The Itinerant Patient
The mists hanging low over the fens of East Anglia were clearing as the morning sun climbed from the Eastern Sea. Long shadows were cast from the Cathedral as it's towers were illuminated. It precluded the change of shifts at the City Hospital.
The hospital that never sleeps was coming from night to day. For some it was near the end, for some it was the beginning. Cars moved in and out of the car park. Slow feet of weary nurses made their way home. Brighter nurses made their way into the Hospital. In the Atrium shops were opening. Fresh flowers were delivered. Newspapers were piled up waiting to be displayed; the smell of fresh ink pervaded the air. This was the beginning of the day’s comradeship as nurses and auxiliary staff quipped over the events of the evening before.
‘Did you see?’ was the start of welcoming conversations.
‘Oh yes, but what about?’ was the usual response. Ordinary human beings establishing contact.
‘Hello Bill,’ they laughed and nodded together in that knowing way of women.
Bill, the maintenance man, who always found some little job in the Atrium at this time of day, acknowledged their greeting with a sheepish grin. A small draught dislodged the two strands of hair that stretched across his bald head, he swiftly brushed them over with his hand, and with tool box in his hand, made for the lifts. He was always alone. Nurses, for all their wilful ways, knew better than to be in the lift with him.
Sister Winifred O’Neal, Winney to her friends, but Sister to the nurses; she believed that correct appellation was the basis of discipline leading to professional conduct. She was of the old school, but recently had started to dwell on her forth-coming retirement, and so she missed some of the irreverent jibes of young nurses, who seemed to her, just out of school.
‘Morning Sister.’ ‘Morning Sister.’ ‘Morning Sister.’
This was the chorus of greetings, but it comes as no surprise that the intonation of these greetings can vary, expressing the feelings of the nurse. Sister O’Neal was attuned to this and made a mental note as to who was the bolshie one among them, and so might be marked for a bit of commode cleaning.
The routine then took over; beds to be changed, patients conditions to be assessed, drugs to be assessed, patients coming back from surgery, and patients scheduled for surgery. Then everything shipshape to the satisfaction of Sister O’Neal, they waited for the doctor’s rounds!
The air of a busy but well organised bee hive must not delude you that all is calm and smooth running, there is serious and life threatening work going on.
Mr Thomas Jones was in for surgery, in Theatre on the second floor. Mr Cleary had made the first incision at 4.30 am, and he, and his team, was in that other world of almost devout concentration, brought about by operating on a human body, and not being certain of the outcome.
Popular drama has the handsome but somewhat grizzled lead surgeon issuing precise instructions to a glamorous nurse, whose concerned eyes, expressing admiration, peer above her face mask. And of course he has music piped in, Vivaldi is popular, or more hip surgeons might have Elvis. This is not the case when Mr Cleary was in Theatre!
Mr Cleary was round, of a cheery disposition, and simply did his job without fuss. His heart might have beaten a little quicker if he had a glamorous assistant nurse, but he preferred steadfastness to glamour. In this case he needed a steady hand and mental commitment to an operation which was dangerous.
Thomas Jones had stomach cancer. A condition, not to be wished on anybody.
The diagnosis is difficult, what action to take is uncertain. Surgery is the last resort. It depends on the type and stage of cancer the surgeon is faced with; can he remove the cancer or, in the worst case, the whole stomach1? Whilst the rest of the hospital might have a cheery disposition, in Theatre life and death was hanging in the balance.
*
Bill ‘two hairs’ did not ascend, but descend, going down in the lift to the basement. In films these are usually dark dirty places, cables hanging down and steam hissing from pipes where a half-witted caretaker has a little hide away, porno books hid under the table and cracked mugs where he drinks his tea; not so in Peterborough.
Peterborough City Hospital. This is a 625 bed hospital with 400 rooms, Brand new. 400 rooms connected by a maze of corridors that try the patience of all who visit it; it was a rabbit warren, and that is the nub of this little story.
*
Down in basement it was pristine; the walls painted white, pipes for various functions painted different colours to identify what was what. All the cables were firmly bound and in place, and no hissing steam. These amounted to a half mile or so of walkway. This was Bill ‘two hairs’ domain. He got round the walkways on a bicycle he had recently attained, so he could easily move from one end to the other. He had a perfect right to be there, there were things to check; but he had other things on his mind.
*
Henry Tobias Jones was a farm worker. He lived in a cottage, one up and one down, thunder box in the garden, no ‘lectricity and went to bed with a candle. He lived out in the wilds of East Anglia, it turned out that he were not sure where: could it be Parson Drove, Whaplode Drove, Gedney Hill, Shepeau Stow? Those who knew him remembered him at the Plough pub.
