By Wayne Harris-Wyrick (Prompt: sound-smell-taste)
Sometimes, it seem like my experience in ICU/CCU is wasted. My third cup of coffee in the two and a half hours since midnight shift started was all that kept me awake. Sharing the shift with Bigmouthed Rachael, the chattiest nurse this side of the Pacific, didn’t make my mood better. She never let a moment of silence go unpunished.
“Did you know,” said Rachael as we sat in the call station monitoring telemetry, charting the night’s activities so far, “that this building used to be part of an old nunnery? This building was actually the nun-nurses dormitory, before it was changed to the NICU and labor/delivery ward.”
One thing you should know about Rachael, she rarely told you a story only once. “Let me guess,” I said with a sigh, “is this the one about the nun who got pregnant by the OB doctor?”
“No, Callie!” she said shaking her head. “There was a nun who died about 60 years ago, or maybe a hundred years ago, I forgot.”
That may be a first. Rachael never forgets any details of her stories.
“Anyway, she used to tend the convent garden. She loved to grow roses, all different colors. She always brought in large bunches of roses to the families of those who died. But they say her favorite was lavender flowers. She had an entire wing of garden just for lavender. She used the dried flowers as a spice in the kitchen, but mostly she put large bouquets in every patient’s room.” She accented this by putting imaginary sprigs of lavender in imaginary vases. “Mildred always said that the smell lavender could help cure any disease. Did I mention her name was Mildred?”
I should have guessed it was about Mildred. She hadn’t told that story in a while.
“And you know what? To this day, whenever a mother is having a particularly tough delivery or a child comes in preemie or sickly, you can smell lavender in the room. You can actually smell it all over the ward.”
She sat back in her chair with a smug look. Or perhaps the look of someone who had bitten into a particularly strong lemon. It was sometimes hard to tell with Rachael if she was smiling or puckering her lips. Must confuse the hell out of her husband, I thought.
Suddenly a call alarm came on. Eager to escape the conversation, I quickly looked to see which room light was on. Room 10. I shook my head and looked again. “Room 10? Isn’t that the storage room?” I asked. “How can there be a call from there?
“It’s a storage room now,” Rachael said, “but it used to be a patient room. In fact, that’s supposed to be the room where Mildred died.” Rachael shuddered. “I’ve heard stories about how creepy that room is from the other nurses. But I never believed in those silly, old ghost stories.”
“What about now?” I asked. “Still don’t believe in ghosts?” I didn’t either; there had to be a logical reason for this. “Is there still a call button in the room?”
“The wall panel for the patient bed is still there, but there’s nothing plugged into it,” Rachael bit her lip. “I’ve been told that there isn’t even any power to that panel, that the breaker is turned off. Only the overhead light in there still works.”
“That explains it,” I said, standing up. “Someone must have flipped that breaker back on and the janitor dropped something against and shorted out the call button wiring.” Let’s go see if we can turn it off.”
We started down the hallway, past the nursery and the two rooms occupied by mothers whom the doctors expect will have difficult deliveries. Halfway down, we heard…I’m not sure how to describe it. A thunk, a doorknob turning and the sound of a heavy, rusty-hinged door opening. “What was that?” I asked, out loud, but more to myself than to Rachael.
She stopped and her face drained of its color. “The end of this hallway used to be the door between the convent and the hospital. It was removed and the wall put in years ago, long before I started here. Maybe…maybe Mildred is coming back.”
I continued walking and when I reached the storage room, I saw that not only was the panel unpowered, it was not even there. It had been removed. “Look, Rachael.” I turned around and she wasn’t there. I stuck my head back in the hallway. “Oh, come here. The panel had been removed. Probably some mice in the walls have nested in the wiring.”
She stood, still frozen in place halfway down the hallway. “What about the door?”
I looked around and saw an old mop bucket. I lifted the handle and heard its rusty complaint. Just then Rachael hurried into the room. I guess her feet started working again when I disappeared into the storage area. “Look, the handle of the bucket just fell. That’s all,” I said.
Rachael raised her nose and sniffed. “Lavender! Mildred must be around. One of the babies must be worse than we thought.”
I pointed to the various sprays and cleaning solutions. “We’re just smelling the fragrances in these solutions. It just smells vaguely flowery,” I said. “Mildred isn’t coming to see us.
We went back to the station and turned the alarm off. “I’ll ask building maintenance to look into that tomorrow.” I put my hand on her shoulder to try and calm her shaking.
Although the Room 10 alarm went off three more times, the rest of our shift was quiet, until at 6:14. One of the nursery alarms went off. We ran in to see baby Heather’s machines flashing red. “Get the call doctor up here now. Code Red!” I yelled.
Within minutes, the doctor was there. Rachael and I took turns ferrying supplies. I had Rachael call the mother, who arrived in a panic 20 minutes later.
“What’s going on?” she screamed.
But the doctor shook his head. “Time: 7:02 a.m. The mother collapsed to the floor on her knees.
“Oh my God! Look!” Rachael whispered, pointing to the ceiling. Thousands of tiny purple petals rained down, filling the room with the smell of lavender. Even the mother’s sobs quieted for a second as she watched the flowers cover the floor.
The silence was punctuated, by a tiny sob. As we all stared at the infant, it kicked and let out a loud scream. Quickly, the doctor went back to work.
The child pulled through fine and was able to leave three days later. “A miracle,” the doctor said.
The scent of lavender faded away after a few days, but the memory has stayed with me all these years. Now, as an old woman, I lay in my own hospital bed. I am tired of the struggle, my will is defeated. As I look at the ceiling of the hospital room and a single, red rose petal falls.
