There were halogen strip lights on the ceiling of her office, one positioned directly over her head. As the meeting went on, as I batted back each of her suggestions with aplomb, I could see beads of perspiration ping on her forehead.
She ignored my comments and went ahead with her pathetic attempt to change some of our practices and, as I’d warned her, none worked. After a few days of chaos, things quietly went back to the way they’d been done before she flew in on her broom.
I’d made her look bad though, and she wasn’t the forgiving sort. She watched me, unaware I was watching her too, and because I’d been there so long, I was better at it. I had morals, of course, I would never hurt a patient in my care. But Pippa wasn’t a patient and she’d stupidly prodded the monster inside that I’d managed to keep asleep for so long.
I might have killed her if a different opportunity hadn’t presented itself.
We were often short-staffed on the ward, and multi-tasking was the norm, not the exception. One morning, after the handover from the night staff, I suggested, since we were once again short-staffed, that Pippa do the first medication round.
‘It will free up the rest of us to concentrate on patient care,’ I said, assuming my most dedicated nurse expression. I could almost feel the tension in the room as the other nurses, student nurses, and care assistants collectively held their breath.
Pippa had two choices… she could say no, she was too busy, or she could agree and bask in everyone’s approval. I could see the dilemma in her eyes. She should have said no, of course she should, but her need to be liked won the day. ‘Yes, good suggestion, I can do that.’
There were two sets of keys. I handed her one of them with a smile and left her to it. It wasn’t her first time to take over the round. I’d checked up on her then, and she’d made no errors, but I lived in hope.
It was a frantic morning, and it was after midday before I had a chance to check up on her. I flicked through the medication records without much expectation, my eyes widening to see her initials on the sheet I was looking at. According to it, Adam Frazer had had his medication that morning. Slightly difficult since the man had died during the night. The night staff should have removed the paperwork and his medication. That morning’s pills had been pressed from the cards and were nowhere to be seen.
There had been three admissions during the night, and Adam Frazer’s bed had already been filled. Had Pippa given the medication to the new occupant in that bed?
Pulling out my mobile, I took a couple of photographs then headed to Pippa’s office.
I knocked and pushed open the door without waiting for her say-so. She was sitting frowning at her computer screen and threw me an irritated glance before focusing on whatever she was doing. ‘Is it important?’ she asked. She hadn’t bothered, in the privacy of her office, to hide her dislike of me. I didn’t care; soon that dislike would be a stronger emotion, soon she’d hate me. And fear me perhaps.
‘I think you might find it important. I know the NMC would.’ The Nursing and Midwifery Council, the regulator for the nursing profession, keeps a register of all nurses. They also investigate any wrongdoings and would remove a nurse from the register if they were found guilty. The very mention of the NMC was enough to strike the fear of God into most nurses and had them evaluate and check everything they’d done or said in the previous days.
Pippa’s eyes flickered.
I took out my mobile. ‘I’ve something you need to see.’
The emotion that flitted across her face could have been irritation, it passed too quickly for me to be sure, and her face became an unreadable mask. ‘If you must,’ she said, sounding slightly bored.
‘Right.’ I held the screen towards her, showed her the signed medication sheet, flicking over to the drug cards with their telling gaps. ‘There you go, have a look.’ I kept my eyes fixed on her face, almost smiling to see her colour fade as the implications of them hit home.
‘You gave Mr Frazer’s medication to the new patient, didn’t you?’ I could almost see the cogs turning in her brain as she wondered if she could bluff it out or not.
‘What do you want?’
I had to give her credit. There was no attempt to explain away her actions. Nor did she give any credence to my less than subtle hint that the NMC would be interested in knowing about it. She knew I wanted more than to have her suspended pending an investigation which would undoubtedly have ended with her either being struck off or having restricted duties for the foreseeable. Neither would be good for her career. No, she knew I wanted something more.
I perched on the side of her desk and looked down at her. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing too awful, certainly nothing illegal. I simply want a quiet life, and by that I mean my choice of shifts, no criticism when I take a little longer for my breaks, no reporting to the HR department when I need a day’s sick leave. Things like that.’
Her face was a picture and I struggled to keep from grinning like a naughty child. Really, I wasn’t asking for much, but I knew, and she knew, it would undermine her authority to be seen to be giving me preferential treatment. Sadly, she didn’t have a choice.
There was no reason to wait for an answer, I had all the negotiating advantages after all, so I stood. ‘I’ll leave it with you then, eh?’
I closed the door gently behind me and went off for my lunch break. I wasn’t planning to rush back.
For the remainder of my time in the hospital, it amused me to push Pippa as far as I could. I took longer and longer breaks, took a sick day off each week, and generally did what I wanted. Luckily for Pippa, who had developed an obvious tremor when I was in her vicinity, this leeway didn’t satisfy my creeping dissatisfaction. A month after our arrangement began, I handed in my notice and took a position with a private nursing agency.
19
Creeping dissatisfaction was one reason I decided to leave the hospital. The other reason, as it always was, was money. The care home where my mother languished had changed hands two years before. The change of ownership coincided with the last of her money and the necessity for the state to step in and provide for her care. Or at least, the sum they considered acceptable. That it wasn’t sufficient to pay for the care where she was, was immaterial. The last of her savings paid the difference – the top-up fee – and her expenses for a year. After that, I had a choice, pay the sum myself or move her to a different home.
My thoughts on this hadn’t changed over the years, rather they had become more rigid. My mother would stay where she was. Initially, the top-up fee was set at £100 and wasn’t too burdensome. The following year, it jumped to £200. Still not too onerous. Unfortunately, when the home was taken over by a huge private care provider, this doubled to £400.
‘There are cheaper homes,’ Jason Brooks said when he rang me to discuss the matter.
There were. I’d looked at some of them. ‘No, I’ll cope, don’t worry.’ He no longer managed my mother’s affairs, but he kept in touch, and was happy to offer me his advice. Luckily, free of charge. I think he thought of himself as a father figure. I suppose he was. But not like mine – the solicitor was honest.