Poppies - Suvajra in Hospital 1

Eugene took my details. “And when did the trouble start?” he asked in his Dublin tones. He had a boyish look to him with uncut hair flopping down in an old fashioned fringe at the front but when I looked closer I could see he was older and maturer than the impression he gave. “I’m sorry I’ve got to ask all these stupid questions when you’ve been asked them all before but to me it’s all part of the process of getting to know the patient. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it now?” I didn’t mind in the least. Suddenly looking up in puzzlement Eugene called out, “Dan, what’s the team called?” Dan, the other nurse, was changing a bed just opposite us. He was good looking but rather too well-built, in fact, on his way to tubbiness. He looked up from his task – “What team?”
“Our team!” Dan still looked vacant. “The team that runs this bay – what’s it called?”
“Poppies! This is Poppies!”
Eugene explained that each bay of the ward was named ‘Poppies’ or ‘Lillies’ or something. The fact this bay was a men’s bay and was called ‘Poppies’ seemed a little absurd! We were six men with leg injuries. ‘Lillies’ was the next bay with six old ladies with broken hips.
Eugene settled me in my bed promised a jug of iced water and a glass. I took a deep breath, one of those long relaxing breaths that indicate – well, you never quite know what they indicate but they indicate something.

The promised jug of water never appeared and the night team soon took over. I had spent nearly all day in casualty without a single drink and I was now desperately tired. I gathered up courage and pressed the call-button. The night sister strode into the bay. She was a slim woman in her late thirties. “What is it?” she asked in a mild Brummy accent.
“Could I possibly have a cup of tea or a jug of water. I’ve not had anything to drink since...” Sister’s amiable smile changed instantly, “Do you mean to say you called me up here for a cup of tea?” Her withering look silenced the protest that had gathered on my lips. She was already off, her thick auburn hair bouncing as she went. It was only later I found out you didn’t disturb the night team when they were just taking over from the previous team - so many important things to be done. A few minutes later, Night Sister returned with tea, a jug of water and a glass. Was that a faint smile on her lips? I couldn’t tell. “Do you mean to say...Do you mean to say,” was still ringing in my ears.

Next morning I was still the stranger in he bay and was slowly getting to know the other patients when the young man in the bed next to me called one of the attractive female nurses to him. “What is it Paul,” she asked.
“Yesterday I was feeling very irritated and depressed. Can you tell me, would that have been an effect of the drugs I was on yesterday?”
“Well, it might have been,” she answered. “It’s not a usual side effect. But it could have been.”
“Yeh, because, I felt really, really depressed yesterday. And very irritable. I couldn’t speak to people and just wanted to hide away. Oh, and I had a headache as well. It was...”
“I’ll go and get ‘Staff’ and see what she says.” And with that the nurse was off. One of the Staff nurses appeared immediately afterwards. “What is it Paul?” she asked in a matronly manner, although she was far from matronly. Paul explained again while ‘Staff’ looked over his charts. Paul was still rambling on when she turned to one of the younger nurses and asked her to check Paul’s temperature and blood pressure and strode off. Paul’s monologue of complaints trailed off. A few minutes later a young doctor appeared and Paul had to go through his story again. This time Paul didn’t seem interested in telling his story to the young male doctor. The whole episode had slightly bizarre quality to it.
Paul’s bed was adjacent to the ward corridor and he had to bear the brunt of all the visitors, medics, porters nurses and doctors who paraded past his bed day and night. At night he slept with curtains pulled fully round is bed – he was the only one us who did so. He was a Midlander with a shock of thick fair hair. He would have been quite good looking but something marred that impression. Was it something in the podginess of the face or something in his character? It was hard to pin down.

