‘Probably. But he barely left me time to contact the relatives to come and collect my discharges! Dr Kirby’s invariably so considerate about the patients’ domestic affairs. And I’ve to endure Dr Rowlands for approximately six weeks!’
‘Come in, Sister,’ I said, ‘and have a nice soothing cup of tea.’
‘Nothing I’d like better ‒ but not “Sister” off, please. Makes me feel so elderly.’
Ten minutes later George rang our door bell. He was looking belligerent. ‘Why didn’t you wait this morning? I waved to tell you to hang on.’
‘Sorry. I thought you were just waving, and I had to rush back to be vaccinated.’
‘Vaccinated? Why?’
He was now looking nervous. So I said truthfully because it was too long since my last booster, and authority had decreed I must be done again. ‘What can I do for you?’
He needed two uniform cloaks for some school play coming off shortly. I said he could have mine. ‘Maggie MacDonald’s here. Come and ask her for hers.’
‘Hold it. There’s something else. I finish early tomorrow. Why not come and eat with me before you go on?’
‘George, thanks, but not on a working night! And, anyway, there’s Marcy ‒’
‘It won’t do the kid irreparable damage to be put to bed by your cousin for one night. Surely your cousin will do that for you?’
‘She would,’ I agreed, ‘but when you have to ask people to baby-sit as much as I do, you do tend to draw the line at unnecessary requests.’
I hadn’t meant to be tactless. He decided I had.
‘If that’s how you regard my suggestion there’s no more to be said.’ He walked into our living-room and asked Maggie for her cloak. Since they were both breathing fire for different reasons, they got along far better than I had ever seen them. They left together as George was on his way to visit Mr Worstley before going on to some meeting. Ann saw them go from her window. She came in later to voice her disapproval. ‘Playing hard to get is for kids, Pippa.’
I stitched the wire into a clean cap. ‘I’m not playing at anything, love. No time.’ I was working against the clock. Normally I made up clean caps in the morning, but having wasted so much time this morning waiting to be vaccinated, I had been too sleepy on my return to do more than fall into bed. I had gone to sleep instantly but even so had only had four hours as 3 p.m. was my waking time. I had now discovered I could manage perfectly well on between six to four hours sleep a day, providing I made up the extra on my nights off and on working nights kept strictly to my scheduled routine. George had not given me time to explain that one, but even if he had, I doubted he would have understood it. Night work is a subject only fully understood by night workers.
Ann underlined this. ‘I heard him trying to date you. If you keep freezing him off, you’ll lose him.’
‘If I fall asleep in the middle of the night, I’ll lose my job.’
‘Marry again and you won’t need a job.’
I lowered my sewing, briefly. ‘You’re seriously advising me to re-marry for a meal ticket?’
‘You know I’m not!’
‘That’s how it sounds from here. And while I do like George, if I married him right now ‒ and always supposing he wants to marry me, which is an open question ‒ that’s what it would be.’
‘If he doesn’t want to marry you, why is he so constantly on our doorstep?’
‘Annie, be your age! There is an alternative.’
‘Nonsense! If ever I saw a man looking for a wife, that’s George Duggan! He’s got that lost look men get when they suddenly wake up to the fact all their friends are married and a night out with the boys is most literally with boys ten years younger than themselves. I should’ve thought he’d appeal to your maternal instincts. He so obviously wants mothering.’
‘Now there,’ I said, ‘I agree with you. Sorry, but must get into uniform now.’
On-duty, Maggie looked much happier. Her empty beds had been filled with acute medicals, her report was unfinished, her sleeves were rolled up. ‘Heaviest evening since I took over this ward. Sister Luke’s warded in Nightingale with flu and as her senior staff nurse is on holiday, all Luke admissions are coming to us.’
‘That’s why Dr Rowlands emptied us this morning?’ She nodded. ‘He didn’t mention Sister Luke then?’
‘He has since told me he observed she looked unwell and suspected her probable diagnosis, but most correctly, he felt he should wait on the S.M.O.’s official report.’
I said, ‘I suppose one can’t object to his keeping so firmly to the rule books.’
‘Unless one happens to be a ward sister who has previously enjoyed the confidence of her senior residents! But this’ll not get my report finished! And you’ve a busy night ahead.’
