JOURNAL OF A COFFIN DODGER CHAPTER H

CHAPTER H

One over-time afternoon shift, about a week after my talk with Belinda, I walked into Banksia's Staff Room to make myself a cup of coffee.

While making it, I gazed through the closed sliding glass door that opened onto a concrete courtyard. An open dusty wind-swept space that led out from the back of the Staff Room towards the black asphalt of a car park.

After making the coffee, I thought about where to drink the brew, either inside or outside, where mucky newspapers sprawled across the base of three grey, cracked concrete planters.

The planters, spaced at uneven distances from each other, marked the boundary between the courtyard and the car park.

The planter's once vibrant plants had long since given up the ghost. I noticed their brittle stems scattered amongst the heaps of cigarette butts littering the soil that had once nourished the plants whenever I walked between the carpark and Banksia.

As the voices of three trainee nurses drifted through the door, I decided to drink my coffee outside. I opened the glass sliding door and stepped onto the courtyard.

I sipped my coffee as I went to share the company of Zoe, Wendy, and Agnes, who I got to know when we worked together at Banksia.

The three younger females sat on nondescript wooden benches on either side of a decrepit wooden table.

I said, 'hi' as I stood near the table drinking my brew.

They returned greetings and Zoe said, 'We're out of here. We've done our three month's compulsory training in Banksia with Pervy Mike.'

The others grinned.

'Such a pretty name, 'Banksia,' for a ward to have such an ugly man running the place. He's a real jerk, a proper creep,' Wendy commented.

'He's like those handsy, sleazy older men. The staring sad inadequates who hang around hotels where young women like to gather for a drink and be girls just having fun.'

'Other nurses on our training block warned us about him,' Agnes chimed in. 'But we stuck together and never let him get close to us.'

'His actions and permission for other male nurses to do the same as him is sickening.'

'It's disgusting,' Agnes continued, 'to see a bloke walking with a teenager, who is able to do the task by herself, to a shower. A bloke carrying her clothes, including bra and panties, who is old enough to be my father.'

'Or my grandfather,' Wendy said.

The others laughed.

'But you're right, it is disgusting,' Zoe commented. 'Mike never allowed us to help the teenagers when they wanted a shower.'

'Mike assigned us other duties, like making beds, while he and the other male nurses perved on the patients as they walked with them to a shower. Some of those girls are younger than I am. It makes me so bloody angry.'

A silence descended on the group following these comments. A pause in the conversation was broken by Wendy, who said,

'Anyway, we've received our report cards. You've heard about them?'

I nodded.

'Pervy Mike, writing out a letter in longhand about how 'we performed' in the ward and giving it to us on our last day. Treating us like he was our headmaster at school,' Zoe said.

'But we were ready for them. Friends from another placement warned us about them...'

'So we threw ours in the bin...' Agnes chimed in.

 'Without reading them!' Wendy spoke to the conclusion before the three of them yelled, 'Yeh!' as they gave each other high fives while I gazed across the courtyard.

I looked at the bleached green plastic garbage bin standing in a corner of the courtyard before my attention returned to the table as Wendy said,

'As if we will take any notice of what that creep said.'

'But we are out of here! We survived!'

They cheered as I smiled and raised my coffee cup as a salute in recognition of their achievement.

'Once I'm out of here,' Zoe said, 'I never want to see Pervy Mike's face again. Or what he does when a patient asks questions about her tablets.'

Zoe shook her head.

'What right does he have to shove tablets down a patient's throat for simply asking questions ....?' she concluded.

Agnes commented, her voice low and tense, 'that's not how they taught us to administer medication in training school. If they admitted me or anyone I know to this place...'

'But it's not the time for sad thoughts,' Wendy cut in, her voice gentle. 'We got through this placement, we survived, and we celebrate tonight at the pub.'

The others smiled.

'That's right,' Zoe said. 'It's been tough, but we got there. Let's focus on the future now.'

