My office is right next door to the Staff Room. Handy yes, but the only time I go in there is when I need to wash out my coffee cup or heat up some lunch. I prefer to eat in calm of my office, because it's just too damn noisy in there.
Most times it's packed with people yakking about union politics, work frustrations or the latest fad diet. The only down side to my self-imposed seclusion is that I miss the odd great story from nurses who used to work on the wards. Often I'll arrive in the middle of tragedies, successes or purely hilarious tales.
I recently caught this narrative already in progress, whilst microwaving a frozen muffin:
So, the lady was dying and the son had accepted the fact. He approved the visit of a few of his mother's churchmates who showed up as a group late one evening. They stormed across the ward without checking in to the nursing desk and burst into her room. Unfortunately, they were minutes too late.
But that didn't matter to them. At full volume, waking the rest of the patients in the wing, we could hear:
"Clara! Clara Fisher! We command you to return to your body!"
Lights snapped on all over the ward as they continued for some time, ordering the poor woman who was now in the Great Beyond.
The son, who had had enough, stayed out of their way at the nursing desk. After some time, the elderly ladies finally resigned themselves that she was not in fact, returning and began to pack up their religous accoutrements.
"I'm sorry, I guess it didn't work" the nurse sympathetically told the son.
"I'm not surprised" he sighed.
"Her name is Barbara."
* Of course, I changed the real name of the patient
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