More Tales From the Island Nurse

by Mary J. Macleod

  I laughed. ‘I think you will find that if he faints, he will be pushed aside and left to get on with it. You will be the priority. Now we will get Doctor Mac to examine you, confirm dates and so on. You look well. Any problems?’

  ‘Slight queasiness but otherwise, I feel great.’ She certainly looked great, but in view of her age – not old – but this was a first baby and after trying to have one for so long with no success, I wanted to be extra cautious. I did so hope that all was well as her joy was wonderful to see.

  ‘What about school later in the pregnancy and then after the birth?’

  ‘I would love to take several months off, maybe more if it is possible. I enjoy the children and teaching but I have been doing the same thing for fifteen years or more and would like time with my own child. We could afford it – Arthur is earning quite well. It might not be possible but if they can get a temporary teacher…’

  I thought of Andy’s horror at the loss of his beloved teacher – a horror that would be echoed throughout the school. They all loved their ‘Mrs Campbell’. In her care, they learnt without really knowing that that was what they were doing – she was so innovative in her techniques and far ahead of her time. She would be missed, but the island folk would be pleased for her. How many times had I heard ‘what a shame she has no children of her own, she is so good with them’?

  The men came into the room and Arthur looked enquiringly at Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I have told her.’

  Arthur looked relieved, worried, happy, bemused, all at the same time, while George, guessing the reason, grinned and slapped Arthur on the back.

  ‘Hope you can change nappies,’ he said.

  Arthur immediately looked scared. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue,’ he said. Arthur was inclined to take everything literally.

  ‘You’ll soon learn.’ Elizabeth made it sound like a threat.

  They left with laughter and good wishes.

  ‘See you at the surgery,’ I called.

  Big Craig was right. It snowed in the night and we woke to a white world.

  ‘Andy, you can come with me,’ I said. ‘I think Big Craig might be coming with us.’

  ‘Oh good.’ Andy liked Big Craig, who always had a crofting tale to tell or he would identify footprints of animals and birds in the snow or chat about his time at sea.

  Sure enough, Big Craig was waiting along the road and climbed in.

  ‘Aye, ’tis a bad do, Nurse. The snow, I mean.’ He paused. ‘And is the teacher well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Craig,’ I said without thinking. ‘She is very well.’

  ‘Ahh.’

  I suddenly (and belatedly) realised what I had done. By confirming that, although the teacher had come to see me, she was fit and well, I had inadvertently started the inevitable rumour that she might be pregnant. After all, they would reason, why should a woman go to see the nurse if she is quite well? I said no more but the damage was probably already done.

  Big Craig picked up his shovel and spade from the right ditch and placed them between his legs for the remainder of the journey. We were up and over the top with no trouble, and down to ‘the other side’.

  I was visiting Ina regularly to check on baby Janet who was still quite delicate.

  ‘Come you in, Nurse. It’s cold for October, just.’

  Ina looked tired. She was in her late fifties and having to look after a baby long after most women would be putting their feet up a little. Last year, Jaynie, her daughter, had given birth to a baby at the age of only thirteen. The girl rejected the child and Ina cared for her right from the birth – as I knew she would. But the daughter became more and more unreliable and, together with the child’s father attempted to abscond by sea, taking the baby with her. They were rescued, but little Janet took a long time to recover from the cold, wet experience. Her father was, in fact, Jaynie’s brother, who had escaped from a ‘secure’ home for mental patients. Jaynie had refused to believe that he was her brother as the family had kept his existence a secret. This attitude was not unusual in the more remote parts of the British Isles until much more recently. Jaynie was eventually sent away to a special school and Ina was coping with a delicate seven- month-old baby, two big sons and her husband. She was exhausted.

  ‘How is Janet?’

  ‘Ach, Nurse, she doesna sleep much at night, and then she sleeps in the day when she should be takin’ her food.’

  I weighed the child, who was sleeping now. She was not gaining the weight that we had hoped so we decided to gradually change her milk, with an extra feed at about eleven pm. This might help her to sleep at least for part of the night.

