"MRS CHRISTY" -- by Annie Glancey
   Mrs Christy was admitted to the ward in the late afternoon.  She was a frail, white haired old lady, who had broken her hip. 
   The hospital staff attached large bars to the end of her bed, which became something of a curiosity for the rest of us in the ward. The next day they were taken down, so we never did discover what they were for.
   For the first few days Mrs Christy dozed a lot, and did not appear to be aware of much.  The nurses attended to her bodily functions, fed her pills, and constantly pulled the curtains around her bed throughout the day.  She was quite vocal during these times - top and bottom.  If it were not the sounds of her bowels blasting and burbling, she would call out, or talk in a strange strangling tone of voice.
   One night she asked for a sedative, which  (according to the gossip) was incompatible with the medication she was on, and part of the reason that she began to ramble. Shouting out things like, “Who are you, get out of my house - no, certainly not, I’m too busy today” 
   Mika, the male patient in the bed next to her, (and the source of great humour in the ward), tried to make sense of things for her, but he had to abandon his efforts because she had completely lost the plot.
   During this period of rambling, she recalled many events of her past that kept us entertained, and on the strength of these events, we all decided that here was a lady of substance that lived in this frail body and wandering mind.  One who was not only accustomed to being in charge, but also a caring, loving human being. 
   Much later that night she rang the bell for the nurse.   About ten minutes went by before help arrived in the form of a very large, very slow moving Island orderly, but by this time Mrs Christy began to ramble again.
   The orderly stood quietly beside her bed as Mrs Christy tried to engage her in conversation.
   “Get back to bed dear,” Mrs Christy rambled kindly to the orderly, “you are not well enough to be walking about at this time of night,” thereby confusing her with the Samoan lady patient opposite.
   “You sleep now,” replied the orderly, and walked away.  Mrs Christy rang again and shouted out for a bed-pan.  She continued to call but no help appeared.  She finally shouted out – "Well if that’s the way you want it, you’ve got it !"
   A little later on, I heard her crying.  I rang my bell for the orderly, and along she came at a snail’s pace towards my bed.
   “The old lady is crying,” I informed her.
   A choked tone of voice cried out, “No, I’m not! I’m so angry because I’ve just wet the bed. What are you going to do about that!”  The orderly looked across at her quite unflustered and said, “Well don’t worry about it, it will be alright.”  She then picked up a magazine that was on a chair at the foot of my bed, and began her dawdle out of the ward.    Go to next page  VillagePRESS