Ticking and crossing boxes, she asked the important questions.

“Where are you? What year is it? What season is it? What’s this called? Repeat after me…”

She leant in close to speak loudly into a deaf ear, the chair hard and uncomfortable beneath her buttocks.
The pungent aroma of faeces twitching her nose, she kept on asking the questions as her mind asked other questions.
Has she soiled herself? How can I check her bottom?

The old woman smiled. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she interrupted,

“You know you’re sitting on a dirty pot under there?”

Relief showing that she didn’t have to check Flo’s undies, the nurse waved an airy hand, “Never mind! I’ll empty it when we’ve finished. Let’s just carry on! Next! Write a sentence of your choice, any sentence of your choice.”

Flo took the pen, settled the page and wrote in shaky yet careful hand: You are . . .

Head tilted, Flo looked at the nurse, mischief lighting her eyes. The nurse raised her eyebrows in return and both laughed as Flo finished the sentence: . . . lovely.

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