October - Chapter one

It didn’t feel like October, not one bit. More like March and more like the beginning of an era, instead of the end. Having said that, the gift left by my cat on the patio that evening was on the contrary. Cats do it as a sign of love and appreciation is what I’d read once. Animals cannot buy a box of chocolates or give flowers so they have to show their affection some other way, and although it may seem rotten or even cruel from our moral human perspective, our dear feline friend is merely showing us how much we mean to them. 1

I walked over to the limp red-breasted bird. Filthy feathers were scattered, surrounding the robin which laid flat, and legs sprawled, with it’s eyes open, still bearing a deadly terrified glimmer . How could the killing of such an innocent life be considered a kind gesture in any circumstance, or to any creature? It puzzled me. Just like it puzzled me the way water swirls around the drain hole the opposite way in Australia. I knew it was down to magnetic pulls and gravity, but I still didn’t understand it, nor did I want to. I lived with the thought, ‘ignorance is bliss;’ then again so is naivety. 2

I covered my hand in a clear plastic bag, bent down over the lifeless feathered bundle and cupped it and dropped it into the polythene. I stood looking at the body swinging in my hand, as if the bag was a noose and I was the sadistic bitch who battered the bird. It’s auburn breast mirrored the waning leaves which braced for the guidance of the autumnal breeze. I remained still, still like the blood of the robin, still like the knot tied in the top of the bag. I watched the liver -coloured clumps of feathers start to emigrate across the cold, hard patio, spreading and lifting gently. I wondered if they were going, perhaps, to the same place the startled robin’s soul had soared to, or if they were being carried to some hatchling who will one day face the same fate by another dutiful feline. Either way the realisation I was standing with a corpse in my hand was knocking me sick, so I threw it in the outside bin and scrubbed my hands three times, just to make sure any vile juices were gone. I shuddered in further thought of the flaccid body decomposing with the rest of the garbage as I headed upstairs to get changed. 3

I guess it felt more like the beginning of an adventure because today I was starting the job I’d been studying long and hard for. I’d spend two years at college and a further three years at university doing work placement after work placement to gain experience for the rest of my life. The rest of my life started today. I hated the work placements I’d been on, not because of the job involved, but because I was sick of being referred to as ‘work experience girl.’ More often than not my nickname was followed by blunt instruction such as “do this,” “fetch that” or “go there.” Now, I was an equal; now I could boss other work experience girls around because I had the qualifications; now I was earning a wage. 4

I’d recently received a letter congratulating me on my job. It outlined the ins and outs of what was expected of me, and what I should expect, as well as the date I was to start. That date was finally here. They’d sent me the uniform the week previous, so I’d look the part and be recognised as part of the team. I had to fill in a form with my exact measurements to ensure I got the right size. I remember thinking what a hassle it was wrapping a tape measure around every bump on my body. I felt hassled like at the theatre when just at best part of the production someone in the middle of the row needs a toilet break. I felt hassled like how we all have to stand up, or shuffle our legs to one side twice; once when they leave and again when they return. However, as I stood in front of the mirror I began to see the reason for the attention to detail and specific tailoring. I admired the reflection as a fully qualified nurse stared back. I smiled, and the nurse grinned back at me. 5

I was ready.6

I jolted downstairs two at a time in an almost nervous skip. I dashed into the kitchen, poured the remainder of my lukewarm coffee in the sink and placed the mug beside my cereal bowl that contained the remnants of soggy Weetabix. I couldn’t leave my house in the morning, regardless of whether I’m going to work, shopping or any other place without my Weetabix. 7

I remember as a child at the breakfast table watching each member of my family, and how we all prepared our food differently. I broke up the biscuits between my fingers into small chunks, then added lukewarm milk, about the same temperature of the coffee I’d thrown away that morning, and then mashed it up with the back of my spoon. I savoured every mushy mouthful. My brother and father on the other hand would break the biscuit in two, and pour on cold milk, straight from the fridge. The only difference was, my brother had a sweet tooth and insisted on toping his breakfast with a mountain of sugar. I’d watch him in disgust, and he’d simply stick out his sugar-coated tongue and confirm that I had a good reason to feel repulsed by him. My mother on the other hand never ate breakfast with us, she waited until we’d gone before she nibbled on her diet bar. 8

After checking twice the house was presentable for me to return to, I locked the door and climbed into my winter bitten car. I had set off early in case of any unforeseen hiccups that might occur on the way. I didn’t want to turn up late and flustered on my first day. Thankfully, I made it with ease to the hospital and followed directions for Osler Wing. As I clambered up the stack upon stack of rocky steps, it felt like I was leaving one world behind me, this October, and marching up into my future. I headed straight for reception. 9

“Hi, could you direct me to W ward please” I asked the women behind the desk eagerly. She looked up at me with bored brown eyes, pointed to a doorway on my right and in a monotonous voice mumbled “go straight through there, turn left and it’s the first door on your right.” Her mouth didn’t even seem to move during that entire sentence. I half expected a person to jump up from behind her, and baring a witty grin give me the genuine directions. Then I thought she maybe moonlighted as a hospital receptionist, but in the day she worked as a children’s ventriloquist, and she was practising on me. But as I felt her chestnut eyes pushing me through the door, I thought it was best to cooperate with the burning force. 10

The walls were an off-white, barely chipped with the words “W Ward” in bold sage green peering toward a small, round light fitting on the adjacent wall. As I reached out to the silver door handle, it jumped into hand, dragging the door with it. The Sister nurse proceeded through.11

“I…” I started. She held her disinfected hand out, “I’m Polly the Ward Sister here on W Ward, it’s Katelynn isn’t it?” “Yes” I agreed hesitantly. It wasn’t that I was unsure of my own name, I was just so surprised she knew my name. I was used to “oi you, work experience girl…”12

Polly took me through to her office where she spent a good 30 minutes explaining the basics to me from emergency hospital procedures to where to grab something to eat on my break. After allowing me to ask any further questions, she lead me back out onto the ward. 13

“Girls, and Tom” she announced like the voice over at the beginning of a concert. We strolled across to the nurses station and up to a group of eight neatly dressed women, and a tall, dark haired young man, around my age. It wasn’t unusual to have male nurses, however I couldn’t help wondering why there was only one gentleman working on this ward.14

“This is staff nurse Katelynn Redwood, she will be working with us on W Ward, please make her feel welcome because we want her to feel at home.” The girls looked and smirked at one another with a knowing glance. This worried me, like in a movie when you can see the masked murderer approaching the blonde girl from behind, but there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. I always worry if the girl will turn around in time. I hoped then the glances were mutual thoughts of how they were going to befriend me and show me the ropes, and not same glances the murder gave the girl the first time he set eyes on her.