#SundayStories - "Sad Annie"

Todays #SundayStories comes from the same great author as last week. A massive thank you to you.

The old hospital had seen many changes with areas and wards being renamed or refurbished for new technology since the beginning of the NHS in 1947. The Bury Hospital was no different. Wards that were styled in a dormitory fashion, with a matron at one end and a coal fire at the other were reformed into wards of expertise, followed by specialised units. How many people had been admitted or stayed is impossible to say but countless people ended their lives there. What is certain is the dedication of Nursing staff whose vocation was, and is, the driving force behind the best care they can offer.

We watch them work with absolute precision with their starched uniforms, reassured that they follow complex and abundant rules to ensure patient dignity and safety. What we don’t see are the unwritten procedures, the instinctive responses that the medical profession follow when it comes to death.

Nowhere in the rules does it instruct nurses to step back when a patient is reaching the end. There is something about their personal space where a tangible, invisible ‘something’

In order to run two hospitals from a live system, I was sent to an older hospital to transfer patients from paper diaries to the electronic option. This was an arduous task which had to take place outside of normal working hours.

Although the older hospital was adapted to receive very technical equipment it retained its older style windows, doors and decoration. The department, placed in the corner of the hospital, required few windows and thick, lead-lined walls. At one end of the department there was a locked door leading to second door which opened into a ward.

Many smaller clinic rooms were dotted around the inner walls of the three treatment rooms, between them cupboards with linen and a number of antiquated toilets. Chairs were placed in all available spaces to provide seating for waiting patients. Old metal screens with large wheels and floral fabric divided seated patients from those on gurneys.

During the day the area was filled with sound but silence fell quickly, like an invisible blanket as the last of the staff and cleaners collected their coats. They muttered as they proceeded down the corridor turning off lights and closing the door behind them. At the other end of the corridor through the ward linked door I could see nurses and catering staff pulling trays of supper from a large metal trolley. No sound was heard.

Not having any desire to spend the whole night so far from home I settled down to transfer the data, ticking check lists as I went along. I had been working under a solitary light for long enough to drink coffee and eat a banana when I heard someone crying. It was a quiet cry, one I imagined to be of sadness rather than harm. I looked up from my work trying to locate the sound but it stopped. I discounted it but there it was again- it was louder now and appeared to have moved.

My mind sparked into work mode with my first thought being that of distressed staff. I knew very few people here, I had no idea who it might be or why she may be crying. She must know I am here as I am tapping on the keypad. Perhaps she wants privacy, that’s it, I will give her space, let her come to terms with her problem alone.

Was it the situation that gave me a chill, or the dropping temperature? Whatever, I shivered. This time the crying was more urgent and my thoughts shifted from staff to patient. Nobody would leave a patient behind, everyone knows the drill, a patient is never left behind. What if ….. I should check.

Rising from my chair I tried to locate the sound in my head. I called out ‘Hello?’ but there was no reply. Systematically I opened doors hoping to find whoever this was and being unaware of the department I found myself entering cupboards and store rooms, toilets and darkened clinics hoping to reach the person. still calling as I went.

It’s funny how the sound of the large brass locks clunking shut seemed to make the department darker, two senses merging and creating fear. The crying now was ahead of me, in one of the treatment rooms. It had moved. Had it moved around me? Was it following me? I hadn’t felt it or seen it and now I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything about it. Fact was, I had no choice but to locate it so I walked into the treatment area along the winding entrance called the maze. Whoever this was could not leave without passing me and the crying was definitely in there.

My hand fumbled along the wall searching for the bank of light switches, pausing momentarily as I thought: perhaps I was mistaken, maybe this was two people and the sound wasn’t crying. Too late. The lights flickered on and the crying stopped. No one was there, no one person, or more than one person. The room was filled with a presence which I imagined was looking directly at me as I had turned on the light. I wanted to run.

Fear now set in, was it hostile? Was it behind me? Would it follow me? How do I get out? I calmly walked back through the maze leaving the lights switched on- this night the NHS would be paying for electricity! I tried to concentrate on turning lights on as I walked and collected my paperwork. If only to break the heavy silence I spoke out loud, apologising for disturbing her and offering to leave her in peace. By the time I reached the end of the corridor I was feeling physically sick and desperate to hear the crying again as this would confirm the distance between it and me, I looked over my shoulder expecting to see a face or feel a finger poking me in the back but there was nothing. My fear was not of the presence but of its attitude: as though it was equally shocked or invaded. It was encouraging me to leave swiftly and swiftly is how I left.

The car park was almost empty with my car parked under a tree, its leaves rustling in the wind. I was glad to drive away and not wishing to see a passenger in the rear-view mirror, I opened the windows, cranked up the music and hammered home.

The next day I tentatively relayed the event to colleagues over lunch. One of the staff that frequented the older hospital was biting into her sandwich as she said, ‘Oh that’s Annie. She used to be a matron when it was the old ward and is often seen or heard crying as she walks around. Did she see you to the door?’