  ‘How is Jaynie getting on?’

  Ina’s face closed. ‘No’ well, Nurse. She has been sent to a different home now with more discipline. She was a terrible nuisance to the last one. Angus goes to see her but I canna because of the baby. She’ll no see the wee child at all, y’see, Nurse.’

  I sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ina. Can your sister come for a few days to look after baby and give you a break?’

  ‘No for some time, Nurse. Her man’s no well and she’ll be busy with him for a whiley yet. But why? I’m managing the wee soul fine.’

  ‘Indeed you are, Ina, but you are exhausted – partly due to the baby, but partly worrying about Jaynie, I expect. And, perhaps Callum…’

  ‘Ach. That one!’ Ina turned away. ‘I’m disgusted with the two of them and I blame myself… I do, Nurse.’

  ‘None of this is your fault, Ina. You have been the best mother, and grandmother. Callum was probably born with his mental trouble and perhaps Jaynie had had these personality problems for a long time. We just did not spot it; nor did the school. She only seemed a bit slow and uncooperative. That’s all. But you are tired, Ina. A few days of rest and relief from the responsibility of the baby would do you good.’

  Ina’s husband was a good, caring man, an elder of the church, and the two sons still at home were decent boys, but in the island culture of the seventies, men and boys did not look after babies. Even in the more sophisticated parts of Britain, babies were women’s work until about the sixties. Attitudes have changed a lot in the south but I wondered how long it would be before the islands caught up.

  On a whim, I bundled Ina and the baby into the car and took them to the surgery. Doctor Mac would fit them in, I knew. I stayed there to look after wee Janet while the doctor gave Ina a good examination.

  He straightened up. ‘I think you are severely anaemic Ina, and thoroughly exhausted, and your blood pressure is dangerously high. Someone must be found to take the baby, Angus and the boys can look after themselves for a while. I’m going to send you to Callamach House for a week.’

  ‘Oh, no, Doctor. I canna leave them all to fend, nor the wee one.’

  Callamach House was a beautiful place on the mainland. Once a stately home, it was now run by a trust for just such cases as Ina’s.

  Doctor Mac coaxed and cajoled and even spelt out the risk of stroke or heart attack if Ina continued to become more and more run-down.

  But Ina insisted that she could cope and she would wait for her sister to be available to come. It was no use and Doctor Mac had to be content with giving her tablets for the blood pressure and anaemia.

  I took Ina and Janet home and returned to the surgery to do two dressings.

  Doctor Mac called me in to his room, ‘Elizabeth Campbell has just been in to see me…’

  ‘Isn’t it marvellous,’ I interrupted. ‘After all these years.’

  But then I saw the look on the doctor’s face as he shook his head.

  I was shocked. ‘But she was so sure. What is wrong then?’

  ‘Her uterus is distended and very hard to the touch – it could be fibroids or…’

  ‘Oh, Heavens! Carcinoma?’

  ‘Possibly. I have arranged for her to see Mr Bishop, gynaecological consultant in Glasgow. I think it is only fibroids. She might have had them for years. That would probably acco
unt for her inability to conceive.’

  I sighed. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘I told her that there is no baby and hinted that, although I think it is fibroids…’ He looked at me.

  ‘I’ll go and see her.’

  Elizabeth was distraught. ‘Oh, Mary J! I was sure… I did so want a baby! And now, I might be ill too. Do you think Doctor could be wrong?’ She was grasping at straws and I think she knew it.

  ‘Elizabeth, there is no baby. It might be just fibroids, but there is no baby.’

  I held her as she sobbed.

  ‘Have you told Arthur?’

  ‘Not yet. He is due home in a minute. Oh, Mary J, he’ll be so disappointed.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he will be, but the main priority now is to follow up on you.’

  I stayed until we heard Arthur’s step in the porch. I left. It was better for them to face this together and alone.

  Elizabeth saw the surgeon in the next few days and the biopsy proved that there was no malignancy present. She had a hysterectomy and, in spite of her deep disappointment about the baby, she made a swift recovery and was home in six days.

