Violet Doughty's Story

VIOLET DOUGHTY’S STORY

It’s the smell that does it. Not just any smell, but one that draws memories from deep within. It’s a smell from the here and now, but also one from the past -a past long buried- and unwelcome in its return. Perhaps it was the carbolic soap, or the anaesthetic lingering in my system, which confused old with new, now with then. Forcing those painful memories back down, they disappear into the darkness for a while, but for how long until they return? I feel drowsy and soft sleep creeps over me like a comforting blanket. Snuggling down allows the closed lid of my ‘Pandora’s Box’ to sneak slowly open…until it’s too late to be shut again. Perhaps it was always too late, You can never deny the past, no matter how much you want to.

CHAPTER 1

1956.

A pale light penetrates into the gloom through a small window, this room is cold -or is it me as I shiver. The white enamel bowl with a blue rim is on the red-tiled floor, I am standing in it, naked and frightened. Furthermore I must be very young because my feet are so small. The long black skirt of the lady crouched beside me is marked by droplets of water, they distract me as they dribble away. The soap that is being rubbed into a cloth produces bubbles, these usually make me laugh…but not today. She uses the cloth to scrub my legs clean, it’s uncomfortable but nevertheless I’m mesmerized as the water turns pink, then darker still. This makes me cry, because the pink and the pain scare me. The lady with the cloth mutters to herself while quietly weeping and seems to be upset. Then I am wrapped in a blanket and put into my bed…

In an effort to stem the flow I open my eyes. But this does not help, because those pictures from my past are wanting to burst up and out, like air bubbles coming up from deep underwater. I don’t want to look anymore, but the picture show has only just begun. With Pandora’s box now open, it contrives to play out my past before me whether I like it or not.

Perhaps the inevitable should just be accepted, to look inside the box and then I will know what it really contains. But sadly, I’m conscious of who the woman was and those memories are so painful that maybe it would be best, if they are forgotten and left unseen. This makes me squeeze my eyes tightly shut forcing back the tears that are threatening to fall, because this is now and now is so far from then. With my operation over, I can look forward to getting well and perhaps face those memories another time, because at this moment it will be nice just to relax.

A cage has been placed underneath the top covers of the bedding. This (I have been told) will help the healing process and is also for comfort. In moving my right foot, I’m surprised to find this action is rather painful. Though my feet are hidden from view, it does not prevented me from feeling sensations. Carefully moving each foot, leaves me in no doubt that something is very wrong. Because my left foot is responding painfully and is not restricted by dressings, which it should be, whereas my right ankle…is! This makes me feel more than concerned...why my right ankle? Perhaps the surgeon had found that both ankles needed repairing and if that was the case, why are not both in restrictive dressings? This dilemma needs some explanation, so reaching for the bell I buzz for a nurse. I’m not normally impatient, but waiting for a nurse to respond seems to take forever, this only adds to my unease. Walking into the ward, the nurse pauses, looking around for the buzzer culprit, I wave her over to me.

‘How can I help you, Violet? Are you comfortable?’

Looking up in dismay, I hesitate but continue,

‘No, nurse, I’m afraid I’m not.’ The nurse looks intently at me before answering,

‘Oh. What seems to be the trouble? Are you in pain?’

‘Yes a little, but my problem is that I believe the operation has been carried out on the wrong ankle.’

Picking up the chart hanging from the end of my bed, the nurse quickly reads what is written there before saying,

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case but I will go and talk to Sister.’

‘It should have been my left ankle...that was the one in need of repair’ I reply, while trying to hold back the tears that are welling up.

‘I’m sure that Sister and the doctor will sort this out.’ Is her reply whilst clipping my notes back onto the end of the bed, with a sharp click, before turning and walking out of the ward.

All I know is that the surgery was to be on my left ankle, as it’s so painful when I have to put any weight on it, which makes walking extremely difficult. Again I gently move both feet, which only assures me that my assumption is right, as now both ankles are extremely painful. Laying back onto my pillows, I watch for the nurse to return but her continued absence makes me fidgety and unable to settle. On asking the remaining nurse if she has any news, she shakes her head and also leaves the ward.

At last, the nurse that I spoke to earlier returns, but initially keeps her distance, surreptitiously watching me. I watch her, until she walks over to me and fills my glass with water, after putting a pot containing two tablets down onto my tray. Then smiles reassuringly while saying,

‘These will help you relax as well as helping with the pain. Sister and a doctor will come and talk to you shortly’.

