Fleur is a pediatric oncology nurse, seen by her colleagues as an eccentric traditionalist devoted to her faith. But as the pressures of an understaffed ward mount, her private, righteous convictions take a dark turn. Note to Readers: This short story delves into dark psychological and religious themes, including acts of violence and moral distortion. Please read with care.
On days like these, with two nurses on the wards instead of three, the feeling in her feet at the end of her shift was a more reliable indicator than the pedometer on her phone. Anna frequently called in sick on Mondays. Tomorrow she would probably tell us all about yesterday’s festival. Arriving early, Fleur’s shift began at 7 am, and she often worked an extra hour. In the locker room in the basement, Fleur took off her dress. Fleur bought her bullet bra from Etsy; she made the petticoat to go underneath the dress herself. Her co-workers hardly noticed this old-fashioned fashion-style. Ever since she started working here, Fleur had been wearing vintage clothes.
Very few of her work ‘friends’ had visited Fleur’s house. Those who did came back with exaggerated stories about the stuff in her house. “Her kitchen is a replica of a kitchen in 1954, with no dishwasher, microwave-oven or Coffee pod machine to be seen.” “It is like stepping into a fifties museum.” “It’s rather eerie how clean everything is.”
Fleur was open about her faith. She called herself a Proverbs 31-woman. Often, she would quote the wisdom of King Lemuel’s mother regarding the Wife of Noble Character. She included the verse and number, of course, for fact-checking reasons. A lot of her co-workers looked down on the very traditional values Fleur breathed. What kind of woman would long to be back in the fifties of the last century? None of the women on the oncology wards, that’s for sure. To most of them, the fifties were a nightmare of traditional roles where the husband was the head of the family and must be obeyed in all things. The leader of the household? Surrendering control of her freedom and independence was something her colleagues frequently made fun of. Behind her back, of course.
Today had been an especially rough day. Steven, her little patient in room 7.5, had been told all possible treatments had been exhausted. He was in a lot of pain and begged his parents to let him go. Now, Lord, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live. Jonah 4:3. Fleur talked to the parents, but it had been a difficult discussion. Undoubtedly, the hardest thing for a parent to do was finally letting go of their child. These were emotional conversations that took time. Time she really didn’t have because she had to check on the other patients as well. Mandy, at 7.2, had to be prepared for her first chemo. And she had not even checked her vitals yet.
Fleur’s sole focus had to be on the parents, and as a result, her patient became more and more agitated. Finally she got them into a waiting room with the promise she would be back soon, after they had the time to think about what would be best for Steven.
Mandy, five years old, felt scared about the unknown.
“The doctor is going to give you a strong medicine, and that medicine will fight with you so it will kill all the bad cells. I will put a very small needle in your arm and it will only hurt a little bit. \Are you the tough girl who can handle a little prick?”
Of course, she was. Until she saw the needle. Her mother did a fine job of distracting her, so the IV flowed well when flushing. Because the orderlies were shorthanded, Fleur had to move Mandy’s bed in the small elevator. Her phone rang for the umpteenth time about a new patient that was coming in today. She promised to call the parents back about the time and the things they had to take with them to the hospital, and smiled at Mandy. She showed a picture of herself on her phone to Mandy.
“That’s you!”
“That is my light blue dress of Cinderella, and who is this?” Fleur showed her a picture of herself wearing a teal dress and a red wig.
“Brave Merida!”
“You know Merida, right? The princess who loves her bow and arrow and is so strong and brave? Well, Merida is brave because she goes on big adventures and faces things that are sometimes a bit scary or new. Being brave doesn’t mean you can’t feel worried. Merida felt worried sometimes too! Just like Merida needed her sword and bow, we have special tools here—the nurses, the doctors, and your amazing grown-ups—to help you be the bravest adventurer today!”
Carefully manoeuvring through the long hallway on the first floor, she heard her phone ring again.
“Fleur, oncology.”
“My son left his iPad in room 7.1 yesterday. Could you check for me if it’s still there?”
“Maybe you could call back this afternoon; I’m busy right now.”
“Well, I just need to know if it’s still there. It’s quite an expensive device, and Kevin’s been fiddling around with it all day. I’d like to collect it sometime this afternoon, if possible.”
