Stars Will Guide You Home

Chapter 1 - Rhys

My morning has been long and difficult, two insulting patients, a complication in surgery and an intern that would not stop drooling, so I'm not exactly thrilled when I'm called to deal with a 'difficult' patient. Weaving through the corridors, I meet the eyes of many stressed, run-down doctors and nurses until I finally find the right ward. Running my hands through my hair, I saunter to the nurse's station.

"Hey Karen. How're you going? What's the deal with this one?"

"Hey Rhys, not too bad. Busy as ever. She's a twenty-something-year-old female, serious lacerations, internal bleeding and possibly a collapsed lung. We really need to work on her, but she screams like nothing I've ever heard before anyone can get within reach, and that's with only half of her lungs working. It's her eyes too, I've never seen anything like them."

"Ok, I'll see what I can do."

"Good luck in there, be careful. I have the feeling she's got some fight in her."

"Thanks Karen."

Before entering the curtained room, I remove anything that might frighten the patient; pens, my white coat, gloves, IV kit, everything and anything medical related. I've found keeping things as separate from the medical side of things as possible can help some of my more fearful, aggressive or reluctant patients. The idea that I'm more of a normal everyday person rather than part of a uniformed (and often busy, stressed and efficient rather than empathetic) team calms them subconsciously, even though most of them are told that I'm a doctor eventually. Now dressed in cream chinos and a dark dress shirt I have only a stethoscope around my neck and my trusty penlight in my pocket.

Other doctors find difficult patients intimidating, infuriating even. I relish in the challenge. Apart from a select few, there's rarely a patient who is difficult purely because they want to be. Finding out their emotional reasons is usually enough to calm them. I have to admit though; my stubbornness helps too. With angrier patients, I'm often referred to as an asshole. To be honest, I get where it comes from. The pushing and expectations are designed to intimidate them, let them know I won't be giving up on them when most others have. Of course, this is balanced by high praise when they make progress.

Slowly, gently, I pull back the nondescript grey curtain and hang in the doorway, being especially careful not to spook the girl. As soon as the metal scrapes along the bar, she drags herself into the corner and her eyes dart back and forth. I take a tentative step in her direction, already anticipating her retreat as if she could melt into the wall. Just looking at her is confronting. Blood. Everywhere. She's holding herself, shaking, as if maybe, by having her arms around her chest she'll be able to keep all the pieces from falling out. Hyperventilating, but not really. The collapsed lung is inhibiting even the simplest of functions. She shakes her head, matted, bloody hair flying everywhere. With injuries like this, I'm not sure how she's still conscious, merely the pain should have knocked her out by now... Maybe she has something to fight for after all... I push my luck and take one step further, but as my foot makes contact with the linoleum floor, her whimpers bleed to frantic sobs.

I need to calm her down. I'm going to have to take it slowly.

"Hi... my name is Rhys."

"Can you tell me your name?" She shakes her head.

"Ok then, can you tell me what happened to you?" More sobbing. She's floundering for her balance. Shit.

"Right then. So how about I just talk, and then we'll see how we go from there." No response. Wonderful. I press on in spite of her lack of cooperation.

"Great. So like I said, my name's Rhys. My job is to help patients that experience fear or heightened emotional responses to their hospital stays. Do you think that you could be one of those patients?"