The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

18

The district nurse, 42-year-old Jeanette Spears, had been very disapproving when Dr Lumbogo asked her to visit a healthy woman who wouldn’t get out of bed.

As she drove her little Fiat car towards the respectable district where Mrs Eva Beaver lived, small tears of self-pity misted her spectacles, which looked as though they had been dispensed by an optician sympathetic to the Nazi aesthetic. Nurse Spears did not allow herself feminine embellishment – there was nothing to soften the hard life she had chosen for herself. The thought of a healthy woman wallowing in bed made her sick, it really did.

Jeanette was up, showered, uniform on, bed made, lavatory Harpic’d, and downstairs by 7 a.m. Any later and she began to panic – but, sensibly, she kept brown paper bags in strategic places, and after a few inhalations and exhalations she was soon tickety-boo again.

Mrs Beaver was her last patient. It had been a difficult morning: Mr Kelly with the severely ulcerated legs had begged her for some stronger pain relief but, as she had told him time and time again, she could not give him morphine. There was a clear and present danger that he could become addicted.

Mr Kelly’s daughter had shouted, ‘Dad’s ninety-two!

Do you think he’s going to end up in a squat, injecting heroin into his fucking eyeballs?’

Jeanette had snapped her nursing bag shut and left the Kelly household without dressing his legs. She would not be sworn at, nor would she listen to a patient’s relatives telling her how to do her job.

She used fewer palliative care drugs than any other district nurse in the county. It was official. Written down. She was very proud of that fact. But she couldn’t help thinking that there ought to have been a ceremony with a plaque or cup handed to her by a VIP from the Regional Health Authority – after all, she must have saved them tens of thousands of pounds over the years.

She drew up outside Eva’s house and sat for a moment. She could tell a lot from the exterior of a patient’s home. It was always encouraging to see a flourishing hanging basket.

There was no hanging basket in Eva’s porch. However, there was a bird feeder with splodges of bird droppings underneath on the black and white tiled floor. There were unrinsed milk bottles on the step. Leaflets for pizza, curry and Chinese takeaways had been blown into the corners together with dead sycamore leaves. The coconut-fibre mat had not been shaken for some time. A terracotta plant saucer had been used as an ashtray.

To Nurse Spears’ disgust the front door was slightly open. She rubbed the brass doorknob with one of the antibacterial wipes she always carried in her pocket. She could hear male and female laughter coming from upstairs. She pushed the door open and went in. She climbed the stairs and headed towards the laughter. Nurse Spears could not remember the last time she had laughed aloud. The bedroom door was ajar, so she knocked and went straight in.

There was a glamorous woman in the bed, wearing a grey silk camisole and pale-pink lipstick. She was holding a bag of Thorntons Special Toffee. A younger man was sitting on the bed, chewing.

Jeanette announced, ‘I’m Jeanette Spears, I’m the community nurse. Dr Lumbogo asked me to call. You are Mrs Beaver?’

Eva nodded. She was trying to free a lump of toffee from a wisdom tooth with her tongue.

The man on the bed got to his feet. ‘I’m the window cleaner,’ he said.

Jeanette frowned. ‘I see no ladder, no bucket, no chamois leather.’

‘I’m not on duty.” he said, with difficulty – due to the toffee. ‘I’ve come to see Eva.’

And bring her a gift of toffee, I see,’ said Nurse Spears.

Eva said, ‘Thank you for coming, but I’m not ill.’

‘Have you undergone medical training?’ asked Nurse Spears.

‘No,’ said Eva, who could see where this exchange was leading. ‘But I’m fully qualified to have an opinion about my own body, I’ve been studying it for fifty years.

Nurse Spears had known that she would not get on with anybody in this household. Whoever put those unrinsed milk bottles on the step was clearly a monster.

‘Your notes tell me you intend to stay in your bed for at least a year.’

Eva could not take her eyes off Nurse Spears, who was buttoned up, belted, shiny clean and looked like a wizened child in school uniform.

‘I’ll get out of your way. Thanks for listening, Eva. I’ll see you tomorrow I know you’ll be in,’ Peter said, laughing.

When he’d gone, Nurse Spears unbuttoned her navy gaberdine coat. ‘I’d like to examine you for pressure sores.’

