I was quite glad when Nick was away as he was a distraction, and at present I could not afford to be distracted. I was thinking this over at late lunch one day and wondering why my job alone should make me so content, when my team-leader came in looking worried. ‘Did you give the ophthalmic registrar Mr. Elkroyd’s notes, Nurse?’
‘Yes. This morning. For Mr. Muir. Aren’t they back? He promised he’d bring them straight back.’
She said, ‘I don’t think he got to Mr. Muir, Nurse. He passed out in the corridor, and is now warded in Jude with an acute abdomen. Sister Jude rang Sister to say he’s just remembered not returning those notes, and is feeling too ill to remember what he did with them. As Mr. Browne has asked Mr. Muir to have a consultation with him on Mr. Elkroyd at two-thirty, Sister said I had better find you.’
‘Oh, no! I mean, yes, thanks. Let’s go.’ We hurried from the dining-room and along the main ground-floor corridor towards our block. We had shot by Jill Collins talking to Robert before I realised it, but I could not spare the time for going back to say I would be spring-cleaning with her, so had to canter on.
In Observation, Sister was calm. ‘Mr. Elkroyd is your patient, Nurse Rowe. Those notes must be here for the consultant. Please find them immediately.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ I hesitated. ‘Sister, have you any idea where the ophthalmic registrar went after leaving here this morning?’
‘If I had, Nurse Rowe, I would have already telephoned the Sister in charge of that department.’
‘Yes, Sister. Of course. I’m sorry. Thank you.’
Addy had arrived in our corridor as I was leaving. ‘Good luck, chum.’
Barny’s had ten blocks in use, dozens of wards and departments, literally miles of corridors, and I had less than half an hour. The staff lift was in use, so I galloped down the block stairs like a first-year. I tried the obvious first.
‘They won’t be here, Staff Nurse,’ said Sister Casualty firmly. ‘Any notes we find are returned instantly to their wards. Try General Out-Patients.’
Sister G.O.P. was annoyed. ‘Ward patients’ notes should never be mislaid! I never permitted my patients’ notes to leave my ward when I was ward sister! I am surprised at Sister Observation allowing Mr. Yates to remove them! However, I will look in my files. No. As I thought. You must look elsewhere, Staff Nurse.’
A G.O.P. staff nurse caught me on my way out. ‘Try E.N.T., Rowe. One of their mastoid babies had grit in the eye this morning. I think Joe Yates went there from here.’
I thanked her, mentally cursed the unfortunate and itinerant ophthalmic registrar, and raced on.
The Ear, Nose, and Throat Department was having a post-tonsil clinic. The rows of waiting children were looking down each other’s throats and swapping operation experiences as avidly as their elders on the Casualty benches. ‘I’ll bet you weren’t sick as me! I was sick as sick all over my cot and the floor and the nurses and the doctor!’
‘I’ll bet I was sicker’n you, so there! An’ I was sick blood! I had to have a whole blood transfusion! The doctor told the nurse I bled like a stuck pig, and I heard him! I had two pints!’ The speaker was a plump little girl with pink cheeks. ‘I’ll bet you didn’t even have plasma. Did she have plasma, Sister? Did she? Did she have plasma?’
Sister E.N.T. looked slightly wilted. ‘One minute, dear. Yes, Nurse? Notes? They shouldn’t be here, but by all means look for yourself.’
That wasted another five minutes. I tore on towards the Eye Department, taking the short cut between some secretaries’ offices. I did not see the white coat coming out of one office until I had cannoned into the wearer. ‘Sorry, Doctor,’ I apologised mechanically, then looked up. ‘Oh. It’s you.’
Robert said, ‘Forgive the awful pun, Anna, but do you have to run so true to form?’
‘I do! It’s not haemorrhage or fire, just the prospect of two irate pundits and one irate ward sister.’ He was in my path. ‘Do move, Robert. I must get to Eyes.’
He did not move. ‘Why?’
‘Joe Yates has lost one of my men’s notes ‒ do let me by!’