After the breakfast ritual had been completed a doctor passing our bay with a couple of his colleagues launched into a harangue at Paul. “I’ve told you before,” he said in his clipped Asian tones, “you must rest your leg. You never do what we tell you.” The young man tried to defend himself. “I do! I rest it a lot. I was just coming back from the toilet.” The doctor would have none of it.
“No! You’re always up and about and you’re supposed to be resting. You should have your leg raised up,” and looking around the bay saw the man by the window with his leg raised high up on a frame, “like that man over there. Look, if you’re not going to help us to get you better at least you should try and do it to help yourself.” Good argument, I thought, but it cut no ice with the young man. After the doctor had passed on the young man expostulated with us about his innocence. The man with the raised leg piped up. “ ‘E’s got a point, Paul! You’re never here. You’re always nipping off for your Mars bars.” Everybody laughed, including the Paul.
“Well, what am I supposed to do? Starve?”
Eugene brought a frame for Paul’s leg and Paul suffered his bandaged leg to be hitched up onto it but it wasn’t long before Paul was out of the bed again. He quickly checked up and down the corridor - no sign of the Doctor. He pulled on a jacket and set off, his crutches splayed out to the side, like some giant insect.
Old Charlie in the bed opposite mine shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. Charlie was very friendly with Paul. Of the six of us Charlie was the veteran – he’d been in for nine weeks. He’d been knocked down by a car late one night and broken both his legs and wrists. He’d been on his way for a fish supper intending to sober up after a hard night at the pub. “Well I’d no idea where the car came from,” he told us, “One minute it wasn’t there, the next it hit me. Just goes to show you I’d ‘ave been safe if I hadn’t tried to sober up.” We all laughed – he must have told this to dozens of people over his nine weeks in Poppy Bay.
Some time later Paul reappeared looking a bit sorry for himself. I asked what was wrong. “Fell down the stairs,” he said.
“What!” I exclaimed.
“Yea. I got to the steps downstairs and lunged the full length. I went down flat on my face.”
“Are you hurt,” Charlie asked.
By this time he was sitting on his bed rubbing his the ankle of his good leg. “No, I’m ok. My ankle’s a bit sore. I damaged it a few years ago and it was just getting better. Here I am thirty-six and can’t even go down steps without falling over,” he said morosely. He curled up and slept.
When Paul woke up Fred, he was the one with the leg raised up, asked him “Did you get your Mars bars then?”
“No, I didn’t even get that far!” said Paul, now laughing, “I’ll just have to go back again. And I’ll need to go to the Cashline point. You know I’ve spent over £60 this last week in here?”
I was astonished. Sixty pounds – what on earth was he spending it on? Paul told me he only ate Mars bars and drank Pepsi Max. “Well how many Mars bars?” I asked. “Oh, about fourteen a day!”
I thought he was joking until he told me that after his Mum left home when he was young his father used to take him and his sisters down to the off-licence for their supper. The father would buy drink and he and his sister would buy sweets. “Yes, but that’s when you were young,” I said, “and didn’t know any better. Surely you’ve got the ability to choose better now?”
“Yea, but its the habit, you see!” As if that explained it all. And with that off he was off again to stock up. After half an hour he returned safely, a little cellophane bag of brown bars and Pepsi-Max’s swinging in time to his crutches. Funny, I never saw him eating the Mars bars although I often say him drinking from the blue cans.

