To speak or not to speak

It began with a simple "Hello" and went downhill from there. "Ah, hi" I stammered, as my mind frantically went into overdrive trying to figure out where I'd seen this pretty blonde woman before. "Can I buy you a drink? It's the least I can do" she offered. Something definitely was amiss because attractive young women didn't generally didn't offer to buy me drinks. I peered closer at her face. Recognition hit me like a sledge hammer. "Ah, I'm fine. I'm ah, drinking water tonight, designated driver, you know. Thanks for the offer." She shrugged her shoulders "Maybe another time then" she said, then turned to the barman. I made my escape.

"Hey, you gonna introduce us?"Jake said to me when I returned to our table. "Yeah, if you're not interested, introduce her to me" offered Simon. Both the boys had been behind me when Sophie (I'd remembered he name by now) had offered to buy me a drink. "Ah, she's not interested" I said, the guys gave me angry looks "What you talking about. If you like her, that's cool, but if not, don't be selfish" said Jake. "Yeah man, don't be selfish" echoed Simon.

What do I say? I couldn't tell them that I hadn't recognized her because I had vivid memories of her foaming at the mouth, or of her painting her room in faecs. I couldn't tell them that I'd looked after Sophie for two months in the psychiatric ward and that even at her best, she would never be quite right.

So I suggested another bar, I bought a round of drinks, and Sophie was soon forgotten.

What do you think? Did I treat Sophie wrong by not introducing my friends? Was I being Prejudiced? Well probably, but for the right reasons. I was just using my common sense. I kept them safe, kept Sophie safe, and kept my mouth shut at the same time. We were all winners.

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Something's wrong, but is it you or me?

There's something wrong. I'm not sure what, but it's getting worse.

Scene 1.
"I've got a sore throat" said Marcello. "How long has it been sore?" I asked. "Since last night" answered Marcello. "Well, I can get you some pain killers" I offered. "I don't want no damned pain killers, I want it fixed" the quiet calm of the school health centre was torn apart as Marcello jumped off the chair and began walking out the clinic. "That's all you do, give me pain killers. I want it fixed." I sat still, refusing to chase after Marcello, and refusing to explain to him again how illnesses and viruses work. He left the health center, late again for class.

Scene 2.
"I've got a sore knee" Murray had rolled up his trouser leg and I was examining a very normal, healthy, strong looking knee. "How long has it been sore" I asked. Murray took a moment to think things through "Well, maybe a year, on and off. If a do a lot of sport it hurts, but if I rest it I'm fine" he explained. "Is it sore right now, right this minute" I asked. "Well no" he confessed. "Well, what do you want me to do with it?" Murray's brow creased in thought, but he couldn't come up with an answer. "I don't know, just curious what's wrong with it."

Scene 3.
"I need some antibiotic cream, and a band aid" said Michelle. I looked hard at her forearm, trying to see where she had cut herself. "Oh, you'll need more than that, I think I'll have to take you to see the doctor" I said. "Really... Thank goodness I came to see you then" Michelle sounded almost happy. My attempt at sarcasm had gone way over her head. "No Michelle. I can't even see your cut. I can't see any blood. I can't see any bruise. I can't see a thing, and if there was something that needed a bandaid, I wouldn't go putting any cream on it." Michelle argued with me for several more minutes before she finally left the health center.

Scene 4.
"I want an x-ray" demanded James. At six foot three he was the tallest fifteen year old in the school and as I sat there staring up at the full height of him, I felt almost threatened. "But you don't need an x-ray" I replied. "My back is sore, it's been sore for three days. I need an x-ray." I motioned for James to sit down, sick of craning my neck. James had been weight training three days ago, and he had been doing some heavy bench presses when he had felt a twinge under his left shoulder blade. The pain wasn't bad. "Are you in pain now?" I asked. "No, but it's sore when I work out. Mum said I need an x-ray. I'm insured, and I have the right to an
x-ray." I'm sure he must be mimicking his mother's words.

I had already explained that he needed to give the weights a rest, but he wanted something that could make him get back training straight away. "An x-ray won't show anything, and it won't stop you from being sore when working out. You need to rest" James' scowl deepened, it was like talking to a brick wall. "You don't have the right to an x-ray either. Your mum doesn't tell me what to do, and I'm not going to expose you to unnessary radiation." James ended up storming out of my office, talking furiously into his cellphone. I subsequently ignored his mother's vicious email and hung up on her when she began yelling down the phone.

Conclusion
I swear I wasn't this like this when I was a teenager. I wasn't soft. When I sprained an ankle, I acutally believed you had to walk on it straight away until the pain went away. It worked. Maybe I'm getting old, maybe I'm getting tired of handing out needless bandaids. Maybe I need a change of scene, some genuine sick people to make me feel better. I wonder if this is what every generation feels. Is this what those of my parents generation felt, frustration at the spoilt, pampered generation that came after them?

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Blame it on Mum

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila floor. As I picked Steve up off the bathroom tiles I used some toilet paper to wipe the trail of vomit from his face. "Can you hear me?" I asked him. There was no reply. "Give me a hand" I called out. Two of Steve's friends came forward and helped me drag him out to the car. "What're you going to do sir?" asked Dan. Dan had been with Steve the whole night, helping celebrate Steve's fifteenth birthday. "Hospital" was all I replied. Dan wisely didn't say anything more, he knew he would be facing the wrath of the headmaster once Steve was taken care of.

The emergency room staff didn't have any luck trying to rouse Steve and the discussion turned to whether or not he needed to be intubated. By this time I began to use my nursing skills as an administrator of medicinal pain to try and wake Steve up.

By squashing fingernails, rubbing my knuckles across his chest and a bit of pressure applied to the inside of the eye socket, I managed to rouse Steve up. He woke with a start, and even though "What the fuck?" were the first comprehensible sounds he'd made since losing consciousness, it was good to know he could be woken and wouldn't need intubation. With the help of some intravenous fluids and a lot of poking and prodding, by the end of an hour Steve was sitting up in bed talking to us.

I eventually took Steve back to the dorm where he lives. I had the help of the headmaster as well as head of his dorm. As I tucked Steve into bed he whispered to me,"Why aren't they yelling at me?" referring of course to the headmaster and the dorm head. "There's plenty of time for that later. Let's just get you better" I replied."I don't wanna go home, they'll kick me out, won't they." I didn't give him an answer, "We'll talk about it in the morning, you just need to sleep" I said instead. "Mum doesn't care, I'll drink more at home" he said, "She lets me drink." I turned out the light and walked out the room, pondering Steve's words.

To cut a long story short, Steve was asked to leave the school. It was his third drinking offense in two months, although this was by far the worst. His mother came to collect him, and this is when things became worrying.

"Did you smell it?" asked Shelley "Or am I just imagining it?" I shook my head, "No, you're not imagining it, I smelt it as well. Spirits, I think, strong spirits" I replied. "And that was no German accent, she was slurring her words. She was drunk. She drove here as well."

We never heard from Steve again, although I think he made it home alive, at least there were no reports of serious road accidents in the newspapers. A child had been sent home with his mother who was at least mildly intoxicated. So what did we do about this.

We looked into the legal issues of working in a school in Europe, whose child is from another country. We could have called child protection services, but as this is considered a non-urgent case, it would takes weeks to get dealt with, and even an urgent case could take days. By this time the parent and child has left the country, flown back to Germany, USA, Turkey, Saudi Arabia. The country is always different, but the outcome the same because we have no power. We lost another child, in all the ways that a child can be lost.

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