‘A man called Elkroyd?’ He had three sets of notes under his arm. He handed me one. ‘This what you are looking for?’
‘Yes!’ I beamed on him in relief. Had he been anyone else I should have wanted to kiss him. ‘What on earth are you doing with them?’
‘I’ve just collected them from Muir’s secretary. He left them with her to give to Joe. I was about to return them to Observation.’
‘I’ll save you the journey. Thanks a lot.’
‘You’re welcome.’ We walked down the corridor. ‘I’ll have to come up to Observation after I’ve seen a girl with eyes in Elizabeth. Isn’t Muir due for a consultation there at two-thirty?’
‘Yes. But what’s that to you?’
‘I’ve been switched. My boss has lent me to Muir while Joe’s off.’
‘You? Why? How? It’s an eye job. Have you done eyes?’
He looked at me over his glasses. ‘For eighteen months, after leaving here.’ He named the most famous eye hospital in England. ‘I went from there to Edinburgh.’
‘Of course! David told me you were doing eyes! I’d forgotten.’
He dug his hands in the bulging pockets of his limp white coat and hunched his shoulders. The flapping coat made him look longer and thinner than ever. ‘Have you really such a bad memory? Or do you only remember the things it suits you to remember?’
I glanced at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He waited until we crossed the main corridor and reached the foot of the medical-block stairs. ‘I talked to Jill Collins today. She’s having rather a tough time. She’s got a new ward on her hands, and, in spite of all those promises, she now seems to be dealing single-handed with Sister Mary’s affairs.’
I stopped on the first stair and faced him. ‘Are you talking about the spring-cleaning week-end she’s organising?’
‘So you have remembered that? I hope you won’t let it spoil the Cricket Club dance for you. I doubt you will.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I must get to Elizabeth. You’ll not forget to tell Sister Observation I’ll be up in about ten minutes?’
‘I won’t, Robert.’ I was as icy as Wardell at her most frigid. ‘Thanks for these notes.’
‘Not at all. See you later.’
‘Yes. You will.’ I went up the stairs as fast as I had come down, heaping more curses on Joe Yates’s acute abdomen every step of the way. Then I remembered the wretched Joe was warded in Jude, and must be in a bad way to have passed out, which made me feel guilty instead of bad-tempered. It did not make me feel any better about the prospect of working with Robert again.
Chapter Five
A TALK WITH ROBERT
I rang Jill again at the Sisters’ Home that night, and that time she was in.
‘You can join me? But Harriet Jones said you were booked for the dance and, I presumed, the match next day? You aren’t after all? Splendid. Let’s aim for the five-twenty down on Friday.’
I had to tell Harriet. I had to wait a few days as she was working a 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift in Casualty that week, and I was on the 1.30 ‒ 9.30 p.m. in Observation. We did not meet until we arrived at the same tea on Thursday.
She said I must be crazy to chuck my golden boy for a jolly week-end scrubbing. ‘Have you been working too hard, dear? Or are you playing hard to get? If you are, watch it! You may be playing with fire. Nick Dexter’s quite a man, and no man likes being turned down. You’ll be an awful fool if you let him slip through your fingers.’
I protested uncomfortably, ‘Hell, Harriet ‒ I did promise Jill first.’
‘The more fool you, dear, for not taking my hint! Yes, I know we promised Sister Mary, but that was to interior-decorate, not spring-clean! And it isn’t as if she’s asked us to rally this week-end. It’s all Collins’ idea. But if you want to earn yourself a halo, you do that! I only hope you don’t lose one very good boy friend in the process.’
‘He has?’ She was surprised. ‘Well, well, well. Maybe he’s more serious than I thought. When does he get back?’
‘Some time today.’
‘No wonder you were looking on top of the world!’
I was pleased about Nick, but his return was not the only reason for my feeling so cheerful. I had not been long enough in Observation to see some results, and most of those were very good. Mrs. Bird had at last begun to do very well. She had come off the D.I.L. two days ago. Her sons now only appeared in the normal visiting hours, and that afternoon she had felt strong enough to sit propped up in her armchair instead of flopping weakly back when we lifted her out. She had even made a few notes for the book she had been planning in her mind.