I nodded and said, 'Agreed. Anyway, I've got to move on. Time's up for my break.'

As I turned towards the doorway, Agnes said, 'join us for our celebration at the usual tonight. Yer?'

'Thanks. I think I will,' I replied as I left the courtyard.

I went back into the Staff Room while the three younger women resumed chatting amongst themselves. From the Staff Room I returned to my duties in the ward.

Zoe and Wendy's comments about Mike's administration of medication were apposite. I don't think any asylum nurse training school taught its students to administer medication the way Mike did.

A way that broke the usual straightforward, peaceful administration of medication when young women lined up to get their pills from a nurse. A procedure that occurred at the open doorway of Banksia's Medication Room.

A procedure that attracted Mike and several male nurses.

They prowled around the open doorway, watching and waiting. Waiting for a young woman to question her medication. Then they pounced.

While working afternoon shifts, I occasionally saw Mike and the male nurses in action while I stood a few yards away from the open doorway of the Medication Room.

Amidst screams and yells from a young woman to, 'leave me alone,' Mike and his mates grabbed her. A teenager who questioned her medication was now frogmarched towards one of the six Seclusion Rooms.

The poor kid's shouts of rage were to no avail. This sweaty, grunting gang of hyped-up men had no intention of letting her go.

A girl, someone's daughter, grandchild, sister, cousin, bestie, or lover, hustled away by lascivious, handsy older males.

One afternoon, instead of going on a break, I followed this gang's stench of BO, testosterone, and stale cigarette smoke to a Seclusion Room.

When I reached the Single Room, I stood at the open doorway and looked at the young woman standing side-on to the doorway beside a bed.

Intent on the administration of the pills, none of the nurses in the room looked my way.

These grey-uniformed beefy men, towering over the young women, pinned her thin arms to her side.

A female nurse with a medication cup containing blue and green and yellow pills stood beside Mike as the two of them stood in front of the teenager.

A male nurse standing behind the young woman, held her head and jerked it back.

Mike with a swift movement, then clamped the girl's nose between his fingers. In shock, the young girl's mouth dropped open.

The female nurse with the medication cup then tipped the pills into the young woman's wide-open mouth.

As the pills streamed into the girl's mouth, Mike stroked the young woman's neck with a finger, forcing her to swallow the pills.

He then shoved a finger into the teenager's mouth.

And ran his unwashed boofy finger around her top gum to make sure she had not secreted the pills inside her mouth before unclamping her nose.

These actions and their purposes were described during another chat I had with Zoe, Wendy, and Agnes.

A 'de-briefing session' midst tears, laughter, and the noise and busyness of a pub as, that night, they celebrated their release from Banksia. Actions and purposes I wrote about in my notebook.

Actions I watched as I stood at the open doorway of the cell that afternoon after Mike removed his finger from the young woman's mouth. A signal to the other members of that gang of nurses that Mike had finished with the teenager.

Who burst into tears and collapsed in a heap onto the bed as the nurses turned towards the doorway.

Not wanting to be seen, I hurried away from the Seclusion Room and hid in a broom cupboard across the hallway from the room.

I pulled the door to, but left a gap for me to peer through as the female nurse left the male nurses as they gathered in the hallway, around the doorway of the Single Room.

After a male nurse had locked the door of the cell, Mike handed around a packet of smokes to the other four male nurses.

'Another PD dealt with, eh?' he said as, having lit his smoke, he blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

'They really try it on, don't they?' one of the group said after lighting his smoke.

'They start by questioning their medication. And then, before you know it, they'll be demanding this or that and threatening to top themselves if they don't get their way,' he concluded and puffed on his durry.

'Yer best to nip it in the bud before the young lady is discharged home. Gives the parents a break. Rather than having to put up with that nonsense. If young girls behaved like that at home, they'd end up ruling the roost,' another member of the group chimed in and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling.

'As if the doctor doesn't know what's best for these PDs.' Another member of the group gave his penny's worth. 'The doctor's the one with the knowledge of what pills work best,' he concluded as he ashed his smoke onto the shiny, dark blue lino floor.

