A Curious Girl: Old ladies in the hospital

I've just finished my Arcadiaessay. Five and a quarter sides, narrow lines, small handwriting. This is one essay where I actually don't feel I've left anything out!

Hospital today was OK. The Australian nurse whose name I cannot recall was leaving today, probably to go back to Oz. It was quite nice today because it kept snowing and then going sunny and it was something to talk about with the patients. Plus there were only 19 in today so we did everything really quickly. Mrs. McWilliam, a Dutch Indonesian from what I could make out (wasn't sure as she didn't have her dentures in) introduced me to her husband and later her daughter, who, as she insists on telling me every time I see her, is also called Helen. I said, "Nice to meet you" to the husband but he didn't seem terribly impressed with me. Never mind. I quite like his wife though. Kitty, I think, is her first name. And then there's Ellen something-or-other who I can't make out at the best of times. Today must have been a good day because I managed to convey that I was giving her tea and would she like sugar? She said yes (and wasn't diabetic - when they're not sure I always check) so I gave her some. I remembered that she likes it milky so that was OK. I kept thinking today, Ellen must have been sixteen once. She might have been a gorgeous beauty, a brain box, she might have been the type others relied on, she might have been outspoken or friendly or anything. It was weird thinking that all the old ladies who only seem to still own about half of their marbles were all my age once and had good teeth at some point, and hair that wasn't grey and thin. It seems ridiculous when you consider how much they are patronised, as if they've always been old and 'past it' to use a nasty phrase. It was nice to see Ellen smile.

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