Two side-by-side photos of small black lettering tattoos on the wrist: a flower wreath reading Be Kind to yourself, and a plaster design reading I will feel better.

Wrist tattoos reading Be Kind and I will feel better

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

The left photo shows the words Be Kind to yourself in black handwritten lettering, enclosed in a ring of small outlined flowers with a tiny heart below. The right photo shows a plaster-style bandage outline with dots, containing the words I will feel better in black lettering. Both designs are in simple black linework on pale skin, with a patterned paper sheet of similar designs visible in the background.

Lettering Other Lettering Flower Wreath Heart Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

At ten past three the ward goes quiet in the particular way it only does after the drinks round, and you sit at the end of the bay with a cup of tea gone cold and a set of observations you have already done twice. Mrs Okafor in bed four keeps asking what time it is. You tell her it is nearly four, which is true, and she tells you that is far too late for anyone to be awake, which is also true.

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Porter Desmond drifts in with a box of sterile gloves balanced on one hip. He has a sticker sheet from the gift shop, the kind with cartoon sandwiches and hearts, and he has been sticking them inside the lid of the linen trolley since October. He peels one off and offers it to you without looking up. It says Be Kind in curly handwriting. "Management won't notice," he says. "Management is in Harrogate."

At half four a boy from the children's ward is brought up with a split chin from a bike and a mother who cannot stop apologising. You clean the cut, hold the gauze, and tell him the plaster is a superhero one, which it is not. When the mother asks how you stay so calm, you say you are not calm, just tired in a steady sort of way. After they leave, you find the box of standard dressings is nearly empty, and the only ones left are the round ones with dots.

You take the blank strip from your pocket, the one you have been saving for the staff noticeboard, and biro across it in capitals: I WILL FEEL BETTER. Then you stick it to the edge of your clipboard, where the handover sheet is waiting. Shift ends in twenty minutes. The kettle is still warm, and someone has left a biscuit on the side with a name on the wrapper in marker, which is not yours, but you eat it anyway.