He lived by the seasons; the wind, the sun, the winter wilds. He had never heard of ‘bio-diversity’, he had heard of ‘organic’, knowing what he knew about farm animals he thought it referred to some diverse sexual activity. Anyway, he collapsed in the Plough, where they still served mild beer, and they took him to Peterborough City Hospital.
He arrived on Sister O’Neal’s ward on the morning of the change of shift. They were also expecting Mr Thomas Jones to return, but sadly he was destined for the morgue. A young nurse O’Reilly, from County Cork made a mistake with incoming records. It’s easily done.
When a patient turns up in Casualty, they obviously want to identify him, or her. But a gnome of a man, burnt brown, with long flowing hair and an accompanying beard, and smelling like a bag of manure, kind of put people off.
As caring as nurses are, they are human. So they passed his case to another young nurse, this one from East Africa. She recognised someone, who from her own experience was under nourished, she knew, instinctively that a good meal would put him right. She cleaned him up, cut back his locks, and tried to bring him to his senses, but without avail.
At that very moment victims from a serious accident were brought in, every nurse was called to the emergency. And so Henry Tobias Jones was left on a trolley with no instructions as to what to do with him. Bill ‘two hairs’ happened to be passing by, and he was pressed into delivering Henry Tobias Jones to Ward 10. He saw his opportunity to be in the company of the nurses on Sister O’Neal’s ward, whom he also had a yearning for. And so a mistake was made. Nurse O’Reilly booked in the wrong name: Henry Tobias Jones became Thomas Jones, a recently dead man!
*
Henry Tobias Jones, alias Thomas Jones, awoke to a strange new world. He felt clean sheets around his body, not rougher flannel, they were white against his brown arm. He looked around, there were other beds, with people lying in them. He saw forms dressed in blue, who he recognised as women, young women!
Where was he? Perhaps in heaven, he thought. He was in the Plough, and now, as if by magic, he was amongst angels. One of them turned and bent over him. He smelt a scented body. Clear blue eyes, the like he had not seen for a long time. His raised his hand to feel if she was real and brushed it against her breast.
‘Ah, Mr Jones I see you are feeling better, how are you today?’
Tobias was confused, ‘I don’t know’ he thought. He looked up at those blue eyes and a feeling of contentment overcame him. There were times in the dark of the night that he thought of his Mary. He pictured as he remembered her, a farm girl with golden hair, skin as smooth as silk and creamy as butter, but she was long gone to her maker, and here she was looking down at him. He was certainly in heaven.
‘I’ll get you something to eat and drink. I’m Gwyn by the way’
Sister O’Neal stood at the foot the bed.
‘Who have we here then?’
‘It’s Mr Jones,’ answered nurse Chambers, who was now attending to him. ‘He came in this morning.’
‘Where from?’ This was unusual, nobody came on to her ward without her knowing.
‘From casualty, Bill ‘two’..,’ she stopped as if confused,’ Bill the maintenance man brought him.’
Sister O’Neal stiffened. That odious little man she thought.
‘Did he touch you,’ she said in her command voice.
Nurse O’Reilly was puzzled, what did she mean?
‘No he was flat out,’ thinking she was referring to the little old man.
Sister O’Neal, pondered this for a moment, perhaps this is an Irish idiom.
‘Well that’s O K. then.’
At that moment Gwyn came back with a tray of snacks, and a drink.
‘What’s this then?’ demanded Sister O’Neal
‘I thought he needed something, we don’t know when he last ate.’
Sister O’Neal looked down at this wizened old man, she thought of her father when he died of cancer, and in the end was just skin and bones.
‘He needs more than a snack, we’ll have to fatten him up.’
And so Tobias Jones, now Thomas Jones, became a darling of the ward.
Then one day he disappeared!
Sister O’Neal was puzzled. She checked the records. Thomas Jones was in the morgue, so who did they have? There was not an admittal record. Nurse O’Reilly received him – she had said so. Sister O’Neal felt a headache coming on.
*
Bill ‘two hairs’ was cycling along the underground passage way when he thought he saw a ghost, no, not a ghost, more an apparition. A gnome like figure, in a gown. ‘Two hairs’ skidded to a halt and looked more closely. ‘Dang me if ‘aint the fella I wheeled up Ward 10,’ he thought.
‘What you doin here mate. This eres private.’
The figure did not answer.
‘What’s your name?’
A brown arm was offered as if to push ‘two hairs’ away, revealing on his wrist a hospital name tag. ‘Two hairs’ looked at and saw the name, Thomas Jones.’
He took an avuncular tone.
‘You best get back. I’ll ring the ward.’
With that he went to the nearest phone and rang Ward 10.
There was a curt response. ‘Sister O’Neal here.’
‘Two hairs’ jokingly said, ‘You’ve got anybody missing?’
