Ward 4 was an acute medical ward where I worked as a staff nurse for a number of years. As usual the ward was busy but thankfully we had a full complement of staff. I was allocated to work in Bay 3 which comprised six beds for male patients
When I reached my allotted bay I found that three of the men had already started sorting themselves out. Two had gone for a shower and the third was packing his belongings in readiness for his discharge. Mr Taylor, who‘d had a stroke, was asleep in the fourth bed.
The next bed was empty and finally, sitting on the edge of his bed was Mr Davies, a man in his late seventies with a paunch which his pyjamas were struggling to cover. He was drawing in a sketchbook.
Picking up the charts hanging at the end of his bed, I glanced at them, smiled and said ‘Good morning, Mr Davies.’
Putting down the sketch pad and pencil, he peered at my name badge.
‘Good morning Nurse Ellen, please call me David,’ he said.
‘I’ll get a bowl of hot water and we’ll get you ready for the day.’ I replied,returning the charts to the bed.
‘That’ll be champion.’ He started to unbutton his top.
Helping him that morning was a joyful experience.
He was chatty, told me his life story, his love of drawing and said he was looking forward to his family visiting later. After helping him to get dressed, he sat in a chair at the side of the bed and I passed him his electric shaver.
‘Here you are, you have a shave whilst I make your bed.’
As I finished the last hospital corner he switched off the razor.
‘All done then,’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he pushed his chin towards me, ‘feel.’
I rubbed my hands over his cheeks saying, ‘Lovely, smooth as a baby’s bottom.’
‘Smooth as your bottom, Nurse Ellen, I’ll be bound,’ he chuckled.
‘Cheeky,’ I replied laughing, ‘now I’ve other beds to do; call me if you need anything.’
He picked up his sketch pad and pencil saying ‘I’ll be okay, Nurse, thank you.’
Sadly Mr Davies died suddenly overnight and his son and granddaughter came to the ward to collect his belongings. They asked about his final day in hospital and I related the incident of the baby’s bottom. His granddaughter was astonished but his son laughed out loud.
‘That’s my Dad, saucy to the end. I think I’ll relate that story at the funeral.’
‘Please do,’ I replied.
That should have been the end of it but three weeks later a parcel arrived for me on the ward. I opened it and the card said…
Dear Ellen
These are the last two drawings that my father did; I think he would want you to have them. Thank you for looking after him.
Regards
David Davies Junior
There were two framed pencil sketches, the first labelled ‘Smooth as a Baby’s Bottom’ was an intricate drawing of Bay Three with a nurse bending over making beds. The second was a portrait simply called ‘Ellen’.
This story was submitted by Mags Lancaster-Crook of Aylesbury
Comment The story comes from a bygone age when no offence was intended or taken from such a conversation.
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