Profession

The hospital

The time flew by. We worked long hours to get things set up; the doctors and surgeons got the surgical suites and their offices set up to their specifications, so at least all we had to do was stock them. It was very satisfying to help the pharmacy staff place row after row of medications on the pharmacy shelves, stack dressings and other necessities to completely fill cabinets and storerooms, run the sterilizers and the old-fashioned-but-easier-to-repair-in-a-pinch autoclaves without worry that the electricity would be cut before a cycle was finished. Everything was thoroughly inspected and tested; one of the sterilizers didn't work and the manufacturer sent us a replacement before we could even get the defective on crated up. The hospital and facilities were nicely warm, the weather better, and not a case of frostbite to be seen. The reopening of the Hospitaller facility was getting attention from all over the world, as was the revivication of Sevastopol in general. Our power source was currently selling energy back to the grid, but would be sufficient to support the hospital running full blast if necessary--and we all hoped it would not be required. And because both the director and I were paranoid now, supplies and equipment suitable for emergency laundry, cleaning, ect. were located in one of the farthest storerooms. Just in case. Other Hospitallers had sent sheets due for replacement rather than recycling them, so there would always be something to be used in a pinch for extra bedding or cut up for use on patients. Personnel would have tubs where they could boil laundry, clotheslines that could be set up, emergency lighting sources. There were a lot of staples in reserve; they'd be run through by the kitchens so it would stay edible, but the plan was to have a thirty-day supply of food for staff and patients. The Order was much less willing to wait if there were future problems and would intervene decisively to support the facility if necessary; this was part of the agreement with the city to rebuild, but we wanted our personnel to be fed and cared for until help arrived. Nursing is hard work anyway; adding hunger and malnutrition to the privations and it became a war of attrition. If we hadn't been bombed out, realistically we'd only had a few more days before our lack of food would have started dropping us.

There were several events that the director and I had to attend, receiving thanks and awards from the government and civic organizations. It was nice of them, I understood why they wanted to do it, but it took me away from my work. Finally, though, it was our official opening. The mayor of the city as well as the Ukrainian vice-president were there for the ribbon cutting, a wide satin length in Hospitaller red. The Grand Master had arrived the night before for a celebratory dinner for staff, and he joined me, the hospital director, the residence director, the chief surgeon, the chief nurse, and the head of support staff, each of us with shiny silver shears to cut the ribbon. Other civic leaders attended with the press and a good whack of citizens. We had cake and punch after that, inviting everybody to tour the grounds and facilities. I took photos both for the order and myself of the people poking around. There was a discreet plaque outside (I took a picture) that credited Aunt Dagny for the landscaping, but I waited until later, when nobody else was around, to take one of the plaque inside that denoted the donors to the facility. It seemed vainglorious, but it meant something to me. That night, we received our first patients, a couple of drunk younger guys who'd gotten into a fight outside a bar. It was so much nicer to patch that sort of thing up than terrorized citizens beaten up by military goons.

Unlike the last time, though, there wasn't the camaraderie in the staff. Some of this was because we were all new and it takes time for a group to coalesce. We were all proud to have been selected to inaugurate the place, proud of our place in the Order, and there was esprit de corps. Beyond that, though, friendships had yet to form, and I was only going to be there a short time. Although nobody gave me an overtly cold shoulder, I felt space between me and the rest of the nurses. Partly because my money and social standing was much more of a thing this time around; I wasn't strictly a nurse this time, and part because most nights had some sort of a reception outside in the city. Usually it was me and the director and sometimes up to five staff members, but not enough for everybody to go, and it caused some resentment. Not a lot, but it was there. And frequently I was called to the front as patients we'd had that terrible spring wanted to meet me and pay their respects to the only nurse left from that time. It got to the point where the charge nurse just parked me at the intake desk rather than page me a few times every hour, interrupting other patient care. Some of them I remembered, even though my memory was spotty from the stress of that time.