Audrey jolts across the room and tends to the first bed while I do the same. The first young boy has sun-bleached hair, but the color of his skin is even fairer than his hair. He doesn’t seem in distress like some others. Instead, he’s staring out the tall window behind us. I take a moment to look at his paperwork, finding his name and age.
“Philip, my name is Elizabeth. How are you feeling?” Philip doesn’t respond right away. He pins his gaze to the window. According to his paperwork, his fever is mild, but he was complaining of belly pain earlier and seems lethargic. “Are you nine years old?” I wait a moment for any sign that he might answer, but he doesn’t budge. “Does your tummy hurt?”
I comb my fingers through Phillip’s hair to gain his attention, which works well. Like an electrifying shock, Philip bolts up straight and clutches his arms around his abdomen. I lunge for the bucket beside his bed, catching a stomach full of bile just in the nick of time. I close my eyes throughout the duration of the heaving to avoid the sight. It’s easier said than done, to breathe in and out through my mouth, as advised by the nurses teaching our classes, but I grit my teeth and wait for Philip to lay back down into his pillow.
“I think I’m better now,” he says, his voice scratchy and guttural.
“Here, sweetie, let me pour you a glass of water.” I spin around, finding a pitcher of water next to a row of glasses. The unsettling sensation in my gut is passing, but I must still dispose of the waste. I wish I could shut off all my senses because I can’t let the nurses see my weakness. I’ll never pass these classes if I’m unable to handle a little vomit.
The smells and sounds wane for a few hours, but it takes one slip of a bucket and an uncontrolled reflex to find my uniform covered.
My stomach has never been strong. I think some people are born with weak gag reflexes and the lack of ability to put mind over matter. I feel it coming.The sympathy nausea. First, it’s the tight feeling in my throat. Then my gut spins like a merry-go-round. The ten-seconds I might have between this moment and the cause of an additional unsterile situation isn’t long enough. A clean bucket is in view and I run outside of the ward and into the hallway before mimicking the sickness I have been watching all morning.
I feel better almost instantly, but I’m unsure of the scene I caused, or the protocol for when a nurse falls ill on duty. It’s something I hope to learn about before finishing these classes, but for now, my only thought is to find my way to the lavatory.
“Elizabeth?” Audrey’s voice echoes down the hall. “Are you all right, dear?” I pivot on the heels of my shoes while continuing to walk away and shake my head. Audrey takes one quick gander at my uniform and lifts her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widen when she notices the way I look. “Oh, my.”
It’s hard to move fast when trying to avoid contact with the bodily fluids covering my attire, but when Audrey finds me in the ladies’ room with a toothbrush and clean clothes curled under her arm, the urge to hug her almost outweighs the recollection of what I look like. She takes a step back before I get too close. “I can’t thank you enough, Audrey. I’m not sure I want to imagine what the nurses must think of me right now.”
Audrey places her hand on my back as I lean over the sink and cup handfuls of water up to my mouth. “It happens to everyone. We’re all human, Lizzie.”
“People view nurses as heroes and women who hold a reputation for being capable of handling anything that comes their way,” I say while staring at my mirroring reflection. “Audrey, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this line of work.” Audrey’s eyes meet mine as we stare quietly at the mirror. Her eyebrows knit together, showing me a hint of sympathy, an expression she wouldn’t want to put into words.
“This is the reason we are going through training, right? You mustn’t let one incident bring you down, sweetie.”
It’s only happened once, but it could occur again. I’m not confident I will have control over my stomach any better the next time. I’m a failure and haven’t become a registered nurse yet.
“We best get back to the ward. I have no business tending to myself when all of those children are so sick.” I imagine being in here will only make matters worse in the eyes of the nurses.
“Well now, no need to worry. They called two nurses in to assist, and nurse Jones pardoned us for the rest of today’s training. She suggests I make sure you arrive home in one piece.”
“That’s just marvelous,” I snap, dropping my hands to the white porcelain.
“Oh, good gracious, Elizabeth. Come on, we’ll stop at the store so I can make you some soup, and it will be like none of this happened.”
“You don’t have to do this, Audrey. I can make it home on my own, but I appreciate the offer.” It’s a hard pill to swallow, thinking I’m unfit to be a nurse before my career even begins. If Nurse Jones assumes I can’t find my way two miles down the road, I’m sure every other staff member of this hospital must see me in the same light.
4
Current Day - October 2018
Lostin my thoughts while staring at the deep blue sky, I turn my face away from the blinding sun, finding a man sitting beside me. My hand flies up to my chest, startled by his presence.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I had company and here I am gazing at the ocean like a seagull looking for a snack,” I say, my cheeks filling with warmth from embarrassment.
“It’s unnecessary to apologize. We should all take a minute to drink in this gorgeous scenery now and then. In fact, Makena seems to have most of her daydreams while sitting on the beach. It must be genetic,” the fellow says with a gentle smile.
“Oh, you know my granddaughter?” I ask the handsome gentleman. I don’t recall when this fellow arrived or who he is, but he seems very curious.
The man looks perplexed by my question, but I assume he understands what I’m asking since he mentioned Makena’s name.
“It’s me, Daniel,” he says. “I’m Makena’s husband.”
Husband.I spot my journal on the table in front of me and open it to the last page to find the notes I must have left for myself, but it’s difficult to make heads or tails of my chicken scratch. When did my penmanship become so sloppy?
“Oh yes, of course,” I say in response.
“I’ve been interviewing you for an article about Pearl Harbor’s seventy-fifth anniversary. If it’s too much, we can stop or take a break,” Daniel says. He’s so kind and sweet, but I don’t recognize him at all.
