Back The Way I Came

Draining the dregs of my coffee, I glanced up at the clock. The night staff would be here in less than twenty minutes. It was almost time. It had been a typical shift, and we’d been busy right up to the end. Three new admissions, group therapy, the consultant’s round, dinner and then visiting. The last visitors had only just left and I’d had to escape to the office to write the report.

I had already said goodbye to my patients. Some I hardly knew, but others, those whom I had accompanied on this part of their journey, were important to me. They had trusted me with details of their lives that I knew they hadn’t been able to share with anyone else. Telling them I was leaving had been hard – much harder than telling my bosses, my hospital friends and colleagues or my family. Saying goodbye had been even harder.

Some, having witnessed the events of the last few months, had instantly understood why I had to leave. Most had hugged me or shaken my hand and wished me well. Some had cried. These were my patients and this was my job. But it was so much more than that. It always had been.

I got up and walked to the window. The vast grounds, how unwelcoming and bleak they had seemed on that day I’d travelled up the long winding drive for my interview. Now, almost seven years later, they were as familiar as an old friend.

There was the bench I used to sit on with Geoff, the grassy hillock where I’d shared countless lunches with Jo and the others, the woods where I’d found Vicki just in time on the day she had decided it was all too much. There was the Occupational Therapy Building where that monster, Ian, had almost killed me, and next to it was Ward Four where it had all begun. Beyond them all was the long winding driveway where I had wandered, seemingly casually, alongside several absconding dementia patients in an attempt to coax them back to the safety of the ward.

Off to my left, the School of Nursing stood alone. All in darkness at this hour. I had been over there earlier to say goodbye to Peter. I couldn’t leave without seeing him one final time. He was unique and I was sure I’d never meet anyone quite like him. I also owed him so much. I wondered if the bullies on Ward Twelve would somehow have driven me out without his support. I suspected not; I was made of sterner stuff, but knowing he was there had helped me immeasurably. Helped not only me, but also all those who came after me.

He was one of those people who somehow manage to make everyone feel special, and his was an opinion I valued above all others. I would never forget that I’d been his guinea pig on Ward Four, or that he’d been the one I’d turned to after Geoff’s attempted suicide. He was my mentor and, on some level, I felt, my friend. He hadn’t tried to talk me out of leaving, he knew the circumstances and he knew me. He had only begged me not to turn my back on nursing altogether. The jury was still out on that one. And now, his office was in darkness. I would miss him.

I turned away from the window and looked out onto the ward. A few patients were sitting around the TV watching a film. Several others were gathered around Sam, who seemed to be telling a funny story. At the far end, Mike was listening intently to something that Gail, one of our new admissions, was telling him. Iris, my ever dependable care assistant, was in the ladies dormitory helping a couple of severely depressed patients get ready for bed. A good team we were, when we were allowed to be. I stopped that thought in its tracks. The decision had been made and that was that. The bell rang and I took a deep breath. Time to go.

We nurses are a stoical bunch, and as Jean and Sandra, the night nurses, settled themselves for me to hand over the ward, not a word was said about it being my last shift, my final handover. No outsider would have known there was anything amiss as I filled them in on the day’s happenings, and the imminent admission of one of our regular patients with bipolar disorder.

Suddenly there was nothing left to say. I reached for my jacket and opened the desk drawer to retrieve my car keys. The sight of a dozen or more familiar items brought a lump to my throat, and I grabbed my keys and slammed the drawer shut, ignoring Jean’s sideways glance. I bade them both farewell and walked slowly through the ward, smiling so hard my face hurt.

I hugged a few patients and waved across the ward to others. Sam was already at the door waiting to let me out. He knew I wouldn’t want to linger a second longer than necessary. I stood at the door, inhaled deeply, and with the unmistakable scent of Ward Nine in my nose and every sight, sound and memory buried somewhere deep, I descended the stairs into the night.

There was no one around as I got into my car. The night staff were already on their wards and the afternoon shift wasn’t officially over for another ten minutes. This was how I wanted it. I wanted to leave as I’d arrived, just me travelling back down this long winding drive. Only this time, the daunting Victorian buildings were like old friends, and the vast depressing grounds were familiar and peaceful. It was like home, every inch.