Chapter 7: The Bridge Begins
932 Words
The morning air carried a chill that hinted at the changing season, but Charlie barely noticed. Her thoughts were occupied by the slow ticking of the days. Just over a week remained until placement—seven days. That bridge she once feared now stood before her, not a looming void but a path she was learning to walk toward.
She had begun waking earlier. Not by much—just thirty minutes—but it gave her time to breathe, to sip her tea slowly, and to ease into the day without the usual jolt of anxiety. Those quiet mornings had become a ritual, and she was starting to treasure them.
At the library, she met up with Daniel again. They studied in silence, occasionally exchanging questions and clarifying terms. This time, he brought two muffins with him and handed her one without explanation.
“Coping snack,” he said, flipping through his flashcards.
Charlie smiled. “Thanks.”
“You ready for placement?” he asked after a while, his eyes still fixed on his notes.
“I think I’m getting there,” she answered truthfully. “Not completely ready, but I’m not dreading it like before.”
Daniel nodded. “Same here. I keep reminding myself we’re not expected to be perfect—just present, like we said.”
That word again—present. It kept showing up, a thread weaving through every conversation and interaction. It wasn’t about commanding attention; it was about showing up, being grounded, and making room for growth.
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That Friday, Zina invited Charlie to a group dinner.
“You need a little fun before the madness starts,” she said.
Charlie considered saying no. She still preferred quiet evenings. But her body no longer recoiled at the thought of socialising. So she said yes.
They met at Zina’s flat, a warm, vibrant space filled with mismatched pillows and the smell of jollof rice. The dining table was packed with dishes—fried plantains, grilled chicken, spicy stews—and surrounded by laughter.
Charlie sat beside Maya, who winked. “We’ll make a party girl out of you yet.”
“I doubt it,” Charlie replied, laughing.
Emma and Sanjay were there too, along with a few unfamiliar faces, but the mood was easy and welcoming. Zina played Afrobeats in the background, and the conversations flowed freely.
At one point, someone asked, “What’s the one thing you’re most nervous about for placement?”
The room went quiet for a moment.
“Messing up meds,” Sanjay said immediately.
“Being asked a question and blanking,” added Emma.
“Touching the wrong thing,” said Zina, making everyone laugh.
When it was Charlie’s turn, she paused. “Honestly? I'm just communicating. Knowing what to say, how to say it. Especially in a ward where people expect confidence.”
No one laughed or brushed it off.
Maya gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. “You’ll find your rhythm. You already are.”
---
The following Monday, they had their final prep lecture before placement. The lecturer, an older nurse with decades of experience, spoke with calm authority.
“You won’t know everything. You’re not supposed to. But patients remember how you made them feel—not how many d**g names you can recite. Kindness, attentiveness, listening—those are your strongest tools.”
Charlie jotted the words down, not just as notes but as a mantra. She didn’t need to become someone else. She needed to bring herself into the room—quiet but steady.
After class, she lingered in the hallway. She didn’t rush off. Zina waved her over, and she joined the group without needing an invitation.
That evening, she facetimed her mum. The screen flickered before settling on her mother’s smiling face.
“You look brighter,” her mum said almost immediately.
Charlie shrugged, smiling. “I think I’m starting to settle. Slowly.”
“I knew you would,” her mum replied. “You always take your time, but once you root, you grow strong.”
Charlie swallowed a small lump in her throat. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Just don’t forget to eat, sleep, and breathe—in that order.”
“I’ll try.”
---
With placement only three days away, she finally opened the email she had been avoiding—the one with her ward details. Respiratory, at the city hospital.
Her heart skipped a beat.
That meant patients with COPD, asthma, and possibly post-COVID complications. It would be busy, noisy, and demanding.
But she didn’t close the email. She read it again. Then once more, aloud.
Later, she messaged Maya.
“Respiratory. Any advice?”
Maya replied almost instantly:
“Wear comfy shoes. Be kind to the HCAs. Ask questions. And breathe—you’ll be okay.”
Charlie typed, paused, then simply wrote:
“Thanks. I’ll try.”
---
On the night before placement began, she laid out her uniform—clean, crisp, and unfamiliar. Her name badge gleamed under the desk lamp.
She stood in front of the mirror, holding the tunic against herself. It looked like someone else’s life. Someone more certain. But in her reflection, she saw something else.
Not certainty, but readiness.
She didn’t know how the week would go. She didn’t know how many times she would stumble, or freeze, or doubt herself. But she would walk in. She would speak. She would learn.
She folded the uniform neatly, placed it beside her shoes, and climbed into bed.
That night, for the first time since the semester began, she fell asleep easily.
- Writer
