The Hospital Politics · Second Shift · Pulse Beat
Not everyone was kind. The ward sister, a heavy, tired woman named Mrs D'Souza, had worked at the hospital for thirty years. She had seen idealists come and go. She did not like the way the doctors…
Not everyone was kind.
The ward sister, a heavy, tired woman named Mrs D'Souza, had worked at the hospital for thirty years. She had seen idealists come and go. She did not like the way the doctors had begun to ask for Fatima's opinion, and she liked still less the notebook, which she regarded as a sign of arrogance.
"This is a ward, Sheikh," she said one morning. "Not a library."
"I only read in my breaks, Sister."
"There are no breaks." Mrs D'Souza's mouth was a hard line. "You people with ideas. You think you're special. I've nursed through two floods and an epidemic and I never needed a book." She leaned closer. "You will be careful. There are people who'd like to see you fall."
Fatima said nothing. In the evening, in the changing room, a junior nurse she hardly knew pressed a note into her hand: Someone told matron you leave the ward to study. Be careful. —R. She read it twice, folded it small, and tucked it into the notebook, behind the cover.