There was a stunned silence. Recovering herself she responded with, ‘who am I speaking to?’
‘It’s Bill, you know me, the maintenance man.’
This stopped her in her tracks, Bill, she thought, what does he know?
She adopted a superior role. ‘To whom are you referring?’
‘You, know the fella I brought in, his name’s Thomas Jones.’
She felt feint, what to say? She waited a moment, she did not want Bill, of all people to know what was going on. She made an unwitting mistake.
‘There was no one here by that name.’
‘But I brought him in!’ he said in an accusing voice.
She compounded her mistake.
‘Now look her, my man, I think I know who is on my ward.’
Something seemed fishy. ‘So,’ he said in a questioning accusative voice, ‘there’s no one missing?’
‘How could that be?’ she concluded in dismissive voice, and put the phone down.
‘Two hairs’ looked at the phone.
‘Ah, my lady, you did not answer the question,’ he thought to himself.
‘So who are you?’ he said as if to himself, looking at the little man.
The in the corner of his mind a little thought took route. He could have a little game with that snooty Sister O’Neal, and bring her down a peg or two. Later that night, to those who might have taken notice, a waif like figure in hospital gown was tucking into a plate of bangers and mash with Bill ‘two hairs’.
*
And so it started. No one quite new what at first! A little man in a gown was seen in the restaurant at breakfast time. The lady on reception saw a little man in a gown in the Atrium but thought nothing of it; there are plenty of oddly dressed people about! Then he approached the desk and asked for Sister O’Neal. They looked her up on the computer and rang ward 10.
‘We have a man here wanting to see you.’
The receptionist turned to the little man, ‘what is your name?’
He stood there saying nothing as if he did not understand the question. She looked on his name tag.
‘Perhaps he’s a patient of yours, have you lost one?’ she asked, jokingly.
There was stunned silence at the other end.
‘Are you there sister?’
‘Wait a minute…….’ silence. ‘No I can’t speak to anyone now, I’ll come down on my break…half an hour.
The receptionist didn’t know what to say, then, ‘he’s in a gown he must be a patient here.’
Then, as if she was not quite with it. ‘Are you a patient here?’
That seemed to ring a bell. ‘I haven’t got much, no!’
He, that is the little man, spoke in a sing song East Anglian accent.
‘Did you understand a word he said, Ethyl?’
Ethyl shrugged her shoulders.
Then, sort of out of the blue, Bill ‘two hairs’ turned up.
‘Hello Thomas old boy, what you doing here?’
Ethyl and Doris, the two receptionists, looked at him suspiciously.
‘What’s he got do with you?’ the one on the phone asked.
‘I brought him in.’
‘Bully for you.’ The phrase slipped out, not an accepted receptionists response.
Bill ‘two hairs’ did not respond to this gybe. He guessed who they were talking to.
‘She coming down then?’ asked Bill ‘two hairs’, guessing what was going on.
The receptionist felt that Sister O’Neal would not want to be associating with Bill ‘two hairs’.
‘Er, no, she’s busy.’
‘That’s all right then,’ said Bill ‘two hairs’. ’Come on mate I’ll sort you out.’
With that he escorted him to the lift.
Ethyl and Doris looked at each other raising their eyebrows agreeing that there are some queer people in this world. Had they taken a bit more notice they would have noticed that Bill ‘two hairs’ had descended to the basement!
*
Bill and his mate, that was how he saw him, sat having a cup of tea next to the hospital boiler. There was a large recess that Bill had accommodated as his rest, and reading area. He mulled over what had just happened, he had set it all up to stir Sister O’Neal up a bit as part of his plan that was becoming more devious as he thought about. He thought of who was on duty on Ward when he delivered Thomas. Then Nurse O’Reilly came to mind, maybe she knew what was going on. He must make her acquaintance.
*
Nurse O’Reilly was sitting in the fast food restaurant in the Atrium, nursing a cup of coffee, (no pun intended). She was reading the local Nursing Gazette issued by the Hospital. It was full of all the usual guff: long service members leaving, showing them at their leaving party, with a slightly ghoulish grin on their faces; buxom Sisters who had won an award for long service; pictures of the new intake, girls giggling at their new life, imagining themselves bringing succour to patients, (this brought a wry grin to O’Reilly’s face – just you wait she thought); and naturally a manager's face had to appear welcoming in some new initiative, Amen to that she thought.
She sipped her coffee idly turning to last page, THE OBITUARIS. She nearly missed it;
We are sad to report the demise of Mr Thomas Jones, who had a serious cancer condition, sadly, did not recover from stomach surgery. Mr Cleary and his team express condolences to the family. Everything that could be done had been done! Deus benidictus!