Her voice has now mellowed, but she won’t be drawn to any explanation herself. Momentarily it crosses my mind what are these pills really for? So gingerly swallow them as I tell myself not to be so silly. The nurse plumps my pillows and settles me back against them. Just as I think of a question to ask, she is gone again with a hurried,

‘Oh! Just look at the time, it won’t be long until the visitors start to arrive.’

Left alone, I settle back into the pillows, allowing my mind to reflect on what has happened. This situation is so worrying that my stomach seems all of a flutter, as if full of butterflies. But knowing that shortly it will be visiting time and I will be able to tell Freddie of my concerns, gives rise to a little relief. All these unanswered questions fill my mind, as I gaze around seemingly oblivious to my surroundings. I’m vaguely aware that my brain seems to have stopped doing a marathon, even though it senses that all is not well. My eyelids feel heavy, as if they need matchsticks to hold then up; then a warm drowsiness envelopes me, I cannot keep my eyes open, they slowly close.

Strange noises make me open my eyes. Sleepily looking around me, I’m drawn to the clock on the wall. The time is unbelievable, I can’t possibly have been asleep for so long. That operation must have knocked me for six, as not only had I missed visiting time but seeing Freddie as well. Why didn’t he wake me up? Then gathering my senses like errant sheep, because a noisy rattling heralds the arrival of the early morning tea trolley. The auxiliary nurse in charge of the urn is a round homely person, who tries to infuse some amusement into the morning, while dispensing her lukewarm brew. That first cup of tea revives me. Then a sprightly nurse enters the ward pushing the pill wagon before her, to dispense the prescribed medication to all her charges, which she does in a quick but efficient manner. This nurse gives me a big smile before inquiring,

‘Would you like any extra pain relief, my dear?’

‘Anything would be appreciated, thank you,’ Handing me the medication, the nurse and wagon continue on their circuit. In this lull, I reflect on the events of yesterday and hope that an answer will soon be forthcoming. I’m then distracted by the arrival of our breakfasts. My bowl of porridge is quickly eaten, as my stomach has been complaining that it had been far too long since my last meal.

Two jolly auxiliary nurses pull the green screens around my bed, informing me that it’s time for ablutions. At last! My curiosity can be satisfied. When the covers are removed, I stare down at my right ankle and foot, now swathed in dressings. The left ankle just looks white, forlorn and twisted. I shudder and know that now I do need answers. When these two nurses have remade the bed, they move onto the next patient.

My mind seems rooted to this horrid situation that I’m caught up in, the hospital staff have had more than enough time to look into my case notes. Why it is taking them so long to come and talk to me? It is not me who has made a mistake. This silence makes me feel resentful, as it is not very nice having to rely on others at the best of times and being stuck in this bed leaves me feeling terribly vulnerable.

Just as I struggle to move upright, the Sister finally arrives, accompanied by a young doctor. They both walk straight over to me and Sister pulls the screens around my bed. I’m not quite shut off from the ward, as sounds from the other patients can still be heard. This makes me feel hidden, cocooned. They both look serious causing my apprehension to return. I look from one to the other, the doctor looks down at his notes, then clears his throat,

‘Ah! Yes, Mrs Doughty how are you today?’

‘Not so good doctor, I’m worried that you have operated on the wrong ankle.’

The doctor again looks down at his notes, then continues,

‘The first thing is... the right ankle was operated on.’ I interrupt him,

‘But it should have been the left.’

We all look at each other. The Sister attempts a weakly smile at me, eyes apologetic, as the doctor nervously rushes on.

‘We are very careful about following strict procedures before and during an operation, but there seems to have been a regrettable…’

His words are suddenly cut short by Sister tapping his arm and frowning, interrupting his speech by saying,

‘Oh, I am sorry Doctor, but I must add that our hospital prides itself on its care to our patients and towards yourself Mrs Doughty.’ I butt in,

‘How will this affect my ability to walk when I leave hospital?’

The doctor opens and closes his mouth, looking embarrassed, then hesitatingly continues.

‘There is a strong probability…because of the nature of this operation, that your ability to walk unaided has been…diminished. Perhaps the use of a wheelchair…’

These stark facts make me go cold, then scared, my breath escapes in a sob, because the hope that I will walk again has been cruelly dashed. Now it’s the grim truth -that I will be wheelchair bound forever. My eyes close, and I sink into a darkness, which makes the remainder of the doctor’s words sound as if they are being spoken from behind the screens that separate me from the rest of the ward. Pandora’s Box and its secrets, are as nothing to this…

CHAPTER 2

1909.

