The Night Shift

My name is Carmen and I'm a nurse. I'm from Lima, but I moved to London three years ago. I work at a big hospital near the river. I remember my first night shift very well. It was a Friday in January, and I was very nervous.

I arrived at the hospital at seven in the evening. The ward was quiet at first. There were twenty patients and only three nurses. My colleague Grace showed me the rooms and explained the computer system. "Don't worry," she said. "The first night is always strange."

At ten o'clock the noises started. Someone knocked on a door. A machine beeped in room four, and the phone at the desk didn't stop. I walked from room to room with my list and checked every patient.

In room nine there was an old man, Mr. Brown. He didn't sleep at all. He talked all night: about his garden, about his wife, about his years in the navy. At three in the morning he asked me, "Do you like London, nurse?" "I don't know yet," I answered. He laughed. "You will."

At four o'clock I was so tired. I wanted to cry. Then Grace appeared with two cups of tea. "Ten minutes," she said. "Sit down. Breathe." We talked about Lima and about her family in Nigeria. That cup of tea was the best cup of tea of my life.

The shift finished at seven in the morning. The sun was up and the streets were full of people. I walked home slowly and slept all day. Was it a hard night? Yes, it was. But I didn't stop. That was three years ago, and I still work on the same ward. Mr. Brown was right: I like London now.