“It really would be better if you called back this afternoon.” A sharp right turn. “Hands in, Merida!”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be any trouble to check. You know how important those tablets are to them!”
“Give me the number, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” Back on the seventh, the parents of Steven were waiting for her.
“I am sorry; I really have to give medication first. I promise we will talk after I have finished the meds round.” Fleur apologised.
“We have been waiting here for nearly an hour. I have to get back to work, and I’m not going anywhere until I have found out what you are going to do with my son!” The father shouted to her.
“I understand completely, sir, but I cannot split myself in half. It’s important that all the patients get their medication on time, so I really have to prioritise the medication round. It will take about 45 minutes, and then I will be back.
Medication rounds took longer than expected. Doctor Vanderlinde made a mistake and prescribed the adult doses for an eleven-year-old boy. Vanderlinde got angry; he always does when he makes a mistake. Fleur ran down the stairs to the first floor. Waiting for the elevator took forever. With a new recipe in hand and a half-hearted apology from the tired-looking doctor, Fleur took the elevator upstairs. And stopped on the third floor. And the 4th. On the fifth floor, Fleur got out and took the last two floors two steps at a time.
When she finally returned to the waiting room to see Steven’s parents, she felt guilty.
“I am sorry it took so long. We are one person short today, and it has been busy. I have time to talk now.”
“We have been hearing all this nonsense about Steven, that Steven would have exhausted his treatment options. That is unacceptable. Steven is a fighter; he’s from a family of doers. People who don’t give up when the stakes are high. I know he can and will survive this. To stop his treatment is unacceptable.” Steven’s father said, getting angrier all the time. His mother was just sitting there, the ultimate example of a mother broken down into little pieces.
“I can assure you that the doctors are not taking this decision lightly. If they say no treatment will help, and increasing the pain medication would be tender, loving care, you have to trust them. They know what they are doing. And if you don’t believe them, please, I beg you, please take a good look at your son. Can’t you see how much pain he is in? I have no doubt you really love your son with all your heart and soul. I know you do. Please do the right thing.”
“I will call another hospital today for a second opinion.” The dad cradled his arm protectively around his wife and left the hospital without looking back.
Fleur’s phone rang. Merida was ready to be taken upstairs. The intake of the new patient, searching for an iPad — it was one of those days. Days that increasingly became more common. Thirty minutes after her shift had ended, a woman was walking out of the hospital that turned many heads of men and women alike. A red dress with white polka dots all over it, the petticoat gently swaying around her legs with every step. Her hair transformation from the straight, efficient hairdo in her work.
At ten in the evening, Fleur dressed in her work clothes again. Her husband was at a seminar somewhere and would not come home tonight. In a hospital, nobody pays any attention to a nurse in uniform. Fleur used the stairs to get to the seventh floor. The light from the nurse’s station was the only light in the corridor. Small lamps dimly lit the rest of the corridor. The silence on the floor in contrast with the daytime couldn’t be greater. The night shift was as quiet as they could, sleep was important for all their little patients.
Room 7.5 was at the end of the corridor. Steven was awake and softly moaning.
“Hey Steve, I’ve come to give you something for the pain.”
“Are you here again, Nurse Fleur? You were here this morning as well?”
“This time I came especially for you, Steve, to give you something for the pain.” It took a moment to steady her hand. This was not a time to be careless. Her ears pricked up so that she could hear one of her colleagues approaching. She connected the syringe in her hand to the IV and slowly pressed the fluid into his bloodstream. It worked almost immediately.
“Let it go, Stephen. You will be in a wonderful place soon, where there is no pain, only joy.”
He let out one last sigh, and his pain was over. Forever.
Carefully, Fleur detached the syringe, making sure she spilled nothing. Fleur left the hospital as soon as she got in, two flights of stairs between each floor. Seven opportunities to run into a colleague. Fleur breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the first floor. At the end of the hallway, a fire door led to a staircase that went down to the ground floor. It was open and not guarded with cameras; she remembered from previous times. The Lord has a special place for children like Steven in His Kingdom. Like the three kids she had helped before to be with our Lord and Saviour, all she could feel was joy for them. She had put a halt to their pain and suffering.
Proverbs 31:29. Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.