‘But’, the thought came to Nurse O’Reilly’s mind, ‘but…’ she stopped. ‘Is that why he disappeared, no, he was alive when she had him? In a state of puzzlement and melancholy she stared across the café and there sitting at a table with Bill ‘two hairs’ was the very man himself.
Nurse O’Reilly fell back in a feint and slid to the floor! Bill ‘two hairs’ moved from his chair, and had her in his arms in a moment. A medic was called and she was taken to Emergency were she was revived with smelling salts. Bill ‘two hairs’ gallantry was not without an ulterior motive, apart from cuddling a desirable colleen, this would give him a good excuse to visit Ward 10!
Tobias,(to give him his right name) who now was getting use to the routine of the hospital, made his way to out-patients department where he could spend an hour or two ‘waiting to be called,’ ha, ha!
*
Sister O’Neal received a phone call from Casualty that nurse O’Reilly had fully recovered.
‘What do you mean, fully recovered?’
‘She had a feinting fit.’
‘Where is she?
‘She’s here. She’s alright her friend Bill is looking after her.’
‘What!’ she said this with some alarm.
‘She’s all right, Bill’s volunteered to bring he back to Ward 10 or to the Nurses quarters.’
She nearly screamed, ‘not on your life!’
The reaction ‘what’ was with said with some puzzlement.
‘Keep her there I will come down myself.’
‘O.K. then.’ Then in sotto voice, ‘keep your hair on!’
Nurse O’Neal did not hear this, she was already on her way down, her heart fluttering at what might have happened.
It’s here that the topography of the hospital comes in to play in this little drama. Ward A10 to give its proper identification, is on level 3, that is the top floor. The curving shape of the hospital does not make it clear which is the best lift to go down to go wherever you are going.
The signs are misleading – it says Exit whichever way you go, and there is no direct access to Emergency from level 3. In her confusion Sister O’Neal turned right, to lift A, the furthest from corridor on level one which would take her directly to Emergency, she ended up in the Atrium.
‘Are sister, I’m glad I caught you.’ It was Ethyl, the receptionist.
Sister O’Neal stopped, was there some message for her, she turned her heart beating, and somewhat out-of-breath?
‘There was a man at the desk wanting to see you.’
‘What man?’ she thought.
‘Who?’ she asked in a questioning voice.
‘He didn’t say, but the name badge read Thomas Jones, he was a patient of yours.’
Sister O’Neal’s head swam. Naturally her thoughts were not clear. She was near fainting herself.
‘He didn’t seem to know where he was, Brill, the maintenance man, escorted him away.
Several images flashed through her head. A disappearing patient, a dead man turns up, and now nurse O’ Reilly was in the hands of Bill ’two hairs’. It was all too much, she cried out hysterically.
‘But where is Gwyneth?’
‘Who?’ asked Ethyl in that off-putting negative tone.
‘God, you silly bitch, where is Nurse O’Reilly?’ Sister O’Neal exploded.
Ethyl responded icily, as if talking to a child.
‘She’s over there, and don’t you dare speak to me like that.’
This uproar was attracting attention. People stopped and stared at the two middle aged ladies having a go at one another. A manager walking by was astonished that his senior staff should act like this. He knew who she was, and he would be seeing her before the day was out, but in true management style he exited quickly.
The next thing she knew she was being comforted by Bill ‘two hairs’ who had been bringing Gwyneth back. It seemed they were on intimate terms.
Sister slumped down, held up by Bill, and hysterically sobbed her heart out.
*
Sister O’Neal was granted early retirement with full pension terms. There was a somewhat muted leaving party, where it was observed that Bill and Gwyneth had moved to a new level of intimacy.
Postscript
A week or two later a rather burly man with a drinker’s nose but perceptive eyes, turned up at reception. Doris was on he own, Ethyl taking a few days off, now running into weeks; it was said it was her nerves.
Doris looked up. ‘Yes?’ she questioned. Some of the spirit had been knocked out of her.
‘Pratt, my name. I’m the landlord of the Plough pub.’
Doris raised her eyebrows as asking for more information.
‘I’m from Outwell. I’m here concerning Tobias. He hasn’t been seen in weeks.’
‘Have you contacted the Police?’
No, you silly cow came to mind, but he tempered it with.
‘He took ill in my pub and they brought him here.’
Her hands idled over the computer screen.
‘Full name and address?’
He was surprised by this.
‘I don’t know, Tobias is all I know.’
She ran out of patience. ‘Well he ain’t here’
And neither was he, or was he? Persistent rumours of a strange man in a hospital gown haunting the corridors circulated through the hospital, even seen in theatre assisting at the sluice. New nurses were warned to take care when moving through the maze of corridors, particularly at night. The truth was never revealed. Bill, snug in the arms of little Gwyneth, never told the tale. But now you know – take care!