'The doctor states,' Mike rejoined the conversation as he finished his smoke.

He dropped the butt onto the floor and ground it out with the toe of his shoe and said, 'lunies who have a Personality Disorder are women or girls who are sexually frustrated.' He paused before concluding, 'well! We know how to sort that problem out, don't we?'

Amidst guffaws and cries of 'good one, Mike!' the group broke up and made their way back to other areas of the ward.

As the male nurses' chatter and laughter faded away, sickened by what I had seen and heard, I raced for a toilet. I entered it and went to cubicle, where I spewed my guts up.

After I finished vomiting, I took a couple of pieces of gum from the pocket of my uniform to freshen my mouth and leaned against the toilet wall.

While I chewed the gum, I thought of Belinda's comment about '... who are these men? Where the heck do they come from...?'

They were ordinary blokes.

Blokes with women and children in their lives, as I heard Mike and the other male nurses chatting about in Banksia's Staff Room during one or other of my breaks.

Convos. about school fundraising activities or family barbecues. Family men talking with pride about their kids. Or guys talking about an upcoming engagement party or a family wedding. Or chatting about their leadership roles in community or faith-based organizations.

They were just your average Joe, with unaccountable power over vulnerable teenage girls.

They behaved in a way I expected ordinary blokes to behave when granted that power.

Whether, as Mike claimed in the convo. I overheard between him and Bill, the New South Wales Government, or some other authority, gave it to them.

And they behaved as ordinary blokes do when their hegemony is challenged by a female, like Cath or Belinda. React with violence; as my women friends who had survived episodes of domestic abuse attested to.

Or violence specific to asylum settings, such as being labelled a do-gooder or being raped in a ward cell, like what happened to my friend Anne. Or having a family pet strung up from the branch of a tree at the family home.

I chewed the gum for a few minutes before I left the toilet and returned to the cell.

When I reached the room, I peered through the small glass window set into the upper half of the locked Seclusion Room door. I gazed at the teenager, now held in solitary confinement.

My eyes brimmed with tears when I saw the girl, her face streaked with tears, curled into a ball on the bed.

Her messy hair straggled over her face while a trickle of saliva dribbled from a corner of her mouth.

I witnessed similar distressing scenes about a month after my chat with Zoe, Wendy, and Agnes in Banksia's courtyard.

This time, the sight of four of Banksia's six Seclusion Rooms in use rattled my mind.

Scenes I gazed at as I returned from the toilet at the start of a break and peered through the windows of those Single Rooms.

The young women in each locked cell were zonked out, with saliva dribbling from their mouths as they lay on a bed isolated from socializing with others.

I sought to settle my agitation before returning to my duties in the ward by focusing my mind on the beauty of a garden.

A secluded garden on the western side of Banksia.

A place accessible only through a side door of the staff room.

I therefore entered the garden during my break that cold winter's afternoon.

I sat on a bench resting against a brick wall on one side of the open window of Mike's office.

While cigarette smoke drifted past me, I warmed myself in the rays of the setting sun.

I attempted to re-focus my mind away from the sight of the four female teenagers locked-up in Banksia's cells.

I gazed at a garden bed where purple hydrangea blooms nodded under the caresses of a cool winter breeze while I smelled the aroma of wattle flowers.

As Blue Wrens chirped and scurried amongst the plants, I heard a chair being dragged across a floor.

The sounds of two male voices drifted out through the open window of Mike's office as a Pied Butcher Bird landed on the top of a wall.

A brick wall surrounding the garden providing a perch for the Butcher Bird to send its piping call across the garden as a conversation started.

'It's been another good shift, eh, Mike? We had some really nice chicks, absolute stunners, admitted to Banksia last night.'

'Yer, you're right, Alan. Nice boobs on both of them.'

I heard a drawer being opened as one of the men coughed.

'Care for a drink?'

