a night nurse: on wounds

It seems that some dolls are hurt here before they are healed. At first this concerned me. Some of our patients arrive with obvious ailments, but dolls being robust in their loyalty to living as our stickler little mirrors, their wounds are largely unseen. The untrained eye might think these dolls were simply worse for wear, like anybody who has lived to be a certain age. (The other nurses and I often joke that we well understand that concept; seems we're less (and less) spry with each new sunrise.)

I fear that my painting of contusions, reddened sclera, and other so-called gore might seem on the surface contradictory, or even potentially a sadistic justification for our hospital's existence shrouded in transparent theatrics. Embarrassing. But on the contrary! (I think.) It is a method of treatment here. We hear stories and take the pulse of the pain. And so on. We birth the healing forward for them.

As disturbing as it is for me to manipulate the unfolding visual manifestation of their tales, for the patients themselves I am finding there is an expressed (or tacit) feeling of relief. Other emotions too, but indeed a palpable relief.

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