der Bauberzerg - 01. Rerry-Howan, or Rerry VIII

 Rerry-Howan, or the most Royal and Reverent Rerry VIII

Rerry-Howan has the same misfortune as me of being in possession of a hyphenated first name. Of course, this is not his real name. A name can be an alias, and as such can sometimes accentuate certain qualities of the person being discussed. Rerry VIII is my preferred alias for Rerry-Howan. I will be referring to Rerry-Howan as Rerry VIII or Rerry for short for his part at Barbaret Bobin.

Rerry is a nurse. Rerry always appears in navy. Nurses at Barberet Bobin have access to uniforms in navy and maroon and sometimes special themed ones (eg Christmas tops,) Rerry, however, always wears navy.

Physical characteristics: height-wise, Rerry is neither here nor there. Rerry is not well over 6 feet. Rerry is only just about 6 feet or so based on my casual observation. Rerry’s hair, both cranial and facial, is sadly not in abundance, although the facial segment trumps its cranial neighbour, and both are fiery red. Rerry is a pure-bred redhead and beard, with pale blue eyes the size of a crab’s set so deep in his skull, they appear at a distance to be no grander than two lonely ants. Sorry, Rerry. You just look the way you do, and don’t you ever apologise for the way you look.

Rerry wears an n95 mask all the time as per covid rules; very rarely would he take it off for a quick breather while alone in the station. Because of this, I never get to see what the lower half of his face looked like, or what his teeth were like. The only visible evidence that he possesses a lower half of a face is his beard, which he keeps just long enough to poke through beneath the n95’s silver lining. 

Rerry’s age is a mystery, but if male hair either receding or migrating down south to the chin is true, Rerry must be in his early to mid-thirties, because science says so, and we are mere mortals that must obey the laws of science.

Rerry has a bit of a tummy clearly detectable through his scrubs, but he isn’t overly obese, and most certainly not clinically obese. Rerry has a husky voice and never raises it. Every time he starts talking, it sounds like he has a bit of phlegm down the very fork where the windpipe and oesophagus start to diverge (they don’t always run side by side inside your neck) and he couldn’t be bothered clearing it. That perhaps explains the perpetual huskiness in his voice. 

Rerry’s favourite numbers are 6 and 8. I discovered this by chance. 6 is more of a lucky number for Rerry, not so much a favourite but clearly not loathsome. I had the pleasure of being a resident at room 6 at Barbaret Bobin. Room 6 is the real room with a view, with full frontals of a gigantic wych elm just outside (remind me to telegraph Ruth Wilcox from Howards End; it’s a room she would have loved to inhabit.)

Before I get distracted with Ruth and her wych elm, let’s go back to Rerry because he is simply too shy to remind you this story is mostly about him. Rerry’s marital status is a mystery to me, as I don’t recall him wearing anything on his ring finger; whether he does or not, nurses wear gloves a lot and you wouldn’t be able to find out if they equip any ornamental fingerwear anyway. 

Let’s not assume Rerry is either married or not. If he is married, I hope it’s his first and last and a loving and long-lasting one. The fact that Rerry loves number 6 doesn’t have to mean he is going to end up being married 6 times with 6 wives, which is completely and unforgivably horrible.

Rerry also loves the number 8. This is easier to work out. Rerry is, after all, Rerry VIII. If I had access to Rerry’s family history, I’m sure I’d find at least seven of his ancestors bearing the name Rerry, and he himself is the eighth. 

Rerry is a good friend. This is not the kind of friendship you form outside a staff-patient relation. To say Rerry is a good friend simply means that Rerry is good-natured and works well with mostly everyone, both his fellow nurses and all the patients he looks after. 

Barbaret Bobin has an enclosed ward and two open wards. The staff-to-patient ratio at the enclosed ward is 1 to 2. The enclosed ward has 8 rooms, able to accommodate 8 patients, so on any given shift, Rerry would be one of a team of four nurses in charge of 8 patients, each looking after two in particular. The open ward has 15 rooms able to accommodate 15 patients, and they are grouped into teams of 5, three in total, and if Rerry has an open ward shift, he would be looking after 5 patients with the help of a team leader who oversees everything and helps out where needed. 

Rerry is good at explaining boundaries to his patients. If I ask for a nail clipper, depending on whether my mental state and/or hands really need it, Rerry would adjust his answer and deliver it in his usual calm and husky voice. Rerry, like most nurses I have worked with, is aware of my mental ramblings more than I am. Sometimes I didn’t have a clue what I was on about, and they did, and they would adjust my treatment without having to explain to me why they did the things the way they did them, because my mental state wouldn’t have accepted any kind of explanation at the time; they knew it, I didn’t.

I used the term ‘work with’ because it’s part of our client-centric terminology. I myself work in healthcare support, and we prefer using ‘work with clients’ instead of ‘work for’ because we believe in treating clients with dignity and entrusting them with a sense of responsibility fit for their capability. It’s the same in nursing. I’m sure during handovers the nurses, Rerry and his friends and colleagues, would use the same terminology. 

Rerry is also very tolerant of minor naughty behaviours from patients and is always willing to let us have a go at things just to test the boundaries without crossing them. Other nurses might refuse to give me my phone just to check if a social worker or my employer has rung, but if I approached Rerry (by scratching at his window like an attention-starved ape) he would quietly slip me my phone and sometimes even allow me to check it unsupervised and turn his back on me to attend to other matters. And me being me, I always check the not-so-important stuff just for fun after I’m done with the serious stuff.

Just for fun.

Rerry is fun to work with, in particular because of his ability to keep a perfectly straight face no matter what jokes you chuck at him. His straight face, albeit half-masked, would be enough to send you into a laughter-induced coma. Oh no, someone down at Emergency would throw a tantrum: not another patient, oh no, Rerry’s rear end be rammed, not when I’m about to go have a cuppa you sod.

I cannot recall on which day I saw or worked with Rerry for the last time. I had a different and equally wonderful nurse helping me the day I was discharged. 

Rerry, your rear end is as fine as your headlight and bonnet. Be wonderful and be yourself like you always are, because you are Rerry-Howan, Rerry VIII. Someone that had a wee similarity to your name founded Trinity College Cambridge, you know that, don’t you.  

Apparently it is one of the best colleges around there.

Unless you had the misfortune of consulting someone from King’s.