That night on goes his jacket and he makes off to go. Fred called, “Where to this time?”
“Cash point!”
“But why don’t you get enough for a week instead of going every day,” Fred asked in genuine puzzlement.
“Don’t know.” Said Paul shrugging his shoulders with a little laugh. He was off again – but not before checking to see if the coast was clear.
A little later he returned wearing his sorriest expression. “Fell again!” His pyjamas were torn at the knee and there was blood on his knee and hands. Sitting on his bed he was rubbing his bandaged leg and looking really sorry for himself.
“You’d better get that seen to,” I said, but he just got up and went off again.
“Where to now?” Charlie exclaimed, but too late, he was gone again.
The Night Sister appeared. “Where’s Paul?” There was an awkward silence in the bay. The Sister’s face changed to one of deep concern. “What’s happened?”
“Paul’s fallen over and hurt himself,” I said, “and I think he need might need some attention.”
“But where is he now?” the worried Sister asked.
I said, “I don’t know, he just went off again.”
Sister swung into action and strode out into the corridor but Paul was nowhere in sight. She returned after a few moments and dashed down the corridor. Presently she reappeared with a few other nurses and off they went to scour the hospital corridors and toilets. While they were out Paul returned and climbed on his bed rubbing his bad leg. Sister burst back in, “Where have you been,” she said, biting back the accusing tones. But before Paul could answer she said, “You’ve had a fall!”
“How did you know?” said Paul in genuine surprise. I think he wanted to be the one to tell her.
Covering for me, she looked him straight in the face, “There’s not much I don’t know,” she said. “Here, let’s have a look!” The curtains swished round in one efficient sweep. One by one other nurses joined in. Fred, Charlie and I could only hear the various exclamations: “Oh Paul!...Oh, look what you’ve done...Oh dear, we’re going to need to call the doctor out for this.” Paul had burst his stitches.

