Wandering Spirits

Chapter 21

Lisa's pow (Storm's sister)

Exactly one year ago:

The sun's last rays cast a golden blanket over the city as Lisa pedaled steadily and determinedly. Her red hair fluttered freely behind her, like flames dancing in the wind. It was a rare luxury to be able to bike to work without having to battle rain or sharp winds, and the mild summer evening brought a wide smile to Lisa's lips.

She maneuvered between sporadic pedestrians and scattered cars. It was as if the whole city breathed in the summer heat and relaxed in sync with Lisa's calm heartbeat. Even though she knew that the evening shift at the hospital could bring unforeseen challenges, she allowed herself to be momentarily swept away by the idyll.

Lisa passed by the city's vibrant life, where the outdoor seating areas were bustling with people clinging to the last hours of daylight. She briefly thought of her own little ones at home - Lotte and Mille - who were probably already deep in dreamland. With Martin, she was sure that everything was fine at home.

After a quarter of an pleasant bike ride, Lisa arrived at the hospital's parking lot. She parked her bike in the usual spot and locked it securely. She breathed in the cool evening air, centered her thoughts, and mentally prepared herself for the night's responsibilities and possible events. With an almost ritualistic feeling, she adjusted her nurse uniform and enjoyed the small adrenaline rush that always came with the start of a new shift.

With one foot in each world - the calm family life's and the unpredictable hospital's - Lisa knew that the evening might not remain as peaceful as the weather suggested. But right now, in this moment, she allowed herself to be grateful for the perfect bike ride and the beautiful summer evening that had welcomed her on her way to work.

Lisa pressed the well-worn button labeled five, and the elevator doors closed with a hollow clunk. She stood alone in the cramped space, surrounded by mirrors reflecting her red hair and expectant face. A gentle vibration in the floor announced the elevator's ascent, and she gave herself a mental pep talk. "Hoping for a quiet evening," she whispered to her reflection, which seemed to nod in agreement.

The elevator hummed softly as it reached its destination, and the doors slid open with a welcome from the psychiatric ward. Lisa took a deep breath and stepped out into the corridor, where the hospital's sterile smell mixed with sporadic waves of disinfectant. She knew that behind every locked door and every corner, unforeseen events could be lurking - after all, this was a world where the human mind reigned, and logic did not always have top priority.

On her way to the report room, Lisa crossed paths with familiar faces. She met the gazes of several colleagues and gave them a nod or a brief, appreciative smile. The feedback ranged from wide grins to tired glances, all parts of the hospital's silent language. An energetic nurse with a coffee cup firmly held between her hands waved enthusiastically, while another muttered something incomprehensible about "full moon" and "you never know" before disappearing into the shadows.

As she approached the report room, she could see the silhouette of someone by the window. It was Tor, the night watch veteran, who used to say that he had seen everything. But even Tor had learned that 'everything' in the psychiatric ward was a fluid concept. He turned around as he heard Lisa's footsteps and gave her a crooked smile that said, "Prepare yourself for anything."

"The evening is young, and our patients unpredictable," he said, almost like a greeting.

"Let's hope for a quiet evening," replied Lisa, returning his smile with a mix of optimism and realism.

With that, she stepped into the report room, ready to tackle the evening's mysteries.

Lisa let the door to the room close behind her and caught the attention of her colleagues with a small cough. It crackled from a paper cup as she pressed it against the coffee machine's outlet, the sound of water transforming into brown comfort in the depths of the cup. She moved so calmly and purposefully that it seemed as if time stretched a little extra for her, as if the evening shift was waiting for her signal to begin.

"Shall we just start then?" asked Rune, the nurse who always had too many pens in his pocket and an eternal optimism that even the toughest nights couldn't extinguish. Lisa nodded, took her first sip of the scalding hot coffee, and felt the everyday life stiffen behind her.

"We have received a new patient today." The department leader, Inger, with a face that bore traces of a thousand destinies, set the tone for the meeting. Eyes were raised, some from notepads, others from screens, while questions hung unspoken in the air.

"A young girl, 18 years old," Inger continued, and Lisa's thoughts involuntarily drifted to Mille and Lotte back home. They learned that the girl was enveloped in the gray cloak of anxiety, a shadow that had transformed the colors of life into monotonous shades of gray. The diagnoses had been made, anxiety and depression, words that were both concrete and too vague, like maps that only showed the outlines of the landscape one found themselves in.

Lisa's eyes were fixed on Inger's lips, which formed the words of a story she would soon become a part of. The warm coffee in her hand became an anchor to the present, as she prepared to dive into another soul's storm. She observed the other facial expressions around the table, as Inger continued to share details about the new patient.

"And what is she like?" Lisa leaned forward, noticing how her red hair formed a lively contrast against the white walls.

Inger took a deep breath, as if to gather her thoughts before she answered. "She is a very sweet and nice girl," she said, and her eyes softened with empathy. "But she needs a lot of encouragement to handle everyday tasks. Unfortunately, her self-confidence is non-existent."

There was a heaviness in the air, an unspoken promise to be stronger than the walls that held the patients' worlds together. Lisa felt a pang of worry, familiar from countless shifts where she had tried to build bridges over others' inner abysses.

"And she needs continuous supervision," Inger continued, while flipping through some papers. "She has tried to take her own life three times." It became quiet around the table, and even Rune's eternal optimism seemed to fade for a moment. "Her mother brought her here earlier today. A caring woman. It is clear that she wants the best for her daughter."

Lisa let her gaze wander over her notes, drawing small hearts next to important points. She thought of her own children, feeling a mix of gratitude and bittersweet understanding that not all mothers had the same strength.

"We hope that a lengthy hospitalization won't be necessary," concluded Inger, and closed the folder she held in her hands. "Just long enough for her to regain some kind of footing."

Lisa nodded quietly, while formulating a plan in her head on how to approach the girl with fragile self-esteem. She would start with small steps - perhaps a joke or two could brighten up the patient's evening, just like she often did for Lotte and Mille when dusk filled their rooms with shadows.

Inger lifted her gaze from the notes and turned towards Lisa. "The patient's name is Freja," she said, and in the room, there was an expectation thicker than the scent of sterile hospital equipment. "And Lisa, you will have the main responsibility for her."

Lisa nodded, a determined and professional nod, as if she were balancing an invisible crown on her flaming red head. She felt an inner calm at the thought of the new responsibility. With a role model's natural authority, she was used to taking the lead, whether it was small arguments about toys at home or serious conversations with her brother Storm.

"Then I will introduce myself to her after the report," replied Lisa, her voice as steady as her hands, which now took a sip of the already too cold coffee.

While her colleagues continued to discuss the evening's tasks, Lisa's thoughts were consumed by Freja's situation. Self-confidence at zero, three suicide attempts; challenges were scattered like obstacles on a racetrack. But Lisa had trained on this track before. She knew how important it was to stay focused and not stumble in her own empathy.

The whole department seemed to let out a collective sigh as they thought about Freja's path ahead, but Lisa saw it differently. For her, this was not just the domain of sadness, but the arena of possibilities. She wanted to be the light in Freja's darkness, a living proof that humor and warmth could find their way even through the thickest walls of psychiatry.

The meeting concluded, and with a new dose of determination, Lisa stood up. Each step towards Freja's room was like a promise - a promise to bring a glimpse of laughter into the life of a girl who so desperately needed it.