Mr. Jenkins was now breathing normally and without his tracheotomy tube. There was talk of moving him back to a general ward on Monday. Mr. Mulligan was up and about, and sailing home to Brazil next week. He was the fourth generation of his family to be born in Buenos Aires, and had invited us all to call in any time we were in South America. He said his daughters would enjoy meeting the young English ladies who had been so kind to him, and his sons would have much pleasure in meeting so many beautiful young ladies with the skins of lilies and the gentleness of angels.
Mr. Browne had done an unexpected round while I was at tea. I met him on the stairs with Mr. Bunney. Mr. Browne stopped to discuss Frank Sands. ‘Still in that deep, frozen coma, poor lad. We’ll just have to keep on, Nurse Rowe. Keep on. As for that lad Elkroyd.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll have to think. Later, later.’
I should have liked to ask more, but Mr. Bunney was waiting, and the two pundits went on together. Mr. Elkroyd was now my most worrying patient, but he was a good patient. He accepted his innumerable spinal punctures, X-rays, and tests with a phlegmatic ‘Oh, aye? Let’s get on with it, then.’ He never grumbled or complained. He endured the increasing pain in his head with the sort of courage more commonly found in the women’s wards.
I had been off that morning. In my absence he had had what Wardell described in her midday report as an unpleasant headache. He was now on regular analgesic injections. During the afternoon ‒ and a hospital afternoon stopped at five ‒ he had been more comfortable, and, though his eyes were now giving trouble and his toleration of light was diminishing, he had asked to have his curtains drawn back. After supper he had the worst attack of head pain I had yet seen him suffer.
In my final report before going off duty I said, ‘It wasn’t a headache, Sister. He was in real pain.’ She merely nodded. ‘Sister, why are the surgeons still waiting? It’s obviously growing.’
‘Mr. Browne and Mr. Muir are well aware of that, Nurse. As you know, they consulted on him again this morning, and Mr. Browne was back to see him this afternoon. Both those men are competent and experienced surgeons. They will operate when they see fit, and when there has been time to see the full result of this new drug therapy Elkroyd is receiving. You’ll have to be patient, Nurse Rowe.’
‘Yes, Sister.’ I thought of Tom Elkroyd grunting and gasping with pain just now. The attack had come on shortly before his next injection was due. I had given it seven minutes inside the official limit.
Sister tapped the open Dangerous Drug book with one finger. ‘I assume you were aware you gave this too early?’
‘Yes, Sister. That’s why I asked Mr. Browne’s houseman to witness for me.’
‘I see.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You gave it on the houseman’s advice?’
‘Officially, Sister.’ I did not add I had bullied the houseman into being my witness, as she knew that as well as myself. I did add, ‘It was my idea.’
She read me a little lecture on obeying the rules of the hospital, reminding me that I was a nurse and not a doctor, and that as a senior staff nurse I was expected to set an example to my juniors. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Sister. I’m sorry,’ I lied.
‘Thank you, Nurse. Good night.’
The senior nurses came in to hear the full day reports as I went out. Their juniors had their report from the senior night staff nurse later. They watched over the ward while the report was in progress.
I changed my shoes, collected my cloak, and was on my way out when a night junior came out of Tom Elkroyd’s room.
I stopped. ‘How is he now?’
‘Asleep, Nurse. Flat out.’
I wanted to believe her. Experience prevented me. He had had an injection, not knock-out drops, and he was working up a resistance to those injections. Each one took longer to work and wore off sooner. I looked at my watch, the closed duty-room door, then, when the junior disappeared into Room Nine, I helped myself to a clean gown and mask, returned to change back into my ward shoes, and went quietly into Room Ten.
Outside it was a glorious midsummer evening, and the sky was pink. In his room it was dark. The curtains were closed, and the only light came from the red-shaded bedside lamp that was on the floor to prevent the rays disturbing him. There was a crimson pool of light round my feet as I stood by his bed.