Sometimes, it seem like my experience in ICU/CCU is wasted. My third cup of coffee in the two and a half hours since midnight shift started was all that kept me awake. Sharing the shift with Bigmouthed Rachael, the chattiest nurse this side of the Pacific, didn’t make my mood better. She never let a moment of silence go unpunished.
“Did you know,” said Rachael as we sat in the call station monitoring telemetry, charting the night’s activities so far, “that this building used to be part of an old nunnery? This building was actually the nun-nurses dormitory, before it was changed to the NICU and labor/delivery ward.”
One thing you should know about Rachael, she rarely told you a story only once. “Let me guess,” I said with a sigh, “is this the one about the nun who got pregnant by the OB doctor?”
“No, Callie!” she said shaking her head. “There was a nun who died about 60 years ago, or maybe a hundred years ago, I forgot.”
That may be a first. Rachael never forgets any details of her stories.
“Anyway, she used to tend the convent garden. She loved to grow roses, all different colors. She always brought in large bunches of roses to the families of those who died. But they say her favorite was lavender flowers. She had an entire wing of garden just for lavender. She used the dried flowers as a spice in the kitchen, but mostly she put large bouquets in every patient’s room.” She accented this by putting imaginary sprigs of lavender in imaginary vases. “Mildred always said that the smell lavender could help cure any disease. Did I mention her name was Mildred?”
I should have guessed it was about Mildred. She hadn’t told that story in a while.
“And you know what? To this day, whenever a mother is having a particularly tough delivery or a child comes in preemie or sickly, you can smell lavender in the room. You can actually smell it all over the ward.”
She sat back in her chair with a smug look. Or perhaps the look of someone who had bitten into a particularly strong lemon. It was sometimes hard to tell with Rachael if she was smiling or puckering her lips. Must confuse the hell out of her husband, I thought.
Suddenly a call alarm came on. Eager to escape the conversation, I quickly looked to see which room light was on. Room 10. I shook my head and looked again. “Room 10? Isn’t that the storage room?” I asked. “How can there be a call from there?
“It’s a storage room now,” Rachael said, “but it used to be a patient room. In fact, that’s supposed to be the room where Mildred died.” Rachael shuddered. “I’ve heard stories about how creepy that room is from the other nurses. But I never believed in those silly, old ghost stories.”
“What about now?” I asked. “Still don’t believe in ghosts?” I didn’t either; there had to be a logical reason for this. “Is there still a call button in the room?”
“The wall panel for the patient bed is still there, but there’s nothing plugged into it,” Rachael bit her lip. “I’ve been told that there isn’t even any power to that panel, that the breaker is turned off. Only the overhead light in there still works.”
“That explains it,” I said, standing up. “Someone must have flipped that breaker back on and the janitor dropped something against and shorted out the call button wiring.” Let’s go see if we can turn it off.”
We started down the hallway, past the nursery and the two rooms occupied by mothers whom the doctors expect will have difficult deliveries. Halfway down, we heard…I’m not sure how to describe it. A thunk, a doorknob turning and the sound of a heavy, rusty-hinged door opening. “What was that?” I asked, out loud, but more to myself than to Rachael.
She stopped and her face drained of its color. “The end of this hallway used to be the door between the convent and the hospital. It was removed and the wall put in years ago, long before I started here. Maybe…maybe Mildred is coming back.”
I continued walking and when I reached the storage room, I saw that not only was the panel unpowered, it was not even there. It had been removed. “Look, Rachael.” I turned around and she wasn’t there. I stuck my head back in the hallway. “Oh, come here. The panel had been removed. Probably some mice in the walls have nested in the wiring.”
She stood, still frozen in place halfway down the hallway. “What about the door?”
I looked around and saw an old mop bucket. I lifted the handle and heard its rusty complaint. Just then Rachael hurried into the room. I guess her feet started working again when I disappeared into the storage area. “Look, the handle of the bucket just fell. That’s all,” I said.
Rachael raised her nose and sniffed. “Lavender! Mildred must be around. One of the babies must be worse than we thought.”
I pointed to the various sprays and cleaning solutions. “We’re just smelling the fragrances in these solutions. It just smells vaguely flowery,” I said. “Mildred isn’t coming to see us.
We went back to the station and turned the alarm off. “I’ll ask building maintenance to look into that tomorrow.” I put my hand on her shoulder to try and calm her shaking.
Although the Room 10 alarm went off three more times, the rest of our shift was quiet, until at 6:14. One of the nursery alarms went off. We ran in to see baby Heather’s machines flashing red. “Get the call doctor up here now. Code Red!” I yelled.
Within minutes, the doctor was there. Rachael and I took turns ferrying supplies. I had Rachael call the mother, who arrived in a panic 20 minutes later.
“What’s going on?” she screamed.
But the doctor shook his head. “Time: 7:02 a.m. The mother collapsed to the floor on her knees.
“Oh my God! Look!” Rachael whispered, pointing to the ceiling. Thousands of tiny purple petals rained down, filling the room with the smell of lavender. Even the mother’s sobs quieted for a second as she watched the flowers cover the floor.
The silence was punctuated, by a tiny sob. As we all stared at the infant, it kicked and let out a loud scream. Quickly, the doctor went back to work.
The child pulled through fine and was able to leave three days later. “A miracle,” the doctor said.
The scent of lavender faded away after a few days, but the memory has stayed with me all these years. Now, as an old woman, I lay in my own hospital bed. I am tired of the struggle, my will is defeated. As I look at the ceiling of the hospital room and a single, red rose petal falls.