The Nurse That Carries Smiles in her Coat Pocket
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The Nurse That Carries Smiles in her Coat Pocket
Author's Notes: Just so you all know, this is NOT one of my better stories; it is merely an experiment on different writing styles. That being said, enjoy the story.
Special thanks to: DarkAura[NLR] for prereading this and being generally helpful.
---- Caring for a Caregiver ----
Nurses are a unique kind. They have this insatiable need to care for others, which is both their biggest strength and fatal flaw.
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As I look at her grave, I think about the past in the same cliché fashion that you see in all of those books that other ponies write. However, one thing that they will never get on paper correctly is how hard it is to simply turn away from the granite headstone that sits in the freshly-turned dirt of a grave. I tried again and again to tear my gaze from the grey slab of stone, fighting the tears that I had thought all gone but had returned at the thought of actually leaving, only to come to a rest merely inches from where I had last been.
I look upon the grave now, staring blankly at the inscription that was chiseled under the beautiful scrolling letters that spelled out a name that had long since faded with time. For some strange reason, the elements had left the inscription as clear as they had been during the funeral. I needed no name to mark the pony that rested six feet below the grass that coated their grave; the phrase that was left was enough to know who had left it. After all, the particular pony who had said it had said it every single day at least fifteen times.
”Love and Care are the best medicine, when coupled with a firm touch.”
The voice that echoed in my head sounded as if it was uttered by a pony right next to me, which it had been, except many years ago. Her voice managed to preserve itself in my memory as the rest of her existence seemed to fade into grey, buried in the sands of time. Funny, how I had worked for her for a good part of my life, yet I needed the assistance of pictures to help me remember all those little things that she had in her looks that nopony else had. Sure, other ponies could resemble her in one way or another, but there wasn’t another soul in Equestria that was exactly like her.
Rain began to fall on my head, breaking the silence with its persistent drops that peppered the ground. I simply blinked the water out of my eyes, the precipitation merging with the tears that flowed down my face and dripping as one onto the ground below me. I barely noticed the cold and the wet, enveloped in memories as I was. Sadness and the warm feeling of reminiscence warred for dominance in my heart as I recalled to myself the images of the past, digging them up from beneath the sands of time.
Back then I was simply a mare just out of fillyhood and ready to “take on Equestria” as most ponies my age had loved to shout aloud. Of course, just like the others around me who had said this phrase, I had no idea what I wanted to do, only that it revolved around my Cutie Mark; a simple arc of a smile with hearts surrounding it. As one could guess, I brought health to others by simply smiling. It was a good talent, something that I could use in a lot of different things, but I truly had no idea where to start. And so, taking off down the proverbial “road of life”, I found myself in Ponyville with no money or job or any food. I was starving, lost, and alone.
At least, I was until that fateful and terrible day. I was curled into a ball in an alleyway, trembling with both the cold and the pain that wracked my body. A group of stallions had cornered me in that dark place that rests between Sugar Cube Corner and the secondhoof shop; wanting more than just the happiness I had given them with a smile. It… it was terrible, the way they did the unspeakable with such an uncaring air. They had left me there a mere husk of my former self, laughing raucously at their idea of “fun”.
It was then she found me, a sad pony that had nowhere to go, and a pony that had lost everything. The urge to flee was so strong then, growing even stronger as she stepped closer and closer to where I had lain. However hard I had tried, my legs wouldn’t do what my body urged them to do and merely twitched feebly in the dirt. Her words to me had made no sense, merely bouncing off of my disoriented mind as she picked me up from the ground. I don’t even remember where we had gone that day, only that I ended it in a hospital bed with wires attached to me in various places.
Only a day after I had been forced to lie completely still, staring only at the ceiling with glazed eyes, the very same pony that had come to rescue me entered my room. Her eyes had been lined with tears as she told me in a devastated voice that I was going to be in the hospital for a long time. My words had been confused and distraught, not to mention the fear that entwined itself gracefully between them. “Why am I here? What happened to me?!” I had said with a shout as my body twitched furiously in its attempts to sit up in the bed.
