Robert Schmidt: Poor Robert

I rang the Fullarton Lutheran Homes for a follow-up visit with my sister Pauline.

‘That will be fine,’ the secretary says to me over the phone. ‘No RATS or appointment. Just put a mask on and then a visor when you get here.’

Half an hour later I cheerfully arrive at the front door. There is a certain amount of red tape but nothing like the previous Wednesday.

Inside the door there is a short walk along a corridor to the lift. Arriving at the lift, I am sent along another long corridor through a series of doors which my code can use. Then I am at another lift.

Going up to first floor and getting out at the first floor it says you are in Acacia West, Pauline’s ward.  Rooms 30-33 to the left, 34-37 to right. God knows where Pauline’s room 13 is. Straight ahead is a big locked door.

Eventually the door opens. A slightly rotund man appears.

‘What are you doing here? We are in lockdown.’

Slightly nonplussed I reply, ‘Um ah,’ pause. ‘The lady at the front desk says I can come in.’

‘What’s your sister’s name,’ he asks.

‘Pauline, Pauline Schmidt,’ I reply.

He disappears. A long pause, then he returns. ‘OK, she’s right ahead through the big door, in room thirteen.’

Finally I am sitting with my sister, Pauline  A carer comes in who I am not familiar with. ‘Pauline, I will give you your RATS.

The carer turns to me, ‘Sir I don’t think that you should be in here. What’s your room number?’

‘I’m Pauline’s younger brother, Robert. I’m visiting.’

Pauline’s eight years older than me. The carer thinks I’m a resident! So much for looking young for my age. She must be an agency nurse.

After spending an hour with Pauline I say goodbye. I get to the large locked doors. I can’t raise anyone to let me out.

Poor Robert.

Published by burnsidewriters

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