Friday.
The day program. Young adults, mostly 16 to about 22 years. The same procedure each Friday. They come into admissions, have their papers checked and then I escort them to the ward. They are due at the same time. Sometimes they arrive together but mostly they appear, like the metaphorical Brown's cows, strung out over a couple of hours.
The walk to their ward is a long one. One long internal corridor linking four adjoining buildings. They follow me. Me leading the pack like a 21st Century Pied Piper. Occasionally there is conversation behind me - the latest haircut or do, a day spent at the beach, comparisons of their medication regimes - but mostly there is an eerie silence. Each patient insular, self reflecting, or head down texting silently on their mobile phone.
The corridor has a very long straight stretch. You could attempt the land speed record on it so long is the passage at that point. Others pass us by as we also pass them but each in my group is alone with their thoughts amongst the crowd.
My thoughts turn to sounds and balance. The sounds of silence. Are those my trouser legs swishing against each other? When the footsteps behind me fade I turn to check have any patients fallen behind? Disappeared? Run away?
My balance worries me. Others don't notice but I do. I have suffered a very, very minor sense of imbalance ever since I lost the hearing in one ear following nerve damage fifteen or so years ago. Damage exacerbated after I flew with a head cold from Brisbane on my 60th birthday. Occasionally I feel I can't walk straight. Especially when walking in confined passages. Surely they must notice. Yet I know they don't. Still I wonder. Do they fear I am about to divert into a side corridor that doesn't exist? Do they fear I am about to fall?
Still the sounds. My shoe laces slap against my shoes with each step. I hear them. Do they? Shoe laces. Speaking to me as I walk. What do they say? 'Keep walking straight'? 'Don't lose the patients'? 'Will we ever get there'?
Finally, patients safely delivered to their ward, I return to my post at Admissions. The long walk back. Alone. That long straight stretch. Strangely, no balance problems evident when I am alone. No sounds come into my thoughts. My shoe laces fall silent.
And then another lot of patients arrive. And it all starts again.
When I was but a lad, a teacher told us about how people, including himself often felt self conscious when they are walking, especially if people are following behind them. Is my posture good? Are my hips swinging too much? Are my arms stiff or swinging?
ReplyDeleteOh, maybe I have just made the matter worse.
'Are my hips swinging too much'
ReplyDeleteHow cruel Andrew! Actually I think your teacher's observation is very good.
By the way I wrote the post intending it to be whimsical - the thoughts seem that way in my mind - but reading it in print it seems to have a certain darkness which I don't feel.