CHAPTER TWO
Gracie-May
Stepping through the doors of the hospital, a sense of calm and order washed over me.
I received handover from the morning shift nurse – there were two new admissions. One soldier was post Iraq and had tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists. He had a code white warning due to a high risk of violent behavior and was always a two nurse assist. He was behind a glass wall where he could be monitored around the clock.
“We’re waiting on Psych. He’s been quiet all day and is refusing to talk or eat.” Della sighed, her eyes reflected her sadness.
We dealt with men like this far too often. Soldiers broken from war, men and women who felt lost and alone. The darkness seeping in, affecting every part of their lives. Children who didn’t know their mother, children who didn’t understand why their father was gone.
Della appears exhausted, deflated. I reached out and patted her hand, she gave me a weak smile.
“Gracie, I swear to God, I don’t know how you do this day in and day out. You have such compassion and so much strength, it has me questioning my own.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and I struggled to hear it, but the pain weighing it down was louder than ever.
“Believe me Della, there are times when I have been right where you are.”
She studied me with her huge brown eyes, I watched as doubt flashed through them.
I shrugged. “I have learnt to take the good with the bad, the ugly with the beautiful.” I accepted the notes from her shaking hands.
“Maybe this….this trauma nursing isn't for me. Maybe I need to go back to a civilian hospital where I can nurse patients who haven’t been devastated by war.” Della’s voice wavered.
I had never seen her so upset. I asked the other nurses to leave us alone and once they had left, I pulled Della’s shaking body into my arms. She was surprised by my act of human comfort, usually I am ice cold when on duty. It's how I have to be. My walls are high and thick, but for this poor, scared nurse, I will allow them to crumble slightly. Della tenses in my grip at first, but a moment later she relaxed in my arms.
“You are stronger than your last crisis, Della.” My voice was soft, my words full of comfort.
I tried hard to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, not all days were so extreme.
My grip loosened as Della pulled back from my embrace. She ran the pad of her forefinger over her cheek, swiping the small tears that were trailing from her eyes. I smiled and handed her a tissue.
“Thank you,” she hiccupped.
“Anytime.” I patted her hand.
I felt for her, the job we do is hard, demanding and extreme.
“This job isn't for the faint of heart, Della, but you are strong. Go home, have a cup of tea and just breathe, tomorrow is a new day.”
A weak smile formed over her lips, her eyes met mine.
“You're not half bad, Gracie.” She returned my smile as she picked up her cardigan from the back of the chair and walked from the room.
***
I called my nurses back in as she left - shoulders slumped and feet dragged, the poor girl.
I handed out files, delegating nurses’ duties for their assigned patients. We had two new girls for orientation this month and they would be partnered up with a senior nurse to learn what needed to be done.
Four of my senior nurses, who I had trained myself, stood before me. Kerry stood alongside Jessa, her mentor, her eyes avoiding contact with mine. She was furious that I had placed her on afternoon shifts due to a few issues. She would soon learn – playing games with the charge nurse had severe consequences.
We all had a seat and I started with our handover.
“First up, Mr. Davies is a soldier suffering from PTSD and psychosis. He arrived via base ambulance as an emergency after slitting his wrists at home. He is in room 210 and will require a two nurse assist on entering. Sedation is keeping him compliant at the moment, but as the medications are reduced, he will slowly become more aware. Hopefully he will be calmer than he was when he first arrived. Bandages will need to be changed at 1700 hours and his medications will continue as scheduled. We are currently awaiting permission for the psych team to effect transfer to the psychiatric wing.
“When will that be?” Kerry asked challengingly.
“It depends to some degree on Mr. Davies. The doctor has to be satisfied the bleeding is under control and a room needs to come available. With the rising incidence of PTSD and suicide attempts, they have been inundated. The least we can do is help out.”
