I pulled the blue dress over my shoulders and then put on the white bib apron. The white belt was part of the package, as was a leather thong that would hold the key to be hidden in my pocket. My new white shoes gleamed as I gathered up my heavy navy cloak and headed out to the main building.
I was about to begin a course in mental health nursing.
It was a choice I made because of economics. I had planned to be a teacher, but one day as an assistant in a grade two class convinced me that it was not for me.
The hospital offered meals (at 30 cents per meal), a room over my head, about $80 a month (if my memory is correct) and a career opportunity.
And I loved the next few months. The mind is a curious thing and I was learning fascinating things about it. But the practical aspects of the job were a far greater learning experience.
I did learn to make a decent bed and change it when an incontinent patient had slept through her bathroom break. I learned to laugh or I would have cried over some of the sadder aspects, and I found that mental health is not only a problem among all ages but among all walks of life.
One day, I took a group that included a young 14 year old for a walk. On another occasion one of my patients was a school teacher I knew.
There were moments of delight as I got hugs from elderly patients who insisted I was their granddaughter, and moments of sheer terror when I realized a patient was missing from her bed and I found her spread eagled across the window (which luckily had a very heavy screen on it). And the walks after the three p.m. to 11 p.m. shift, in the dark, down long streets, with the voices of upset inmates crying out in the night, was not always conducive to a good night’s sleep.
One day, I walked into a new ward and took a tray to a patient I’d not seen. I chatted away as I spooned her dinner into her. I gently cleaned her face and walked out of the room.
“You fed Mrs. X?” a nurse enquired with surprise. “She’s hasn’t taken food from anyone in ages.”
I hadn’t known and somehow she had picked up on it. The next day my different knowledge must have changed my demeanor and she refused to eat for me. It tells me a lot about what people pick up on even if you aren’t aware of it.
I loved my six months at the mental hospital, but one day a beautiful diamond ring arrived at the post office. How could I resist? I put it on my finger and two months later I was headed east … for another adventure in my life.
