Chapter 16 Chapter 15 of Part Three

Restlessness is not confined to the hospital.It was April, and it was raining continuously, and the restlessness seemed to be surging and rising with the dirty and fast-moving river.At night, it envelopes the dark city, like a kind of dusk that overrides people's spirits, and it is inseparable from the chilly late spring, expanding and spreading silently and viciously.Its presence is felt throughout the country, though it hides in its pervasive benevolence.In the hospital, something is slowly coming to an end.At the intersection of the corridor, a group of arrogant senior doctors are exchanging opinions and discussing a secret.The taller young doctors strode more aggressively.Only the consulting physician seemed preoccupied during his rounds.One morning, he walked to the window in the corridor and stared at the other side of the river for a long time.Behind him, the nurses stood by the bed and waited quietly.The older handymen wheeled the patients up and down the wards, looking so dismayed that they seemed to have forgotten the cheery quotes they often picked up from radio comedy shows.Briony would be relieved if she could hear again their famous line, though she had dismissed it so much before—"Cheer up, dear. Maybe the war will never occur."

But war is coming.These days, the number of patients in the hospital has gradually decreased without knowing it.At first this seemed commonplace, and a group of trainees with little brains gleefully attributed this "substantial recovery" to their improved medical skills.Slowly they saw the clues.Empty beds dot the wards like ghosts of death in the night.Briony imagined the distant sound of footsteps on the wide smooth walk, once so clear and rhythmic, now muffled and hesitant.On a stair landing outside the elevator, those workers who came to install new fire protection devices and replace fire protection sand worked for a whole day without stopping for a moment, and did not say a word to anyone before leaving, and even ignored the office workers in the corridor. workers.Of the twenty beds in the ward, only eight were in use.And although the work was harder than before, under the influence of a kind of anxiety or bizarre fear, these intern nurses no longer complained when drinking tea together.They were both calmer and more contented.They also stopped reaching out to compare each other's chilblains.

Not only that, every trainee nurse is worried and very afraid of making mistakes.They were all terrified of Sister Marjorie Drummond, her menacing smile and softening of her demeanor before she raged.Briony is self-aware, and she's made a string of mistakes lately.Four days ago, despite her careful explanations, a patient in her care gulped down carbonated mouthwash—an orderly who happened to see it and described it as like downing a pint of strong drink in one gulp. Like the stout of the house—afterwards, the patient vomited into the bed.Briony knew, too, that Sister Drummond was keeping an eye on her, and that once she moved the bedpans three at a time, instead of like the busy Lacap attendant—knowing she It was supposed to move six at a time steadily.Moreover, she probably made many other mistakes, which she either forgotten because she was tired, or she didn't even realize it herself.She was also prone to some mannerisms mistakes—she would sometimes stand on one foot when she wasn't paying attention, much to the rage of her immediate superiors.As the days go by, small mistakes and mistakes add up: the broom is out of place, the blanket is folded with the label facing up, the stiff collar has a slight wrinkle, the casters of the bed are not aligned in a straight line , When I walked out of the ward, I was empty-handed—all of these were silently watched and remembered in my heart, until my patience reached the limit.If you haven't read the signs at this time, then the anger will fall from the sky, and you still feel very good about yourself.

But lately, the head nurse has stopped throwing a somber smile at her fellow nurses and speaking to them in the suppressed voice that frightens them.She didn't seem to care about her duties at all.She seemed to put all her energy on other things, often standing in the square outside the door of the male surgery room, discussing endlessly with her partner, or disappearing for two days. In another environment, in another occupation, she might have looked very loving, even coquettish, with her plump body, because her lipstick-free lips had charming curves and a natural luster that she could be proud of.Her cheeks were round and had the healthy flush of a doll.All of this shows her gentle nature.But such a good impression did not last long before dissipating.It happened to a girl of the same age as Briony.She was a big, good-natured but slow woman who looked at people with the innocent eyes of a cow.She had learned the menacing power of the matron.Nurse Langerand was seconded to the men's surgery ward to help prepare a young soldier for an appendectomy.She was alone with him for a minute or two, and then she chatted with him, and said a few words of reassurance that he need not worry about his operation.He asked her name very naturally, which violated the sacred commandment.It's clearly printed in the instruction manual, although no one ever knows how important that is.A few hours later, the soldier woke up from the anesthesia and murmured the name of the trainee nurse, while the head nurse of the surgical operating room was standing nearby.This is great.Nurse Langlan was sent back to her former ward, and she was really humiliated.Other nurses were called together and asked to learn their lesson.Even if poor Suzanne Langland had brutally murdered two dozen patients, she would not have suffered such a shame.Matron Drummond taught how humiliating it was for a woman who should have been pursuing Nightingale's tradition of caring for patients.She also said Langland should congratulate herself on sorting soiled linens next month.As soon as she finished speaking, not only Langlan, but half of the girls present also began to cry.Briony didn't cry, but she was still terrified as she lay in bed that night.She read the instruction manual cover to cover to see if there were some etiquette rules she had overlooked.She re-read the commandment and took it to heart: Under no circumstances should a nurse give her Christian name to a patient.