I can still feel the ghosts of the emotions that passed through me as she explained the events that had transpired the day before. Fear, anger, desperation, and helplessness all coursed through my body as I lie back against the soft sheets and sob. I had thought my life over then. I had thought that it was all gone for me, and I would end up like the ponies who sat against buildings with cups in front of them to collect the pity that the masses sometimes gave them in the form of coins. I was, in some twisted way, saved from that fate and given another. After my days of recovery, she had come and offered me a job in the place where I had stayed for months on end. Without anywhere else to go and without any way to return home, I accepted the job without a second thought.
I remember the first time a patient that I cared for had died. I still feel the pain in my heart to this day, as if a small piece was ripped out and tossed into a fire. The white pony had found me inside the former patient’s room, where I was lying on the bed with tears silently streaming down my face; much like the rain does now. Her warm hooves had wrapped around me without a word, bringing comfort and relief to my pains. I remember how I had told her with a pleading voice that I didn’t want to work like this anymore, that I didn’t want to have to feel the pain.
“I know, Healing Smile, I know. But that’s why you are here, because you can feel the pain. Just remember that for every ounce of pain you feel, it’s a pound of it taken from the pony you're helping.” Her words, like so many of the ones I remember today, still sounded out fresh in my mind. They brought tears to my eyes as they resurfaced, blurring the edges of the grey slab that stuck upwards from the ground.
I never wanted it to happen, had never wanted for her to get hurt like that. A nurse was supposed to give help, not be given it. I remember pushing open the door and rushing into the room where she lay surrounded by doctors that were caring for her wounds. The amount of pain that she had been in was apparent in her eyes, which were leaking profusely with tears. She had looked over to me through the bustle of activity and smiled with an effort, trying to tell me that it was okay. When the room emptied, a pony bundled in blood-red bandages lay there with her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling slowly.
Guilt still washes over me as I think about how she had been placed in that bed. There had been some emergency that I was called out to, some crises that needed averting. The cart I had been pushing had also been requested, full of clean surgical tools that had just come from the sterilizing room. There wasn’t time to slow down or divert the cart as the earth pony stepped in front of my path. It was too late. The resultant tremor that jarred my body was nothing compared to what passed through it as my mind processed the identity of the unfortunate pony that lay on the floor clutching her face with her hooves.
I had visited her every day, sometimes returning to the room during my shift to check on her. The beeping of the monitor that was attached to a lead on her heart gave me the assurance that she was still alive, that there was still hope. One day, there were no beeps, replaced by a constant ring that was the dread of every worker in the hospital. It was the ringing of death. The door was shoved aside and the doctor called, but everything that I tried to do was in vain. She had died, and it was my fault. I killed her.
Now the only thing of her, besides the memories that I have, is a letter, addressed to me. It rests in the pocket of my heavy jacket, a reminder of the brilliant pony that had saved me. I looked at the grave solemnly before pulling out the letter and spreading it on the ground underneath me, shielded from the rain by a waterproofing spell that I had one of the doctors cast over it. It started simply, as did most letters, with a simple Dear Smiling Heart. I whispered the words alongside the mare’s voice that repeated them inside my head.
“I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, Smiling Heart, but if you do I want you to know that I don’t blame you. Accidents happen, especially in a place such as a hospital. I just wanted to write this letter to pass on some last advice that I have for you. It’s not about how you do your job; it’s about how much you love it. However, the job of a nurse isn’t about loving your job; it is about loving the ones you care for. Remember that, please.
“With love, Nurse Redheart.”
I feel a soft touch on my back, though when I turned around there was nothing there. I couldn’t help but smile as I turned back to the grave. That old mare had always been so full of her “Nurse’s Wisdom” as she had always liked to call it. I lower my head and put the letter back into my jacket’s folds, shutting it away for another time. After what seems like ages, I find myself turning away from the headstone with a single tear running down my face. I had ponies to care for. I was a caregiver.
It’s the only way to repay my debt.
