Page 92 of Diving In
“You’re doing brilliantly,” I tell the mum of the latest admission as she comforts her child after I take blood.
Bleep.
My pager goes again.Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.
Walking past the vending machine, I spot the crying parent. She’s sitting on a plastic chair designed for a five year old, head in her hands. A pram is parked beside her, an empty crisp packet crushed under one wheel. When she looks up, her eyes are wet.
“It ate my two pounds.” Her laugh sounds borderline hysterical. “I know it’s stupid. It’s just… I’ve been here twelve hours. And I’m so tired, and so hungry… I just wanted a chocolate bar.”
“It’s not stupid,” I say. “I’ve wanted a tea all day.”
“I’d kill for a tea.”
“I can make you one,” I offer. “The staff room’s just around the corner.”
She starts to protest, and I shake my head. “It’s five minutes. If someone needs me, they’ll bleep me.”They’ll bleep me anyway, my brain adds helpfully. “Milk? Sugar?”
We walk the short corridor. I tap my card. The kettle squeals; the fluorescent light flickers.
“Thank you,” the woman whispers when I hand her the cup. “I’m so tired.”
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. We’re all tired in here. Tired is the house style.
The next time I sit down again, it’s four hours later. The creaky chair feels like the nicest thing I’ve touched all day. I pull off my mask, but the lines stay on my face like fingerprints and the skin behind my ears burns. My tea’s still there. Now very,verycold.
I let my head fall back against the wall and open my phone. There’s a text from this morning.
Theo:Can you come this weekend?
He’s working in Manchester for his two foundation years, and the pair of us have barely seen each other in the last few months. I rack my memory. I think the last time we spent a day together was at least two weeks ago. If not more. Not great when you’ve been dating for just over eighteen months.
I look back at my phone. There’s another text sent two hours later.
Theo:Kath?
Two hours after that.
Theo:Don’t worry I know it’s busy. Maybe another time.
The guilt comes on like a migraine. In fact, I think I might be getting a migraine. Or maybe I'm just very hungry and very tired… could be that.
I type:I’m sorry. It’s carnage. I’ll try for Manchester on Sat but the person on nights this weekend is off sick so who knows. I know we were meant to meet up. I miss you
I try to work out what else to say.
I just don’t know if I’ll be able to visit Theo even if I’m not working. I’m meant to be revising for an exam, and it’s taking up all my free time. Who knew that being an adult would come with this many exams? So much for finishing them all after finals.
Bleep.
And just like that, I’m back up again.
When I slip back into the office an hour later, my legs are threatening to give out. I still haven’t had my lunch, and it’s 3 p.m. My phone lights up as I pull it out.
Message not sent. Tap to try again.
Of course. I tap. The message finally sends. Poor Theo.
My phone buzzes.