It was busy. I saw very little of Joel that night since he was sleeping unusually well. The second night post-op is generally the most trying for the patient. In the small hours I remarked on this to Mr Brown. ‘I’m glad,’ I said, ‘but surprised.’
‘I’m not. After months of continuously interrupted nights and never getting more than five hours at the most, a man can sleep for a week. If I’m lucky enough to get this flu, that’s what I’ll do! Incidentally, Ross is down. One hundred and two and I’ve just rung the S.M.O. with the glad tidings. Let us now devoutly pray he hasn’t handed on his bugs to more than half our surgical patients. Did he go into Kirby’s room on his night round?’
‘No. I told him Dr Kirby was asleep. He looked at his chart.’
‘That’s an unexpected break. How do you feel?’
‘Fine, thanks. You?’
‘Too bloody healthy!’
‘Mr Brown, my deepest sympathy.’
He smiled. ‘Thanks, Mrs H, though I’d rather have one of the empty beds you haven’t got. My varicose veins are killing me!’
Wednesday night was just as busy. Dr Cousins was late for his round and arrived bursting with the joy of someone about to unleash bad news. ‘There are now only three wards left in the Wing with a complete staff and this is one of them. By tomorrow the porters’ll be wheeling round the trolley shouting “bring out your dead” and there’ll not be one stiff out of a uniform or a white coat. Forty-six nurses, three sisters no less, seventy student-men and girls, seven housemen from the old and four from here and two registrars ‒ and wouldn’t you know it ‒ both E.N.T.s!’
‘Where are they putting ’em all? Lister and Nightingale can’t cope.’
‘They’ve spilled into Matthew and Florence and next it’ll be Luke and Victoria, you mark my words! Poor old Bush hasn’t worked so hard in years! The man’s aged whilst you watch. And what have you for me here?’
‘I’m afraid, a lot of work.’
He checked through the mountain of request forms. ‘How’s himself, before I get stuck in?’
‘The drain came out this evening. Doing very nicely. Flat out.’
He glanced up, quizzically. ‘Good patient?’
‘Model. I mean that.’
‘Sure to God, Mrs H, you don’t have to tell me that after the time we’ve been working together. Since you’ve never had any use for the man at all, any praise from you’ll be well worth having.’
I was rather shaken. ‘Have I been that obvious?’
‘Indeed not! A blind man on a foggy night’d not have spotted it at all. Lumbar-puncture?’ He flapped one of the forms in my face. ‘Mrs Bridger in Mary, Two? When was she done?’
‘By Dr Rowlands an hour ago.’
‘He didn’t say to ring me?’
‘He thought you’d be busy and as he had time did it himself even though she’s one of yours. But technically, his too.’
He shrugged. ‘He’s the boss. Mine not to reason why ‒ and maybe he’s wise not to trust his stooges until he’s sure in his own mind that he can.’
I thought back to my first month. ‘Yes. But how wise you are to see it without taking umbrage.’
‘It’s my saintly nature, Mrs H! Ju
st hold my halo and I’ll get these forms done.’
Joel woke at a quarter to four. I took him a cup of our tea. ‘How is it minus drain?’
‘Nothing worse than an occasional twinge.’ He switched on his light briefly to look at his watch. ‘Having your tea? Don’t let it get cold. I’m fine.’
He looked well enough. He didn’t sound it. I sat on his locker-seat. ‘I like mine when it’s cool.’
‘So you did.’ He rested his face against his pillow to look at me. ‘Plague still spreading?’
‘Apparently.’ The figures would worry him so I did not give them.
‘Liz told me Sister Luke had been warded. Am I now surrounded by Luke heavies?’
I damned Liz’s thoughtlessness. ‘One or two. Mr Worstley’s still with us and doing nicely.’
‘George Duggan told me. He looked in this evening for a chat. Nice gesture.’
I appreciated his, too. ‘Very.’
He was quiet. Then he said suddenly. ‘I could kick myself into the Thames for being out of things now.’
‘Hardly your fault your appendix literally blew up and even had you had it dealt with earlier, you’d still be away on sick leave for another couple of weeks.’
‘That doesn’t stop me feeling hellish guilty to be lying here, knowing what’s going on outside and that my sole contribution is to add to everyone’s work.’
