Once I’ve left Harris’s room and binned all the rubbish, I head for Barb’s office. She’s bustling inside one of the glass-fronted cubicles near the staff room. I scan around to make sure nobody needs me before walking through the open door.
‘Harris Derwent,’ I say, by way of hello. ‘He’s due for discharge on Friday, and he needs follow-ups. I don’t know who with, but… I mean, what he really needs is domiciliary care –’
‘Good afternoon to you, too.’ Barb is elbow-deep in paperwork at the desk. ‘And I’m aware of Mr Derwent’s circumstances.’
‘I know.’ I stop, straighten up. ‘Sorry. I just… His living situation is shitful, Barb. I know he lives too far away for us to visit, but –’
‘I understand,’ Barb interrupts, still sorting paper. Her head bobs. ‘What he needs is a structured appointment schedule for post-release care.’
‘But will he keep to it? And if he’s seen by rotating staff members, won’t he just find it easy to skip appointments unnoticed?’ I sigh, push back my hair that’s come loose from my ponytail. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because I know him, I know what’s going on behind the scenes. I’m really worried he’s gonna leave here, go and get himself all banged around again, then before you know it we’ll be sending him up to Mildura for an amputation assessment.’
Barb has obviously been listening with more than one ear. She’s still standing behind the desk, files in hand, but she’s stopped making a paper-tornado.
‘Do you think he can be persuaded to change his living arrangements?’ Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. ‘If he was living nearby, we could schedule him to come in once a week for the next month, on a set time and day.’
‘Would Harris quit his dad’s place, you mean?’ My forehead screws up at the concept. It’s a very attractive concept. I don’t want to get too married to it.
Barb shrugs. ‘I could try to put the thumbscrews on Dennis to bring him in for appointments, but I don’t know how far I’d get –’
‘I’ll talk to Harris.’ I grasp the lintel to steady myself at the idea. Harris may not be very approachable on the topic of his dad, but if I’m going to say something, now’s the time. ‘I’ll see what I can do. It’s really up to him, though, isn’t it?’
Barb looks at me gravely. ‘Yes, love, it is.’
‘If he had a place to stay…’ My hand goes up to my bottom lip before I’m even aware of it. I’m racking my brain now. ‘Let me ask around. I can have a go, right?’
‘No harm in it, love. But you’ll still have to talk to Harris,’ Barb reminds me. ‘That’ll be the biggest hurdle.’
‘Yeah.’ I grimace.
‘If we can get him closer…Ifwe can get him closer, then we’ll talk about it. And talk some more about scheduling you for the appointments.’
‘Me?’ My eyes dart back to Barb’s. ‘But I’m not an RN. I can’t assess him properly, I just change the dressings –’
‘– which is exactly what you’ll be doing every time he comes in.’ Barb holds my gaze. ‘Look, this isn’t my standard approach. Normally, if you’ve got a needy patient known to you personally, I’d tell you to back off. But in this case, if Harris sees someone he knows it might be an advantage. If he needs assessment you can refer him, and he’ll be here on the ward if there’s a problem. One of us can check things over before you let him go, if you’re not confident.’
‘But I’m not –’
‘You’re what he’s used to,’ Barb points out. ‘He seems to trust you. He’s much more likely to come in regularly if he can see someone he’s comfortable with. At least you care whether he makes the appointments.’ She gives me a speculative look. ‘You docare, don’t you?’
I press my lips together before replying. It’s a lot of responsibility. I might have to change my shifts, and it’s more nursing – real nursing – than I’ve been expected to do before. But it’s Harris…
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, I do.’
Barb gives me a meaningful look. ‘If we manage to set this up, though, there’s something I want you to remember. Harris is a person, not a project. You can’t save people, Amie – I’ve told you that, time and again. You can only give them the encouragement they need to save themselves. Don’t let yourself get too involved.’ Her cheeks go round as she smiles. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be sensible about it. You’re the most sensible girl I know.’
When I get back out into the admissions area, I look up the hallway. Everything in the hospital is blue: blue-grey carpet, pale blue walls, blue admissions desk. Barb says the patients find it soothing. I glance down at myself, at my navy work pants and teal-coloured uniform shirt. Standing completely still like this, I could almost be part of the furniture.
Barb is right – Iamsensible. And dependable, trustworthy, responsible… I am all those things. I mean, between my job and my family I kind of have to be. It’s why I haven’t even looked at the purple folder Robbie gave me. Because I’m sensible, and the photography residency is just a flight of fancy.
Being sensible is part of what makes me a model trainee. It’s the only way I can juggle all the needs of the people who rely on me. Being sensible isnecessary.
I should find it reassuring that Barb thinks of me this way.
*
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Mark West says, contemplating the coffee in his mug. ‘Only for a month, you said?’
‘Yeah. Just a month.’ I’m trying to keep a lid on my fizzing excitement. ‘Barb Dunne at the hospital said he’ll need regular appointments for four weeks, but after that he should be back on his feet.’