The ward was vacated, but the work was getting tighter and tighter.Every morning, the beds are pushed into the center of the room so that the trainee nurses can mop and polish the floor.The mop is so bulky, it's a blast to have the girls move it from side to side.Floors are cleaned three times a day.Wipe down unused lockers, disinfect mattress pads, and wipe down brass coat hooks, ring doorknobs, and door openings.The woodwork--doors and treads--was carefully cleaned with carbolic solvent, and of course the bed, its iron bed frame and box springs.Interns spend their days rinsing, wiping and drying potties and pots until they shine like tableware for a formal dinner party.Three-ton military trucks were parked in the loading bay, bringing in more beds.These filthy objects had to be scrubbed thoroughly and vigorously many times, and then sterilized with carbolic solutions, before they could be made fit for the wards, and to squeeze in among their tidy companions.Between assignments—perhaps a dozen times a day—the interns have to wash their chilblained, chapped, bleeding hands under icy water.The fight against germs never stops.They have been indoctrinated with a cult of cleanliness.Here's what they're learning: There's nothing more repulsive than a handful of blanket fluff hiding under your bed.There are swarms and dense swarms of bacteria hidden on that inconspicuous surface.It has become a badge of professional pride for them to distill, polish, polish, and dry every day, for which they must sacrifice all personal comfort.

Porters brought in a plethora of supplies from the parking lot, including dressing supplies, bed pans, hypodermic syringes, three brand-new autoclaves, and numerous packages labeled "wet packs" -- their purpose unspecified .The next procedure is to open the package, take stock of the items and make a list, and finally arrange them neatly.Another medicine cabinet, which had been wiped three times, was also set up and filled to the brim.It is usually locked, and the key is in the hands of the head nurse Drummond.But one morning, the secret was discovered by Briony - rows of bottles with "morphine" on their labels.When she had other errands, she saw that the other wards were also ready for battle.One ward was even empty.It is empty and quiet, and it looks extraordinarily bright, as if waiting for something.However, looking at these, she couldn't ask more questions.A year ago, shortly after the declaration of war, the ward on the top floor was abandoned for fear of being bombed.The operating room has now been moved to the basement.The windows on the ground floor were tightly blocked with sandbags, and the skylights were all plastered to death.

An army general visited the hospital, followed by six or seven senior consultant doctors.Not to mention any ceremony, not even a request for "quietness".Generally speaking, on such an important occasion, the tip of the patient's nose should be in line with the crease of the top sheet.But this time there is no time to prepare properly.The general and his entourage strode across the ward, sometimes whispering, sometimes nodding, and then walked away. People's hearts are getting heavier and heavier, but they have no chance to find out some definite news, because this is expressly prohibited.When there are no shifts, interns either attend lectures, listen to lectures, watch demonstrations, or do self-study.Meals and bedtimes were guarded as if they were freshmen at a private girls' boarding school in Lodian.One day, when Fiona, the girl who slept in Briony's adjoining bunk, pushed her plate over the dining table and announced loudly - not to anyone - that she "couldn't eat food steamed with oxygen tubes in peace" At that time, the head nurse Nightingale stood there and stared at her until she obediently took the last bite.Let's just say Fiona was Briony's friend.In the dormitory, on the first night of preparatory training, she asked Briony to help her trim the nails on her right hand, explaining that she couldn't use scissors with her left hand and that her mother usually did this job.She had ginger hair and freckles, which made Briony unconsciously alert.Unlike Laura, though, Fiona was always loud and cheerful.There are "dimples" on the back of her chubby hands, and her big breasts are often teased by other girls.They said it meant she was destined to become a ward nurse.Her family lives in Chelsea.She leaned over her bed one night and whispered to Briony that her father was expected to be called into Churchill's war cabinet.But when the list of cabinet members was announced, the expected surname did not appear.Briony thought she'd better not get into the matter.In the first few months after prep training, Fiona and Briony didn't have much of a chance to figure out if they really liked each other.Let's just assume they are.Because they do not have any medical background after all, there are not many such interns.Most of the girls had attended first aid training, and a few had even been members of the British Army Volunteer Ambulance Squad, and were used to working with blood and dead bodies, or so they claimed.

