“All right,” came a reluctant response.
A nurse was with Barbara when she entered. “Good morning, Doctor.I’m just finishing here.” She rolled her eyes for Marion to see, then muttered, “It’s one of those mornings. Full moon or something.”
That could mean practically anything in a place like this, Marion thought, pulling a chair to Barbara’s bedside.
“How are you feeling today?”
“I’m awfully concerned, Dr. Hart. They say I am to have a roommate soon. I don’t want a roommate.”
“Most people here have roommates. The hospital is undergoing changes,” Marion said, trying not to say too much and send Barbara reeling. “We talked about this before, remember? We are moving from this facility to more open-community health centres, and the administration is now moving patients around to make that possible. I know you don’t like change, but you’ve been fortunate so far.”
Reasoning didn’t help. Barbara’s eyes shone. “What if she and I don’t get along?”
Marion would have to monitor the situation. Barbara had been doing well recently, not showing acute signs of anxiety, but her stricken expression was a little concerning.
“Barbara, I have not met your new roommate yet, but they would not put her with you if they do not believe you would be a good match. I understand it can be an anxious time, meeting new people, but you have gotten very good at managing your emotions lately. Should we talk about this some more?”
“No. I’m all right.” She exhaled heavily. “I was thinking I might join the art therapy class this afternoon.”
“That would be an excellent activity for you. Some others have found it to be extremely helpful. I am looking forward to seeing what you create.”
Barbara scowled. “I said I wasthinkingabout it. I don’t need added pressure from you.”
Next on Marion’s rounds was Alice Sumner. The young woman sat on her bed, sunlight beaming onto her, and yet Alice had draped an unfolded newspaper over her head. She seemed annoyed.
“Some weather we’re having,” she said, clearly put out. “I think there’s a leak in my ceiling. See it?”
The room was bone-dry. “Someone once said that ‘into every life a little rain must fall,’?” Marion prompted gently.
“?‘Some days are dark and dreary.’ Longfellow. That’s who said it.”
Marion knew that, but she also knew Alice liked to show off. She might be unhappy with the current state of the weather, but Marion was pleased with how her thoughts were staying on track.
“Why, you’re right,” she said. “Thank you, Alice. How are you feeling today?”
“Wet.”
“Warm enough?” Wary of Alice’s fists, Marion carefully tugged a blanket over the woman’s lap. Her fingers clamped onto its edge like claws.
“Nurse Agnes said we are having chocolate pudding later.”
“That sounds delicious. Do you like chocolate pudding?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to art therapy today? I understand Barbara might go as well.”
As she’d hoped, Marion saw a solemn clarity settle over the girl’s expression. Alice liked to talk about what she knew, and she liked to suggest that she knew a lot. That was fine. Anything that kept Alice in the real world was helpful.
“I believe, Dr. Hart, that once Barbara sets her creative mind free through the medium of art, she will feel relief. I have experienced a similar awakening, you see.”
Beyond impressed with her patient’s sudden lucidity, Marion pretended to flip through Alice’s chart and write something down. The shift in her dosage must be helping. Her awareness and empathy suggested the group therapy was doing what it was supposed to do as well.
“Very perceptive, Alice. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”
The newspaper on Alice’s head lowered slowly, then she blinked at her window. “Looks like the rain stopped.”
“It has.”
