Narrator: Louise D. | East Sussex, England
I worked as a healthcare assistant. A patient once spent an entire evening describing a room she said she was trapped in. We were standing around her bed in a perfectly ordinary ward.
She said the other room had green wallpaper and a window too high to reach. She could hear us, but couldn’t see us. She kept putting her hands forward as though feeling for furniture.
I told her where she was. She became distressed and asked why we were making her stay with the woman on the ceiling.
I have heard confused patients say frightening things. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the damp circle that appeared on the blanket over her knees.
Another circle formed beside it. Then another. Something was dripping onto her from above, although the ceiling tiles were dry. When I touched the liquid it was cold and smelled faintly of old plaster.
She stared straight up and said, “She’s nearly down now.”
I pressed the call bell with my elbow and held both her hands until help came. The wet patches had stopped growing. They showed up as pale rings when the blanket dried.
She was herself the next morning and remembered nothing. I didn’t tell her. She was relieved to be going home, and I wasn’t going to put that back in her head.
