A Day in Violet Calder’s Shift

The morning light filtered through the reinforced windows of Northbrook Psychiatric Center as Violet Calder, RN, stepped onto Unit 4B. The air held the familiar blend of antiseptic and coffee that clung to every early shift.

She skimmed the board—six patients assigned to her today. Six different worlds, each with its own gravity.

1. LENA — Schizophrenia, Paranoid Subtype

Violet approached Lena’s door quietly. The woman sat cross-legged on her bed, tracing invisible lines in the air as though decoding an encrypted message.

“Morning, Lena,” Violet said.

Lena’s eyes flicked up. “They changed the frequencies again,” she murmured. “I heard it all night.”

Violet nodded, jotting notes. “We can talk with Dr. Yates about adjusting what needs adjusting.”

Lena leaned in slightly. “You always hear me. That helps.”

Violet didn’t respond aloud, but she felt the weight of that statement as she continued the assessment. Calm. Present. Grounding.

2. MARCUS — Bipolar I, Currently Manic

Down the hall, Marcus greeted her with a grin wide enough to display every tooth.

“Calder! Calder! I’ve figured out how to rewire the economic system,” he announced, pacing fast enough to blur at the edges.

“Let’s take a breath first,” Violet said.

He paused, chest rising, falling—then shooting up again in motion. He launched into a monologue about building a new global infrastructure from cardboard and marker caps, but Violet guided him gently through medication reminders and meal plan check-ins.

His energy radiated like a live wire, sparking off everything around him.

3. EVELYN — Severe Depression

Evelyn sat in the common area, wrapped in a blanket although the room was warm. She acknowledged Violet only with a slow blink.

“Would you like to sit by the window today?” Violet asked.

“No,” Evelyn whispered.

“Would you like company?”

“…Maybe later.”

Violet stayed with her for another minute in silence, recording subtle cues: slowed speech, minimal eye contact, no suicidal cues this morning—small but crucial markers.

4. TOMÁS — Schizoaffective Disorder

Tomás had built a fortress out of pillows, chairs, and a laundry basket. Violet crouched at the “entrance” and tapped gently.

“Password?” he asked.

“You tell me,” she said.

He considered it. “Compassion,” he decided.

She smiled faintly. “I think I can work with that.”

Inside his citadel, he reported hearing choir-like voices last night, neither frightening nor pleasant—simply present. Violet documented the update, asking neutral questions while he repaired a “structural weakness” in a pillow wall.

5. JADE — Borderline Personality Disorder

Jade approached Violet before Violet had even finished entering the hallway.

“You didn’t check on me first,” Jade said sharply. “Does that mean you’re mad at me?”

“No,” Violet said evenly. “I’m here now.”

Jade’s shoulders dropped. The storm in her gaze cleared just a fraction.

“Can you sit with me later?” she asked.

“Yes,” Violet answered. “We’ll make time.”

Jade nodded, reassured for the moment.

6. RYAN — Major Depressive Disorder, Recent Admission

Ryan sat stiffly in the interview room, hands clasped.

“You’re new to the unit,” Violet said gently. “How’s this morning treating you?”

He hesitated. “…I’m trying.”

Violet accepted that. Trying was enough to begin with.

---

Midday Storm

By noon, alarms chimed—Marcus had climbed onto a table, announcing his intention to “conduct cosmic negotiations.” Violet and two techs moved in calmly, grounding him with slow, measured conversation until he returned to the floor, breath heaving in ragged bursts of exhilaration and exhaustion.

Later, Jade spiraled after overhearing laughter between two staff members she assumed was about her. Violet found her pacing, palms pressed to her temples.

“You’re doing that breathing thing again,” Jade said accusingly.

“It helps sometimes,” Violet answered.

“It doesn’t help me.”

“Then tell me what does,” Violet said.

Jade exhaled, trembling. “Just… don’t leave.”

So Violet didn’t—not until Jade’s breathing steadied.

---

Evening Quiet

By the end of the shift, the unit softened into a low hum:

Lena sketching swirling patterns with colored pencils.
Marcus finally asleep after a burst of afternoon agitation.
Evelyn sitting by the window—unprompted.
Tomás negotiating building codes with another patient.
Jade writing in a journal she’d sworn she would never use.
Ryan reading a dog-eared mystery novel.

Violet finished her charting, shoulders aching, mind full.

Six patients. Six universes.
A day like countless others—quiet in its own way, turbulent in its own way.
But every beat of it, unmistakably human.