'No need to ask, Mike. I know the quality of the Scotch you keep in that drawer. But you're looking down, anything you want to get off your chest?'

After a pause, I heard Mike say, 'You know why I came here?'

'Nothing much, just that you were working in an asylum somewhere in the Hunter Valley and wanted a change of scenery.'

'Yer, there's that Allan and something else.'

The jangling sound of a phone ringing interrupted the conversation. The phone stopped as Mike continued.

'You see, Allan, one morning in the asylum where I worked, I did another relief shift in a ward for male schizos. but this time I was the only one on. Admin. were phoning around trying to get other staff.'

'Know that situation well, Mike.'

'So, I started the morning showers.'

'There was this young guy, a nineteen-year-old schiz, Jason, always a bit toey.'

'Know the type.'

'Anyway, that morning, by myself, that young bloke gets real in your face, antsy.'

'So, what did ya do? Deck him?'

'Spun him around, put my arms around his neck and put a Sleeper Hold on him.'

'Smart move. Would have done the same myself. No good-doer types around to create a song and dance over nothing. Creating unnecessary dramas until they are dealt with. So, what happened?'

'Well, the young bloke falls to the floor but, when his eyes open, he's not fully with it.'

'Thank Christ! Mike! There were no do-gooders around. What did you report it as, attempted suicide?'

'Yep!'

'Mate! You're on top of the game! Next time we're at the pub, my shout of any top-shelf stuff you like! So, where's the young fella now?'

'Human veggie in a back-ward.'

'Best place for him. What sort of life does a schiz. have, eh? Look at the ones we have here. Been here ten, twenty years because we are the only ones who will take them in and look after them because society doesn't want them.'

'And let's not forget, the New South Wales Government recognises the fantastic job we do. We are rewarded for keeping lunies off the street and scaring the tits off the public by being appointed permanent members of the Public Service. A job for life, Mike, a job for life.'

'Yer, I know.'

'So, what's the problem?'

'The young bloke has a sister, lives and works up on the North Coast somewhere, belongs to some weird Christian group. She cut up something rough when she came to see her brother.'

'She visited him when I just happened to be the relieving Charge Nurse in the back-ward for the day of her visit.'

'I went with her to the Day Room, where the young bloke sat in a wheelchair near a window, staring into space. Lights are on but no one is at home, sort of situation.'

'Know it, Mike, know it.'

'Anyway, she threw her arms around him. Carried on a right treat. Wailed and cried like she was at a funeral.'

'Rellies. Mike! Come on! We know they talk shit when it comes to lunies. They know diddly-squat about looking after them. That's why we're here.'

'I know. But I saw the sister after she said goodbye and left the ward.'

'I was in the Charge Nurse's office and I looked through a window and saw the sister, standing several yards away from the ward.'

'She was talking to one of the asylum do-gooders. A nurse who was meant to be working that morning shift with me.'

'Sorry to cut in, Mike. But you know we have a do-gooder in Banksia?'

The talking stopped and then continued with Allan saying,

'She needs to be sorted out. It's about time we had a peek-a-boo at that little notebook she keeps scribbling in. Anyway, as you were saying.'

'Well, the sister and that nurse talked and kept turning their heads to look at the ward. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying.'

'At one point, the sister stared at the ward with a savage look in her eyes, you know, like when the missus gets really pissed off.'

'Know the look, Mike.'

'Anyway, they eventually moved on.'

'So where is the do-gooder now?'

'Don't know. She left the asylum after that talk with the sister.'

'You think she might have seen and said something?'

'Well, maybe.'

'While I was in the bathroom sorting out the young bloke, I had this feeling that someone was behind me, standing at the doorway of the bathroom, watching.'

'But when I turned around, there was no one there. Know what I mean?'

'We're on the same page, Mike. A do-gooder is a wuss. Bloke's coming on late for a shift rush in to help a mate. They don't hang around doorways, getting their knickers in a twist.'

'I'm with you, Allan.'

