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January 14, 2018
Flemment
She had arrived at
the hospital the day before to begin the six- month psychiatric training that
would complete the cycle of her professional education, and these were the last
few moments she had to herself before it would be time to walk down the hill to
her first class. She could not decide whether she was frightened or merely
over-anxious.
A small girl, she
believed that she looked stocky, and had developed the habit of sitting with
her feet tucked up underneath her skirts. She sat that way now as she stared
down at the buildi ngs, her hands clasped in her lap and a dark-blue cape over
one arm.
In nursing school
she had often thought ahead to this time, wondering how she would feel when she
actually began to care for the insane. Would she feel the way so many people do
in the presence of the crippled or the deformed—eager to look and yet
embarrassed and ashamed? She realized that if she had to ask herself such a
question, she must be lacking in something. But what? Maturity?
The Canterbury
brochure had said: “Research, Training, Rehabilitation, Custodial Care.” But
there was more to it than that, she knew. It was learning to understand
people_patients, but still people. Like her father and mother, her
neighbours back home, clerks in stores, the cop on the corner, like the kids
she went to school with. . . . Like herself, even.
I’ll be late for
class, she thought, but she did not move. As far as she could remember she had
wanted to be a nurse, holding finnly to the desire all through grade and high
school. Then, a few days before leaving for the hospital where she was to spend
the next three and a half years, she had become terribly depressed. She felt
homesick even before she had finished packing her clothes. She was sure her
parents didn’t care that she was leaving home. She loaded her gramophone with
the most melancholy music in her record collection and even let the dog sleep
on her bed across her feet every night.
On the last day,
her mother caIne into the room and sat down onthebed.
“Kathy,” she said,
“we’ve been so proud of you. We want you to remember that we love you dearly,
and that as long as we live we’ll be here when you need us. Will you remember
that ?“
Kathy saw that her
mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, that her mouth was smiling but that her hands
were clutched together tightly; and she realized that her departure was going
to be much harder for her parents than for herself.
“I’m not going
away forever,” she whispered.
“Of course not.
You’re just growing up.”
“How—how did you
know, Mother?”
“Know what?”
“That I—I wasn’t
sure any more—about anything?”
“Darling, I felt
the same way the first year I left your grandm other and grandfather and went
away to school. As if my whole world were coming to an end. Oh, I wanted to
go—until I started to pack. Then I just knew I was making a terrible mistake.”
“I’ll never make a
good nurse,” said Kathy, almost wailing.
“Why not’?”
“I don’t know
enough.”
“Not yet. You may
never know enough. But just knowing things isn’t the whole answer, Kathy. It’s
something inside that counts. The desire to help, to put the needs of others
before your own. There’s a big gap between the word ‘goodness’ and—well, the
word ‘efficient’, for instance. With all the knowledge and efficiency in the
world, you can’t be good at anything unless you really want to be.”
“I know that,”
Kathy said.
“I’m moralizing,”
Mrs. Hunter said. “But it’s because you mean so much to me. I wanted you to
know how much you’re loved and how much you’ll be missed.”
After that
everything was all right, and ‘when Kathy left the next morning she cried only
once on the train.
The training at
the hospital was not easy. She scrubbed units, emptied bed pans, measured urine,
stood by while accident victims were sewn up and while babies were born. She
learned how to prepare a dead body for consignment to a mortician. She studied
chemistry, drugs and nutrition, flesh and blood and organs, diseases and
symptoms. She learned the proper attitude of respect to maintain in the
presence of doctors and supervisors.
She didn’t go home
often because there wasn’t enough time unless she travelled by plane, and she
couldn’t afford the fare. But because of the hard work, after a few months she
was not too lonely. She was not beautiful, with her dark hair cut short and
caplike, her fine brown eyes and cream-coloured skin, but there was something
in her look and manner that made her first interesting and then attractive. She
made friends easily among the other student nurses and met a few boys she
enjoyed going out with, and a few she could have done without, those who seemed
to think that there was no finer sport than chasing prob ationers up and down
halls or manceuvring them into utility closets. And eventually the hospital
became a second home, a place of busy routine and of security. Now she was far
from that security and about to enter a strange and complex world, one she did
not understand. She had never felt so alone.
She did not like
to think that she feared the unknown. And yet, she thought, why couldn’t she be
like other girls, fall in love, get married, have a home? This was the most
beautiful time of the year, with cool nights and balmy days, the good smells of
spring everywhere. I wish I could fall in love, she thought, a little crossly.
This is the weather for love. For a brief moment she was sure it wasn’t the
weather for nursing sick people and being afraid. Immediately she was contrite,
remembering how much she had always wanted to be a nurse. If it had turned out
to be somewhat dull and prosaic, more hard work than satisfaction, at least she
had chosen the career herself. As for being afraid, wouldn’t that disappear as
soon as she learned all about Canterb ury? Of course it would!
I’d better go, she
thought, glancing at her watch. She was about to stand up when she noticed a
group of people strolling along the slope beyond her. There were several men
and a woman looking down at the buildings. She waited until they had passed out
of sight before she jumped up and ran quickly down the hill.
The path led
through a thick clump of bushes at the bottom of the slope, and as she stepped
between them she suddenly came face to face with a stout, middle-aged woman who
comp letely blocked her way. Kathy was suddenly terrified. She had been trapped
by an insane woman! To escape, she would have to turn and run back up the path.
But before she
could make a move, the woman, as startled as Kathy herself, said, “My, but you
gave me a turn! I sure didn’t see anybody behind that bush. My goodness!”
Kathy pulled
herself together. If the other woman was really a patient she must be harmless
or she wouldn’t be outside and alone. Anyway, she didn’t look like the kind of
person who could possibly hurt anyone. Her weight, her obvious age, her
neatness, were as reassuring as if she and Kathy had accidenta lly bumped carts
in a supermarket.