‘Oh, sure! You’re a heavy burden. I’ve brought you one cup of tea since settling you at ten.’
‘Pip, do me a favour.’ He sounded very weary. ‘Scrub the well-intentioned placebos. It’s my abdomen that’s been bashed about, not my brain.’
I flushed but it was too dark for him to see. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk down. I suppose I was?’
‘Yep. Don’t let it throw you. It’s an occupational hazard in both our trades. I try and avoid it, but I still catch myself at it far too often. I did notice you don’t do it with your infant. How is she, by the way?’
‘Still basking in the reflected glory of being a hospital patient. Her current arch-enemy only had to go to a G.P.’s surgery when she cut a chunk out of herself. Marcy’s taken that round on points.’
‘Who’s this enemy?’ There was enough light to see he was smiling.
‘One Lyn Evans. Dad’s a plumber. God help us if we ever have a frozen pipe ‒ unless Hamish can cope,’ I added in afterthought.
‘Hamish ‒? As you were, placed him. One of Maggie MacDonald’s brothers your Marcy told me about, and also Henry. He was talking about them today. He’s run into them at parties. He says they’re good value.’
‘They’re a cute trio. Marcy’s much taken with them and they’re sweet with her.’
‘She’s a cute kid.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No need for that. I wasn’t being polite. Just stating an obvious fact.’
‘Will you chuck that cup at me if I say, thanks even more?’
‘Make a snappy line in your report book if I did. “Dr Kirby had another of his turns. Cup severely damaged. Night staff nurse as well as can be expected after insertion of multiple stitches by S.S.O. at request for S.M.O”.’
‘Joel, you’re as nutty as ever!’ The phone was pinging. I stood up as I heard Hills answering. ‘I’ll have to see what that’s about. More tea?’
‘No, thanks. I’m going back to sleep.’
‘I should’ve done your pillows. How are they?’
‘Fine as they are. Thanks for the tea and sympathy even if I did stuff it back down your own throat.’
I waved at him from the door and he waved back.
Trevor was working overtime on the hall switchboard when I walked through on Thursday evening. Nurse Grey was in charge and after she had handed over and left, Trevor rang me with the inside story of the row that had taken place earlier over our one newly empty bed in William Small Ward Two.
Grey had said, ‘There seemed to have been some trauma. Mr Brown had this returned bone-graft and Dr Rowlands an acute bronchitic. Luckily it was all sorted out smoothly when this haematem came in as he’s under them both. The bone-graft and the bronchitic are temporaries in the old blocks.’
Trevor said, ‘There’s angry the two gentlemen were and both with fine vocabularies! Blood would have flowed, Nurse Dexter! Oil you’ll still be needing for the troubled waters before the night is out, I’m telling you! Clever hard-working gentlemen they are but tactless they were with each other and each determined to have your bed for his own purposes, Nurse!’
I longed for Parsons to share that. Hills had stopped on one foot as I put down the receiver, but she was still far too much of an unknown quantity and in the wrong hands it could be dynamite. ‘Not the theatre wanting me to collect our haematem? Thank God! I may finish my drinks first.’ She hurried on. She was neither as fast nor as efficient as Parsons, but now we were pushed she was proving much nicer to work with than I would have expected from her first night, her sulkiness then having been mainly caused by her conviction that she had been relegated to a nursing backwater.
A pathologist arrived with two pints of whole blood under each arm. He arranged the vacolitres in a tidy row on the desk.
‘Paul Streeter for the use of. He’s got another four in the theatre, and right now that’s the total supply in this Group in London.’
‘Rare as that?’ I read the labels. ‘New one on me. Is there no more coming up from anywhere? Mr Brown wants at least twelve.’
‘He should have more than that in a few hours. I’ve contacted the two donors in this Group in the London area. Both are coming up tonight. And Manchester, God bless ’em, are letting us have another eight. They’re now on the way via the usual series of fast cop cars.’ He walked over to the nearest window. ‘All we have to do is pray it’s as clear as this on the M1.’
‘Yes.’ He was hovering. ‘Something I can do for you, Doctor?’
‘Dr Kirby awake?’
