In another regression it became clear to me that I was a nurse and helped the doctor in anything I could. Only recently I realized this second patient could have been the same as in the former regression, when we cured him the broken arm he had on a sling:
«First of all, I was sitting in front of a table with what looked like a notebook and a pencil or a ball pen. I am in a room, and the doctor is sitting at another table. He is explaining something to me and I am taking notes, I think it is a treatment. He calls out: “Katrina!”, because I am getting asleep. I apologize and explain to him that “the mister” sometimes makes me get up very early. The doctor replies excuses are not valid to him and I have to attend, if I want to help him. I know it is the afternoon, as in the mornings I am working in the flat. I see the doctor very clearly. He is strict, but also affectionate, and very patient and understanding with me, I think he has a lot of patience. He is a dark-haired, tall and chubby, good-natured looking man, with a moustache. I don’t know if we are in a real school or he is just teaching me on a personal basis, because I will work with him in the future. But I am learning, there is no doubt about that.
Suddenly I saw a flash, two military men turn up at the door (a swing double door that seems to be the entry to the hospital, though it seems it is followed by a wide hall filled with beds, now with only a few sick) with a soldier on a stretcher. They ask me if we can do something for him. I think he arrives unconscious, with some unimportant injuries. I inform the doctor and I see he is coming, all in white, with short sleeves in the upper part. The military men go away, the doctor puts screens around the soldier’s bed so that we can have some intimacy and we start working on him. He sits on a stool at the soldier’s right, and I keep standing on the left side. The soldier has his right arm broken. I don’t see we have X-rays, he just palpates him and knows he has to relocate it, so he asks for my help and I hold him by the humerus while he makes some manoeuvre by the forearm. He also says we must take advantage now that he is unconscious. Then he puts a sling on it. I take care of cleaning some wounds he has on his head and placing an IV on his left arm. The doctor orders me to put some morphine on the saline. All this is a bit impressive to me, it must be that I haven’t done it many times yet, but the doctor is keeping an eye on me and congratulates me when I do it right.»
(Regression 12-4-2012.)
This other regression is also very meaningful, due to the feeling of oppression I was feeling and the fact that, like now, none of us has any other option, apart from being brave and carrying on with anything:
«I began to see what looks like Katrina's school or faculty: a square premise, I think with picture windows at the sides (though I see it blurred), I have the impression it is outdoors, some kind of cloister but in a government building. I arrive and there are many soldiers with a grey uniform forming in the centre. I slip away through one of the sides, my head low. The first feeling is of fear. The date 1939 comes to me. And I am around 19. When I ask myself why I am so scared, what comes to me is: “Now they are everywhere”, with images of the parade following the occupation, the soldiers putting people against the wall… the feeling I can’t escape, whatever I do.
Then, images of the house in Prague. I feel very, very alone. Heinrich is German, he is delighted to see the German are in Prague, and he is certain they are going to win the war. And I can’t say anything, because I know that if I do they can get me accused of treason and kill me. A slight thought that I sympathize with those students of the demonstrations, though I doubt if I know them in person (I don’t think so). For some reason I have the idea some of them were hanged, the image comes to me (in black and white, as if it were a picture) of a boy who got hanged and he is hanging through a window in a building. It is hard for me to believe, but Katrina insists: “I’ve seen it in the papers”. I don’t want to end up like them… but what I truly don’t want is to stay there. Since the beginning of the regression another idea I had in my mind was: “I can’t speak”. Doing it is dangerous.
I see myself in what looks like a “cabinet” (a writing desk). A sheet paper that seems to be yellow, a pen, I try to write to my mother, tell her I want to go back home… but the problem is I already told her when she brought me to Prague, and she never listened to me. “I want to go back home… at least somewhere I can feel safe”. But with great sadness I realize that place doesn’t exist anymore. My grandparents are not around anymore. My home doesn’t exist probably… and anyway, would a town be safer than a city, in a war? I also realize there is not one side better than the other. In both I fear I will get killed or accused of being a traitor.
The only thing I can do is to carry on. There are no more options. Accepting the job as a nurse for them… or staying in Prague bearing Heinrich, perhaps waiting for death too, when they come to expel the German.
There were a lot of tears during the entire regression. In a given moment I noticed as if someone blew softly under my right eye, as if drying up the tears (I know, maybe an airflow, maybe nothing). But I thought of H. I think the most important thing here is that I carried on. H tells me “You were brave”. Today I just can’t imagine myself, so young and so alone, accepting to accompany so many soldiers, men that intimidated me and scared me… But I did. The other option was staying in Prague, exposing myself to something worse, perhaps, but a more passive role. Maybe Johann was a determining factor in that, it is possible. But when H says that thing about “Brave” (which reminds me of the Marillion song) I feel about to cry, and I tell him: “Sure, but what good did it do? It was too much... too much”. Maybe I overestimated my strength, maybe it would have been too much for anyone. H insists the important thing is I went for it, I tried, I was brave.»
(Regression 31-5-2015.)
And this is the reason why every time I listen to this Marillion song, I remember Katrina:
What a brave, brave girl
Never lied before
Such a plain deceit
Everyone would eventually know
What a brave, brave girl
Never loved before
Placed herself in reach
So he tried
In his own way
To find the heart
Of the tight-packed rose
She's gone now
But oh, she aches
She aches…
Part 3.