Nurse Morgan

Angela lost count of her trips to the supply closet. But this time, it looked different. There was a noticeable coat of dust on everything. The blankets were threadbare and moth eaten. The utilitarian metal shelves were all seemingly replaced with cobwebbed wooden cabinets. Had she gone to the wrong room? She was so exhausted that she barely knew which floor she was on.

In the silence of the supply closet, she could at least focus on herself for a moment. But the only thing catching her attention was her odor. She’d been running around in her scrubs for far too long, and her shift was far from over. Just then, a flash of white caught her eye. A nurse’s uniform hung on a dress form in the center of the room. She wondered how she hadn’t seen it until now. It was outdated and not regulation, but if the regulations led to the filthy state of this supply closet, maybe they deserved shaking up.

She shimmied into the dress without realizing she’d already discarded her scrubs. It hung loose on her, but it was a relief to have a clean change of clothes. Although the uniform had been in this unkept supply closet for who knows how long, it smelled fresh from the dryer. It even felt warm. She put on the stocking effortlessly, as if her legs were stretching into them. She tied her apron tight, the bow straightening her out of her slouch. She didn’t really need a change of shoes, but she slipped on the heavy loafers nonetheless. She felt as though she could run a marathon in them. She adjusted the cap that sat atop her flawlessly pulled back hair. Everything felt neat and orderly. Even her uniform was a perfect fit. She couldn’t hear the loudspeaker from this closet, but she didn’t need it. She knew where she needed to be, and when, and why. When the patients heard the clopping of her wooden soles, they would know that it’s time for their medicine.