Result (CH2)

Helen stood at the gate trying to scrape the dog crap off her shoe, thinking about what she’d do once she found the continually re-offending mutt. She pushed on the gate, and then pushed harder as it screeched open. She flung it back whilst unceremoniously dragging her foot down the path to clear the remains from her sole. After finally getting through the front door she removed her shoe and picked up the mail, then walked to the kitchen to try and detach the rest of the excrement. Out of the corner of her eye she saw two pieces of toast on the floor next to the bin. She rolled her eyes, cleared the mess and put the kettle on.

The day’s post consisted entirely of bills. Helen stirred her hot chocolate; the only thing that could get her to relax and sleep after a night shift and went into the front room. The carpet still smelt of stale lager from where Paul had spilt it. He’d been promising to clean it up for weeks. She let out a deep lingering sigh and thought about how her son was getting more and more clumsy and absent-minded.

Last nights shift had been a real test of tolerance. A patient was screaming through half the hours of darkness, and had woken up half the ward. She understood more than anyone that he was in pain; he’d cracked a vertebrae and was wearing a halo brace which was drilled straight into his skull. But what frustrated her was that he slept all day, not even moving to toilet, or waking for medication. Then he woke in agony with screams that turned the air blue, curses that she was surprised to hear from a man of his years.  The only correspondence she’d had with him was to clean his sheets, (a task painful for them both) and to try and pacify him through the nights.

Helen sipped at her cup cautiously, and then a smirk started to spread across her face. She started to chuckle and had to put her cup down for fear of spilling it. A pair of paramedics had brought a young man in at around half past four; she could hear them laughing and joking as they came out of the lift onto the ward. She didn’t know what he had to laugh about, he’d fracture-dislocated his ankle, and it had ballooned to the size of a small melon; she put his jovial mood down to shock.

“Football or motorbike accident?” The lofty, receding, paramedic’s voice reverberated down the hall.

“Err it was a football match… how did you know?” came the hesistant reply from the patient.

“Oh it’s always one o’ them two with a lad your age, int it Jim.”

“Oh aye yeah, we must get five a week.” whispered the obviously more conscientious of the two staff. “You’re the only buggers we get to have a decent conversation with… mind you unconscious patients are cooperative patients!”

All three of them guffawed together, “Mind you there was a fella the other day, rolled his car. I got there and half his blummin arm was missin. “My Merc my Merc!” he was screaming. “Never mind that,” I said, “you’re missing half your chuffin arm!” “My Rolex, my Rolex!” he screams!” The three set off laughing again, waking everyone who’d manage to settle after the old man’s screams. It’s a strange job, she thought to herself, when people are woken through the night by laughter and screaming.

Helen turned on the T.V. flicked through the channels, and promptly turned in off again. Day time T.V.- the depths of entertainment. She drained her cup, tidied round and went upstairs to bed.