I did not touch him or speak. He lay with one arm across his eyes, the other hanging over the side of his bed nearest me. He was breathing heavily, as men sometimes breathe in sleep, and often after immense physical effort. The rhythm, however, was too irregular for sleep, but he was doing his best to give the impression he was as flat out as that junior had thought.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness I saw he had shifted the arm across his eyes enough to let him look at me. ‘What’s this, then?’ he muttered between his teeth. ‘Doing your overtime, are you?’
‘That’s right.’ His dangling arm had reached for mine. His grip tightened.
‘Still playing you up? Hasn’t the injection helped?’
‘Taking its time,’ he grunted. ‘The bugger keeps coming back ‒ sorry, Nurse.’
‘Don’t mind me, Tom. I’ve heard the word.’ I stroked his forehead with my free hand as that sometimes soothed him. ‘Bad as before?’
‘Aye. Oh ‒ nurse ‒ oh, dear ‒ dear ‒ dear …’ His voice stopped like a tap being turned off as a fresh wave of pain overwhelmed him. First he twisted his head from side to side, but then as the pain increased the bedsprings creaked as his hefty body went rigid. He grabbed the head-rail with one hand, my right arm with the other. My right hand went numb, and the veins on my wrist stood out as if I was wearing a tourniquet.
His face was pouring with sweat and distorted in a grimace that pulled up his upper lip and exposed his gums. He was normally a good-looking man. He did not even look like a man now, and the strangled half-snort, half-scream he gave as the pain let go was animal, not human. Then he dropped his hands and lay exhausted, staring at me.
I did not say anything. At the best, words of sympathy would have been inadequate and at the worst, an insult. I wiped his wet face gently with his flannel, took his pulse, then held his hand in both mine and waited, as he was waiting.
We did not have long to wait. The next wave of pain was shorter and perhaps less violent, but his reserves had taken a terrible beating, and they were running out. Instead of relaxing when it passed, for the first time and for a few seconds he lost control. He tried to get out of bed, he tried to hit his head against the bed-rail, he tried to push me off. Though weakened by pain he was a strong man. It took all my strength and weight to save him from hurting himself.
‘Tom! Stop it, at once!’ I insisted, gasping. ‘Hurting yourself won’t help! It’ll only bring the pain back! It’ll bring it back! Stop fighting me!’
He had just wrenched off my hands from his chest when that got through. ‘What’s this, then? Am I off my rocker?’ He flopped against me and dropped his head on my shoulder. By now I was sitting on his bed. ‘Not hurt you, have I luv?’
‘Of course not.’ I he
ld him until his breathing grew less laboured, then helped him lie down again. ‘You’re not off your rocker. You’ve just had too much pain and a lot of dope.’ I took his pulse again. ‘It is working now.’
‘Aye.’ He closed his eyes. ‘And time you clocked off.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’
He began to cry weakly a few seconds later. I had never seen him in tears before. I did not enjoy the sight, but they were a good safety-valve, so I did not try to stop him. He did not hear the door open or notice Robert’s masked face looking round and then backing out again. After he had wept he was able to sleep.
The senior night staff nurse was in the corridor when I let myself out of his room. ‘Still here, Rowe? Sister said you had gone. She has.’
Her name was Hazel Carter. She was a nice girl and not one to bother over the ethics of a day nurse being around at night. In the changing room I explained what had happened. ‘You might warn the men on their night rounds that if the surgeons are going to hang around much longer someone had better step up Tom’s dope. Much more of things as they are and he’ll go right off!’
‘I tackled Henry Todd about stepping it up last night.’ Henry Todd was Mr. Browne’s senior registrar. ‘He said he’d already written Elkroyd up for the maximum inside the safety rule, and his boss didn’t like being asked to break it. I could have killed the man! Who cares what a flaming consultant likes or doesn’t like when it’s a question of stopping pain? These men and their rules! Know what he asked me?’ I shook my head. ‘Was I prepared to turn Tom Elkroyd into a morphine addict?’
A House for Sister Mary Page 8