On opening my eyes I’m confused by the tall white walls around me. Where am I? There is only one bed in this small room and it’s not my bed. There is a cupboard next to a sink and a chair. ‘Why am I not in my own bedroom?’ Having no answer to this and the pain in my tummy, makes me feel afraid. Suddenly the sun lights up the room as it peeps in through the tall curtain-less window, reflecting its glow onto the white walls. But this doesn’t make me feel brighter, all I want to do is cry, but somehow the tears won’t come. The door unexpectedly opens, making me jump. Someone walks over to my bed and I look up into a smiling face. It’s a lady in a blue dress and a white apron, but she’s got a funny white hat on her head.

‘Where am I? Where is Mama and why am I here?’

‘That’s a lot of questions for a wee girl. You’re in hospital, I’m a nurse and you’re here to get well. Violet, drink this and then I’ll go and get you something to eat.’

Sitting me up, she hands me the cup.

‘What’s this?’

‘Something to help you get well, so drink it up -it won’t kill you.’

Sniffing it cautiously I drink it anyway as I’m thirsty. Taking the cup from me the nurse turns to leave the room.

‘Please don’t go! I don’t want to be alone,’ This causes me to cry,

‘Why isn’t my Mama here? I want to go home.’

‘Oh you poor wee thing, your mama can’t be here and I’m afraid that you must stay with us until you’re better.’

Gathering me in her arms she hugs me, then hands me a handkerchief. With my tears dried, the nurse gets up and smiles before crossing the room. The door closes behind her. I stare at the door until it is clear that she is not coming back.

‘Oh why isn’t Mama here?’ I ask Bursey, as now feeling rather worried. He just sadly looks back at me with his black eyes shining in the sunlight. Picking him up I give him a hug, while burying my face in his brown fur, it’s softness feels nice. The cuddly nurse returns after a while with a plate of toast and a glass of milk. Being hungry, it disappears very quickly.

‘Well you were a thirsty fish, weren’t you my girl? You need to eat to keep your strength up. Ah, now what do you call your little rabbit? He looks awfully sweet.’

‘His name is Bursey Rabbit and he is my special friend.’

‘He looks like a grand rabbit to have as a friend, you must love him a lot?’

Picking up Bursey the nurse cuddles him but hands him back before leaving the room. Tiredness and my hurting tummy makes me lay still and talk to Bursey. He knows a lot of things but doesn’t talk about them, not to anybody, he says it’s best to forget.

Today the cuddly nurse brought some strange people in to see me, a very tall man and two women. They seemed to fill the room, blocking out the sunlight. They ask a lot of questions, it is all very frightening. One of the woman is writing things in a little book that she is holding. The tall man looked so fierce when asking me things and he expected me to answer everything, but I could not remember.

‘No, I didn’t know who it was. I was asleep. No, Yes,’

They were scaring and confusing me, they whispered to each other, then asked more questions.

‘Where was your mama?’

‘I don’t know, maybe downstairs.’

All I want them to do is go away and stop their questions. These make me cry, my crying got louder, the cuddly nurse then asks them to leave, which they do.

Sometimes the cuddly nurse comes in with a man wearing a white coat. Always asking how I am feeling and if the pain in my tummy is better. He is nice but he has cold hands. The only other person who comes in a lot is the cleaning lady. She has a duster and sometimes pretends to dust me, this makes me laugh. But I don’t laugh much as I want to go home, or do I? A doubt has crept into my mind, because now I’m not so sure; though I do miss my Mama.

Now being allowed to get up I can look out of the window, (which is closed) and when pressing my face against the glass, it feels cold and smooth on my cheek. Outside there isn’t much to look at, only grass and high brick wall. A few trees grow in the garden and sometimes the blackbirds would bounce along the grass, then stop to peck at something in the ground. But I did wonder if I had been naughty because on turning the door handle, the door wouldn’t open. Mama would lock me in my bedroom when she said I’d been a naughty girl. Had I been?

The cuddly nurse is kind, she brings me books to read and they help pass the time. The pain in my tummy has gone away and I feel better, but I am so lonely here and often wonder why my Mama never comes to see me. When I ask, I’m told that she cannot visit at the moment but perhaps later on. My Papa, I know is away in another country and had been for a long, long time. He is a Royal Marine and has to spend a lot of time away from us. It is now that I get a feeling that I am not wanted, as no one else comes to see me. Then everything suddenly changed when the cuddly nurse came in to tell me that I am going to live in a new home, where there will be other girls for company and I will be looked after.’