Spare Beds

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Spare beds

I smoothed over the creases on the blue knitted material, another bed made for the morning work. Just as I had started to assemble another bed an echo of my name was called; the summoning was ignored, until my name was called once again. You were never left to do your job, always interrupted by a grovelling patient or an overworked, underpaid manager. No wonder the hospital was failing miserably. The manager Mike strolled towards me in his brisk gate. I said ‘Yes, Mike?’ he replied in a low monotone, ‘Betty, there is an emergency meeting in my office, come immediately’, I was obliged to follow after him.

Wasn’t good enough apparently, the death rate has increased last few months, not that its anyone’s fault accept the patients. If people were more careful with themselves surely it would prevent them from becoming ill in the first place? Obviously not a theory that Mike agreed with, in fact he considered it complete nonsense. He said that illness was natural, that nurses weren’t cleaning up properly and passing on M.R.S.A. Well, I had always been hygienic so it was far from my fault that he employed dull nurses that walk among these wards without a clue.

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Back to making beds, Mike took me for granted, he didn’t realise what a valuable worker I was. If I didn’t enjoy this job so much I think I would leave this godforsaken hospital once and for all. Shift was nearly over anyway, I would get home, have a mug of hot chocolate and watch a bit of television. The clock shifted and my work for the day had come to an end, I grabbed my coat for the cold bus journey home, no doubt it would be delayed.  

Fade to black

The next morning at the ...

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