t feel weird at all. In fact, it felt like an old family friend talking to someone they had known since their childhood. While nothing inherently bad had happened since moving to the city, hearing a friendly voice always made things easier. “You’re looking much more energised than last time.”
The woman stepped to the side of the front entrance, making way for the bustling street to continue with the natural flow of things. People walked both ways of the foot path and in and out of the building, following them in toe was the sound of the bell everytime the door opened and closed. Somehow, it gave the impression of an old antique shop despite being quite the pinnacle of modern architecture.
“Yeah, I feel it, too,” I answered, squinting a smile as the sun once again shone past her figure and into my line of sight. It began to shift, with time, to an awkward position that made shielding my eyes more difficult.
I went to continue, going to address the woman, but I found myself feeling hesitant. I knew her name, but I had been so exhausted during our first meeting that I had my doubts.
“Carla, was it? I’m Emile.”
“I remember,” she nodded, shifting her weight slightly as she hummed in acknowledgment. With the confirmation I needed, I thought I would continue the conversation instead of sitting awkwardly.
“On your way home?”
“Yeah, a client from work needed me, but, now, I get to enjoy my weekend,” Carla said with a big dreamy sigh, “You know, with some wine.”
“Don’t I know it,” I laughed, watching the way she wiggled her shoulders in a sort of anticipatory dance. “I could, honestly, use a drink myself.”
“Care to join me?”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” I tried to reject her gently. She had just gotten off of work on her weekend and I didn’t want to make her feel like she had to invite a stranger into her home.
Though, it seemed my worries were unfounded as the woman reassured me that it was okay without a hint of obligation in her tone, “Don’t be silly! What’s a drink if not shared between neighbours?”
“Are you sure?” I asked, not realising just how much I could use a drink until this moment. I could have gone out for one or dug through my kitchen items in search for a stray bottle but 'what was a drink if not shared between neighbours' , right?
“Of course!” that was all the confirmation I needed before I pushed myself up from where I was sitting. There was no point in denying something multiple times anyways.
“Then, I’d love to.”
I sat at the kitchen island in Carla’s house with a glass of white wine in my hand. Our laughter filled the room as she recounted an awkward encounter she had with one of her colleagues. It was one of those series of events that just seemed all too unbelievable as an outsider looking in. But it made for a good story to tell, nonetheless.
“What do you do for work, if you don’t mind my asking?” I asked, taking a sip from my glass as the laughter died down a bit.
“Oh, no. not at all,” she started, “I’m a nurse, but I specialise in at-home care and services, mainly for people with chronic health conditions and disabilities.”
“I’m not even surprised,” I said, a chuckle leaving my throat. With her caring and open nature that was so visible despite not even knowing each other for twenty-four hours, what other profession could she have been in? She presented as a textbook nurse, something the universe needed more of.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” she quipped, having not realised just how innate the title was to her being.
“Just that it makes sense.” I shrugged, a cheeky grin pulling at my face. I could have explained further but I felt like being playful instead.
I didn’t mean anything rude by my comment, I was just trying to joke around a bit. Though, nothing I said was a lie. Carla did present as a kind and attentive person, funny and resilient to boot. She just seemed like the exact sort of person we needed in healthcare.
“What do you do for work?” she asked with a look of expectation, fully expecting to return the favour.
She was waiting for me to answer so that she could judge me the way that I had judged her. I could feel the plan brewing in her head, thinking of all the ways she could roast me based on my career. But all of it got turned on its head when I said my next words, “I’m also a nurse.”
A silence fell over us and neither of us touched the glasses on the bench. We just stared at each other until we erupted in another round of laughter. The slight buzz must have made it to her head as it had done to mine because there was nothing that funny about the situation. I suppose it was the wine rotting our brains and hushing our inhibitions.
“I knew we were going to get along!” she howled as we both indulged further in the bottle of sweet sweet poison.
The two of us chatted for the rest of the evening until it was time for me to retire back to my apartment. We spoke about anything and everything, but, at the same time, nothing important. The wine had loosened us up just enough to the point I was lucky I lived next door.
If I had to drive home, I was pretty certain it would have been a crime, and incredibly reckless at that. So, I stood at the woman’s door and made an attempt at a ‘see you later’.
“Thanks for the drinks,” I said with a bit of a drawl, my voice a bit coarse from the sheer volume of laughing I had done that night.
“Lovely having you,” Carla waved, call an end to the pleasant evening. She was just as intoxicated as I was, a large grin on her face as she leaned in her doorway. I was just about out of view when she decided to give one last sentiment, bring me crashing back to reality.
“And good luck with unpacking.”
Oh. Right.