'But there's something else that's weird.'

Another pause in the conversation as clouds of pungent cigarette smoke drifted out through the window. The smoke caught my throat, but I dared not cough.

'I've never heard of a permanent staff member being transferred out, have you?' Mike continued.

'Can't say I have.'

'But some bigwigs from Asylum Admin. who I had never seen, came over to my ward, Ward 9, a Male Psycho-Geriatric Ward. They visited me in my office a couple of weeks after I settled the young bloke.'

'We had a chat. And during that chat, they said it's best if I moved on before a coroner started asking questions.'

'That is weird. What's a coroner got to do with it?'

'I know, Allan. Anyway, the bigwigs said they had arranged to transfer me to a position here, in this asylum, as Charge Nurse of a new ward for teenage girls, 'Banksia.''

'Yer, I can see why you're uneasy, Mike. But you're working with a great bunch of blokes who have your back. We really appreciate the way you've organised the rosters and the ward routines. Lovely young chicks to take for a wash of a morning while we do the concerned, caring father figure routine.'

There was silence from Mike's office as the smell of frying onions, sizzling steak and burning eucalyptus timber drifted into the garden. Somewhere beyond Banksia, a barbecue was happening as the sounds of children's voices floated on the evening air.

Mike broke the silence by saying. 'Yer, you're right. That's the best way of looking at things, isn't it?'

'Because we also don't have to be concerned about legal age and all that crap, do we, Allan?'

'That's right, Mike, we're just doing our job. And mate! That was brilliant how you scored a couple of cars for Banksia because you told Admin. that community follow-up was important after the doctor discharges these sexy chicks.'

'That sucked the do-gooders right in.'

'Now we get to see these gorgeous young women in the privacy of their homes.'

'Mate! You've landed on your feet. You're living the dream. We're living the dream.'

'Yer, you're right, Allan. I need to stop thinking about that do-gooder and what she might have said to the sister. Or whether a lawyer got involved because the do-gooder or the sister said something.'

'Anyway, only one of those two bitches was worth fucking.'

'The do-gooder was an ugly-looking chick. The sort a bloke would only fuck if he were desperate and pissed as a fart.'

'But the sister now, she was a different sort. Like the do-gooder here, a real spunk.'

'You're on the money, Mike, when you say that about the do-gooder. Bit of an ice-maiden, I hear, who probably needs a bit of warming up.'

The two men chuckling chilled me to the bone.

'So,' Mike continued, 'with the sister, I would have loved to have warmed her up. Wouldn't have minded getting my end in with her. But I think I pissed her off!'

Laughter, chuckles, and the sound of coughing cascaded through the window.

'Good one, Mike.'

'But as you say, Allan, working here is great. I come to work of a morning and see these stunning young girls.'

'And you're spot on when you say I'm working with a great bunch of blokes.'

'Good on ya, mate. Let's get to the pub. It's time to buy you that top-shelf stuff.'

I heard a window closing as it creaked in its timber frame while I sat, too frightened to move, my legs trembling, my heart pounding and my arms shaking.

My mind was an absolute whirligig of unsettling thoughts, as I didn't know whether to throw up or walk out of the asylum. Or return to the ward and finish my shift. Once my legs and arms settled down.

Though I stayed on, I wanted to 'keep scribbling' in my notebook, I contacted the Asylum Administration Office the next morning. I took myself off the list of staff available for overtime shifts.

Though I put myself back on the list after a few months, for whatever reason, I never worked another shift in Banksia.

But a guy I knew, Wayne, did leave the asylum.

In asylum parlance, he 'went to Victoria' during a shift he and I worked together in Ward 29 months before I spoke with Zoe, Wendy, and Agnus.

However, he and I kept in contact after I phoned him and told him what happened after he left. Walked out of the asylum while the asylum's alpha males watched a live televised footy match in Ward 29's Staff Recreation Room.

Some time after that phone call, I contacted him with a specific request of needing his help to release Clare and Jane from the asylum.