But it's not easy to cultivate friendship.The interns work in shifts in the ward every day. After work, they have to study for three hours and then sleep for a while.Afternoon tea is a rare treat for them.Between four and five they would take the delicate brown teacups engraved with their respective names from the wooden slatted racks and sit together in the recreation room away from the wards.The conversation was uncomfortable because the matron would be there to spy on them to see if they were behaving properly.Besides, as soon as they sat down, sleepiness would hit them and weigh on them like three folded thick blankets.A girl fell asleep with a teacup and cup holder in her hand, and burned her thigh—"It's a great opportunity to practice dealing with burns." Matron Drummond commented when she opened the door to see what happened.

And she herself has become a big barrier on the road of friendship.During the first few months, Briony often thought that all she had to think about was how to get along with Sister Drummond.Because she is always dangling in front of your eyes.One minute she walked maliciously from the end of the corridor, and the next minute she was whispering in Briony's ear that she was not serious at all when preparing for training, and that she didn't know how to give a male patient a "full body bath" What should be the correct procedure when doing this: Only after two water changes should the patient be given the soaped flannel and washcloth for the back so that he can wash himself.Briony's mood depended largely on how well the matron thought she was doing at the moment.As soon as Drummond's eyes fell on her, she felt a chill in her stomach reflexively.It is impossible to know whether you are doing well or not.Briony is terrified of her faultfinding and accusations, and never fantasizes about her praise and praise.To ignore herself--that was the best hope Briony could hope for.

The time Briony can really be alone is usually in the few minutes before falling asleep at night.In the dark she would brood, as if seeing herself dimly living at Girton Ladies' College.There, she could read her Milton.Instead of working in the hospital where her sister was, she could have studied at the university her sister had attended.Briony thought she was joining the anti-war movement, but in the end she tied her life to a woman fifteen years her senior.This woman dominates her constantly, more than a mother has control over her child. The most important manifestation of this bondage—the denial of individual identity—began weeks before she had even heard of Drummond himself.On the first day of the two-month preparatory training, Briony taught her a good lesson by humiliating her in class.Here's what happened: She walked up to the head nurse and politely pointed out that the name on her badge was wrong.She was B. Tallis, not N. Tallis, as the little triangular pectoral indicated.

The head nurse's answer was very cold. "You are N. Tallis. You are now and you will be. This is your new name. Your Christian name means nothing to me. Now, please sit down, Nurse Tallis." If they dared to laugh, the other girls would have laughed out loud.Because they all have the same initials - N.But they all realized that laughing was not allowed.It turns out their feelings were correct.This is the time for hygiene lectures and practice bathing the whole body of patients with life-size mannequins.The dummies also had names—Mrs. Mackintosh, Ms. Chase, and Baby George—and his innocuously deformed size made him the size of two normal little baby girls.This is when they learn to adapt to obedience without thinking, learn to carry bedpans in stacks, and keep one basic rule in mind: Never walk into a ward and walk out with only your own hands.The physical discomfort relieved Briony's mental tension somewhat.The high starched collar was chafing at her neck.Washing her hands with sodium bicarbonate under bone-chilling water a dozen times a day gave her her first chilblains.The shoes she bought with her own money squeezed her toes hard.Their uniforms, like all other kinds of uniforms, obliterate individuality.And those day-to-day cumbersome requests—ironing pleats, pinning hats, trimming seams, polishing shoes, especially the heels—have become procedures that must be handled with care and can’t go wrong. Everything else was squeezed out of their minds.By the time the girls were ready to enter the stage of trainee nurses and start serving the wards under Drummond (they would never say "serving the ward"), the images of their previous lives were very blurred in their minds up.All they know is to submit to the day-to-day routines—from bedpans to beef gravy.To some extent, their minds gradually became empty, and they were not on guard, and they easily succumbed to the absolute authority of the head nurse of the ward.While the head nurse stuffed their vacated heads, they had to submit.