The Idler

Rehab

I worked one summer in a rehabilitation hospital, working in the administration section. The job was great, the hours were standard, and the opportunities for skiving off were something I have been unable to match since.

As part of my job, I had to visit the offices on the wards daily to update the in-patient’s charts with any new results of blood tests, x-rays etc. Most of the ward offices were located at the end of the ward, meaning that I would have to walk the length of the ward and past all the patients to get to the files. This was absolutely fine, except in the High Dependency Unit.

There was one patient who had been in a particularly nasty car crash, and was made to sit up in his bed for two hours every day. If I made it to the ward before the bed was titled, he would lie silently staring at the ceiling. However, if I was running late, I would get there while he was sitting, and I could always hear him muttering something over and over under his breath.

After a few days of this, my curiosity got the better of me, and I walked deliberately slowly past his bed. I still feel the horror I felt when I suddenly realised what he was saying, over and over, was “Kill me. Kill me. Kill me…”

Sharon