When I first met Josee, the first thing I noticed were the flip flops sticking out from underneath her bed. She had shoved them as far back as possible, but I could still see them. One was an ordinary, black leather sandal. The other, obviously custom-made, was more than twice the size of the first, fashioned to provide a place for the two massively oversized toes on her right foot that had brought her to us.She was quiet in the evening before her surgery, more than a month and a half ago, now. We had no idea that day just how long she'd end up staying with us, no idea that the silent little teenager in Bed Eleven would become a fixture on the wards.
Unfortunately, that's just what's happened. Josee had her surgery, and her right foot was reshaped to match the left. Everything looked good at first, and she was discharged home only to be readmitted about a week later, the wound beginning to break open, threatening the entire success of the procedure.
And so Josee has stayed with us, confined to her bed, only allowed outside for a short time every day, and only if she promises to keep her foot up, since any swelling might make us lose the tenuous grasp we've got on her healing.
She's another of the incredibly bright ones; Beth (one of our nurses whose mishaps and adventures this outreach could fill an entire blog post all on their own; suffice it to say that she's the only person I know to burn her leg on a zemidjahn and be hit by a falling coconut all in one week) taught her to do her own wound care, and so twice a day Josee sits in her bed, brow furrowed in concentration as she performs a complicated dressing on her own foot using impeccable sterile technique.
But a dressing, even if it needs to be done twice a day, can only take up so much time. And with the World Cup drawing to a close, there's not much for Josee to do during the rest of the day.
This is where Claire comes in.
Claire is one of my favourite people these days. She's a writer with the Communications department, but she doesn't just write. She hangs out with us, making it a point to spend time with each patient before ever pulling out a pen or asking a personal question. The patients love her, because they can tell she loves them.The other day, Claire stopped me in the hall and told me about an idea that she had. She wanted to write a story from the patient's perspective, in their own words, and she was wondering if I had any suggestions. It was all I could do to keep from hugging her; here was the solution for Josee. Here was something to keep her occupied during the long hours between dressing changes and football matches.
And so now Josee has a little notebook and a pen and she's writing her own story. Every time she passes me in the hall, on her way outside for some fresh air, she grabs my arm. Alice, I am writing. I am writing.
When she's finished, I'll share it with you. I'll let you know how it feels to be a teenager with a deformed foot, trying to blend in in a cruel world. But this time, I'm not going to use my own words. I'll let Josee tell you herself.