Eva said, ‘There are no sores. I apply cream to the pressure points twice a day.’

What do you use?’

‘Chanel body lotion.’

Nurse Spears could hardly conceal her contempt. Well, if you want to throw your money away on such an extravagance, go ahead.’

‘I will.” said Eva. ‘Thank you.’

There was something about Nurse Spears that disturbed Eva. She sat up straight in bed and tried to look cheerful.

‘I’m not ill,’ she said again.

‘Not physically ill, perhaps, but there must be something wrong with you. It’s certainly not normal to want to stay in bed for a year, chewing toffees, is it?’

Eva had a couple of chews on her toffee and said, ‘Forgive my bad manners, would you like some?’ She proffered the bag of Thorntons.

Nurse Spears hesitated, then said, ‘Perhaps a small piece.’

After a thorough physical examination – during which the nurse ate two more quite large lumps of toffee (it was unprofessional of her, but she had always been comforted by confectionery) – she carried out a mental health evaluation.

She asked, What is today’s date?’

Eva thought for a moment, then admitted that she didn’t know.

‘Do you know what month we’re in?’

Are we still in September, or is it October?’

Nurse Spears said, ‘We’re in the third week of October.’ Then she asked if Eva knew the name of the current Prime Minister.

Again, Eva hesitated. ‘Is it Cameron…? Or is it Cameron and Clegg?’

Nurse Spears said, ‘So, you’re not certain who the British Prime Minister is?’

Eva said, ‘I’ll go for Cameron.’

‘You have hesitated twice, Mrs Beaver. Are you aware of day-to-day events?’

Eva told Nurse Spears that she used to be very interested in politics and would often watch the parliamentary channel in the afternoon when she was ironing. It enraged her when apathetic non-voters maintained that all politicians were ‘in it for what they could get’. She would lecture them in her head on the importance of the democratic process, and would stress the long and tragic history of the fight for universal suffrage – telling them, erroneously, that a racehorse had died for the vote.

But since Iraq, Eva had been vociferous in her condemnation of the political class. Her language on the subject was not measured. Politicians were ‘lying, cheating, warmongering bastards’.

Nurse Spears said, ‘Mrs Beaver, I’m afraid I’m one of your despised apolitical non-voters. Now, I’d like to take some blood, for Dr Lumbogo.’

She wrapped a tourniquet around Eva’s upper arm, and took the cap off a large syringe. Eva looked at the needle. The last time she’d seen one that size had been on a documentary about hippopotamuses in Botswana, and the hippo had been sedated.

Nurse Spears said, ‘Sharp scratch.” then the small mobile phone she wore on her belted uniform dress vibrated. When she saw Mr Kelly’s number, she was incensed. While still drawing blood from Eva she used one hand to put the call on speaker.

The first sound that Eva heard was a man screaming as though he were being burned alive.

Then a woman came on the line and yelled, ‘Spears? If you are not back here in five minutes with sufficient morphine to control Dad’s pain.’ I’ll put a pillow over his face! And I’ll kill him!’

Nurse Spears said, quite calmly, ‘Your father has had the correct quota of Tramadol for his age and condition. Any more opiates could result in over-sedation, coma and death.’

‘That’s what we want!’ shouted the woman. We want him out of it. We want him dead!’

And that would be patricide and you would go to prison. And I have a witness here with me.’

Nurse Spears looked at Eva and waited for her to nod.

Eva leaned towards the phone and shouted, ‘Send for an ambulance! Take him to Accident and Emergency. They’ll control his pain and ask Nurse Spears why she’s left a patient in such agony.’

Mr Kelly’s screams down the phone were unbearable. Eva’s heart was beating as fast as a clockwork drummer.

Nurse Spears pushed the needle further into Eva’s arm, jerked it free and simultaneously terminated the call.

Eva gave a shout of pain. ‘You could be in a lot of trouble. Why won’t you give him what he needs?’

Nurse Spears said, ‘Blame Harold Shipman. He killed over two hundred patients with morphine. We professionals have to be cautious now’

Eva said, ‘I can’t bear it.’

Nurse Spears said, ‘I’m paid to bear it.’