Paul slept long the next morning and Fred and Charlie were taking bets as to how long it would be before he was up and off.
“ ‘es got no money, you see!” whispered Charlie to Fred.
“Well, I’ll lend him some to get his Pepsi’s and Mars,” Fred replied.
“No, ‘e won’t take it. Tried!”
“But why? What’s it all about anyway? It’s not about Pepsi and Mars. Pound to a penny it’s not!”
The lunch trolly and Paul was up. Vegetable soup, Cornish pasties, cauliflower cheese, meat balls, apricot pie and custard, or yoghurt. It was hospital food but it was fairly good. Paul didn’t fancy the main course options - he was off his food – but could he have just pie and custard. Charlie said, “ ‘ere, you can have mine extra, I don’t want it.” Then Fred offered his up and the little Irish lady with the food trolly said, “Well if you like it that much, here, have another!” Paul had four full plates before him. The others laughed but I couldn’t. Something seemed wrong.
The rest of the day Paul was either on his bed or sitting chatting by the beds of some of the old chaps. He was really quite personable and seemed to take a genuine interest in some of the older men and they all seemed to like him. The whole of our bay had begun to become to focussed around Paul and we all awaited the next episode in the saga. There wasn’t much else going on.
Night shift breezed in just before ten. Paul bided his time. Then, this time, just when Night Sister was in our bay sorting out a bed space for an incoming patient, Paul puts his Jacket on and is about to leave. I can see Charlie looking at Paul and the Sister. Fred is looking at Paul and me and back to Sister. Sister caught Fred’s eye. She straightened up from her task knowing that something was going on. Her thick auburn hair bounced as she looked swiftly from Fred to Charlie and then to me. Then she sees it - Paul has his jacket on.
“Paul!” Her eyes flashed and in a very controlled voice she enquired, “where are going?”
“I’m going to the cash point.”
“Paul, I really would rather you didn’t go.”
“But I have to go. I’ve no money.”
“Well, I really would rather you didn’t go. It’s late at night and there’s nobody to go with you. I really don’t want you to go.” Paul was a little stumped by this.
“But I need the money.”
“If you really need money,” Fred buts in, “then that’s no problem. I can lend you money till tomorrow morning.”
“No. I never borrow money. It’s a matter of principle.” Charlie looks knowingly to Fred. Sister by this time is looking exasperated. “Paul,” her voice is firmer but at the same time pleading, “It’s late at night!” Paul stands looking at her. Her expression wavers for a moment and she relents a little. “Where is the cash point? Which floor is it on?”
“Oh, it’s not in the hospital. It’s across the road.”
“What? You mean the road on the other side of the Out-patients Department.”
“Yes, but I go out the side door of this building and take ...” Sister cuts him short.
“Paul, I really don’t think it’s necessary. It’s late at night and I really don’t want you leaving the ward and you’ve already fallen several times.” Then, seeing him waver for a moment, she takes the opportunity and her voice softens a touch. “There, that’s it!” Then very gently, “Now put you jacket away and settle down.” I realize she’s a master. How many difficult patients have you dealt with in your time, I wonder? Just the firm but gentle, resistant but pliant, realisitic but encouraging. Yes, she’s a master, this one. Sister finishes the bed she is working on and leaves. “Night gentlemen!”
By this time Paul’s curtains are drawn. Charlie’s is watching for Paul.
Right enough, after a while I hear the zipper on Paul’s jacket and he’s off again.
“Paul! Where are you going?” comes the contralto voice.
“Gaud! He’s caught again!” Charlie says.
“Off to the cash point!” Paul replies.
“Paul, I thought I made it clear, I really don’t want you going off the ward.” And so it repeats all over again. Except this time another young Sister comes in and seeing Paul and the sister tete-a-tete, asks her what is it. Sister explains that this patient is intent on going outside at this late hour to the cash point. The other sister says quite straightforwardly, “Oh no! You mustn’t do that. Even we don’t do that. We’re not allowed to go out at night there. We’ve had a notice sent round warning us of muggings at that cash point. It’s such a dangerous area at night. No! No! Back to bed. Come on! Back to bed.” Paul returns to bed and both Sisters thank him and say goodnight. Is this the end of it I wonder?
It’s half midnight and Sister comes to our bay. I’m the only one on my bay to get night injections of antibiotic. As usual she has them all prepared and sits down on the side of the bed and slowly injects them in through the ‘vent-flow’ on my wrist. I ask her if it’s a busy night. She says that its not to busy. I look at her pleasant face and richly coloured hair and I notice how my view of her has changed since that first night when I asked for a drink. I can see her humour and her patient strength. We chat for a few minutes, about nothing really, and then she says sleep well and is off.
A few minutes later I hear Paul behind his curtains. “Huh, she’s ignoring me now.” I can hear the upset in his voice. Then he’s up and rummaging in his cupboard. Paper is ripping. More paper is ripping – into tiny shreds. He’s mumbling away. Then, too, cardboard is ripping. Big pieces of cardboard – I wonder what on earth he can have found to rip up. It’s not just upset – it’s fury. Then his jacket is on again. “Oh no,” I think, “trouble again!”
“Paul, what are you doing?”
“Going to the cash point!” he says defiantly.
“Paul I thought we had all this sorted out.”
“Yes, but you were ignoring me.” There’s moment of absolute silence as Sister’s absorbs this piece of logic.
“I beg your pardon?” Sister says.
“You were just ignoring me,” Paul repeats.
Sister asks in an incredulous voice, “Paul, what are you talking about?”
“You were talking to the other patient,” that’s me, I thought, “but you just ignored me.” By now Paul’s upset is betrayed by his voice.
“Paul!” I can hear the hidden outrage. “I was not ignoring you. I had work to do with that patient and then I had to go and do other work. I was not ignoring you.” I can hear the control, too, in her voice, trying not to get drawn into the maelstrom of Paul’s emotions.
“But you just walked past my bed and ignored me.”
“Paul,” she repeats, “I was not ignoring you. I saw you but I just had other work to do. That’s all. Now come on, go back to bed!”
Paul retreats back to bed. Is this the end of it, I wonder? I can’t stop thinking about that exchange between them. Paul is tossing and turning in his bed – it’s obvious that he can think of little else. And what about Sister?
After some time I hear her footsteps as she comes back up the ward. Paul’s curtain is pulled back. “Paul! I did not ignore you. I just had other work to do.” She doesn’t plead for him to understand her position; she just repeats her previous words this time as a statement of fact. “I was not ignoring you.”
“I’m sorry. I think I was just a bit over sensitive.” This, in a conciliatory tone.
“Yes. I should think you were.” Paul’s curtain closes and Sister’s footsteps disappear down the ward.

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