‘He was just now.’ I opened Joel’s door. He was reading a paperback and wearing charcoal silk pyjamas with the edges whipped in scarlet. He looked much more rested, but was still too pale. ‘A visitor, Dr Kirby. Dr Shaw.’
‘Hallo, Tom!’ Joel lowered his book. ‘What’s brought you down? Paul Streeter’s blood?’
‘Inevitably. You’ve heard the poor devil’s back?’
‘And bleeding like a stuck pig according to Brendan Cousins. How much blood’ve you got for him? Remember he used eleven pints inside of twenty-four hours last time round?’
‘Four in hand and ten on the stocks.’
I closed the door and moved on to settle Mr Worstley. He was now my private source of strength and comfort as well as my oldest chum, patient-wise. I asked him if wool-merchants ever talked anything but wool shop?
‘Aye, lass. The young ’uns’ll sometimes chat on lasses and football.’
I snapped shut his bed rest and threw out pillows. ‘How about the old ’uns?’
‘Much the same. Three’ll do me fine.’ He lay back. Why do you ask?’
‘Because doctors never talk anything but shop. Sick or well!’
He chuckled and his chins wobbled. ‘That lad Kirby wanting to get back in his white coat?’
‘Any minute now and he’ll be sitting up in bed wearing it over his pyjamas. He’s entertaining a pathologist. I’ve just left ’em to it. Shop, shop, shop!’
‘Until you got out the road, lass. That’s when the lads get down to chatting on lasses. Didn’t your hubby tell you that?’
I hesitated. ‘Yes. I’d forgotten. How awful of me!’
‘Nay. Come here.’
I was in the doorway. I went back to his bedside. ‘Yes, Mr Worstley?’
‘There’s nowt wrong with memories. They’re like gilt on gingerbread of life. But there’s no stomaching life at all, if you can’t learn how to forget.’
I thought this over and touched his hand. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, luv.’
The phone was going. It was the theatre wantin
g Hills and Paul Streeter’s bed. ‘Well send down a porter to help bring it up.’
I had just found Hills when Liz walked in. She was on nights off and wearing a black woollen dress with three-quarter sleeves and a mandarin collar. I had forgotten she had such good legs. She looked very nice. She said she knew it was rather late but she had only just got in and she promised to stop up to say goodnight and if I’d no objection ‒?
‘Of course not, Sister. Dr Shaw’s with him ‒’
‘I don’t want to break up a boys’ get-together!’ Her boys-will-be-boys smile would have done credit to Maggie or Aunt Clara. Had I not been in such a hurry, that would have set me brooding on the flaw I had recently discovered in my make-up. Once, I’d been as happy as those three to allow boys to be boys. Now, obviously unrealistically, I expected grown men to behave like adults.
I said, ‘I’m sure they’d love you to join ’em.’
Liz looked coy. ‘Perhaps, though I’d hate to intrude. I know! Can I just look in and say “welcome back” to Mr Smith? I did special him in Arthur and he does work for my father’s old firm, so my being out of uniform doesn’t really matter, does it?’
‘Smith? Ex-Arthur? Bone-graft? Sorry ‒’ and I explained Paul Streeter had taken our only bed.
Her face fell. ‘Oh dear! Poor Joel’ll be so disheartened! He’s worked so hard on that man.’
‘Then you’ll cheer him up!’ I couldn’t afford any more time for chatting, and opened Joel’s door. ‘Miss Brecklehurst to see you, Doctor.’
‘Liz, come on in!’ Both men spoke together. Joel added, ‘Very, very nice!’ and Dr Shaw wolf-whistled. Liz sailed in smiling serenely, someone said, ‘Thanks, Staff,’ and I closed the door on the jolly trio and momentarily, very momentarily, felt like a squeezed lemon.
Tom Shaw did not appear to remember me, but I now remembered his face, clearly. He had been either in Joel’s student year or the one above, and though not one of our inner old circle, he had been somewhere on the fringe. He must have stepped inside sometime after I stepped out. I had never regretted stepping out and I didn’t now. I had long come to terms with the fact that if one gets out of step for long enough, one can never properly get back in with the rest since the rest have been busy stepping on in one’s absence. Occasionally since my return, that had mildly irritated me, but never till that specific moment had it actually hurt.
The Healing Time Page 14