  ‘I’m lucky in one way, Mary J,’ she said, when I visited. ‘It was not malignant.’ She sighed. ‘But I shall not be able to have babies, ever, so we are gradually coming to terms with that.’

  ‘There is always adoption,’ I said, rather tentatively.

  ‘We had thought of that.’

  I continued to call on Ina. The house was usually scrubbed until it shone, with baking smells wafting from the door and a bright fire burning in the polished grate. But this time, I was shocked to see dust and muddle, a cold grate and an exhausted-looking Ina slicing a shop loaf. I could hear wee Janet crying in the other room.

  ‘Ina, stop. Sit down and talk to me. Things are not good, I can see.’

  I made her a cup of tea, fetched the baby and managed to rock her to sleep. With blessed peace restored, Ina began to speak.

  ‘She is better, I think, and taking a bit more, but she needs so much encouragement to suck her bottle and take anything from a spoon, that I have no time for aught else in the day. I’m tired, Nurse. Too tired to light the fire, too tired to bake…’ Ina began to shed bleak, slow tears of utter weariness.

  ‘What about your sister? Any news there?’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘Her man is worse so it will be a long time before she can be of help. No-one knows when he’ll improve – or if.’

  ‘If we could get you away to Callamach House, could Angus and the boys manage?’

  ‘We spoke of it and yes, they would do for themselves. But it’s the baby.’

  I was beginning to toss an idea around in my mind. Would Elizabeth help? She had been considering a break, anyway. Would the baby’s needs help to fill her mind and heart? Would the experience of caring for a baby help her and Arthur to consider whether or not to adopt a child? I would have to talk to her and it had to be soon, as Ina was dangerously exhausted and the baby needed some undivided attention and a routine as well as plenty of nourishment.

  I talked to Doctor Mac about this idea. Did he think it might be a solution?

  ‘Well, if Elizabeth feels that she can help, I think it would be good for everyone. Yes, it might be a good thing.’

  I talked to Elizabeth first and I was relieved at her immediate reaction.

  ‘Oh yes, yes. I’d love to do that. It would stop me from brooding and it would also give us both an idea of what it would be like to adopt a baby.’

  Next, I called on Ina. I told her that I had found someone to look after the baby while she had a break. She looked uncertain until I told her who it was.

  ‘But, Nurse, she’s the teacher.’

  ‘And so she is good with children. And she has been disappointed about her own baby and might like to consider adopting a baby or a child at some point so it will help her too. She has decided to take some time off, anyway…’

  Ina burst into tears of relief and weakness. ‘Oh, Nurse. It would be the answer. If I can get myself well…’

  ‘Shall I tell Doctor to book you into Callamach House?’

  Ina smiled and nodded.

  ‘I’ll get everything organised perhaps for the day after tomorrow,’ I said with relief.

  As I left the house, I was astonished to see that it had been snowing heavily while I had been inside. Huge flakes were covering the bare trees with shimmering whiteness and my Mini had grown a two-inch hat. But the sun was shining and I revelled in the sparkling surroundings, the ‘plops’ as snow slid off a corrugated iron roof, the crunch of tramping feet and the bright red of Postie’s van.

  Anna Vic’s muted mutterings wafted to me as she carried her milk bucket home. ‘Look here, Nurse,’ she called. ‘There’ll ay be that much snow in the milk that the butter will no turn at all.’

  Waving a greeting, I jumped into my car and set off, sliding sideways down the village road. I was already late, having spent a lot of time with Ina, so I was probably going faster than the conditions warranted in order to get to my diabetic patient, now well overdue her injection.

  A large lorry appeared around a bend so I moved into a handy passing place. But I was going too fast and on trying to brake, slid inexorably forward and into a ditch, coming to a stop in the cold softness of deep snow.

  The lorry slewed to a juddering halt nearby and out jumped four burly men. I recognised them as the road maintenance gang from the mainland. In addition to our own roadmen, this repair gang came to the island from time to time to fill potholes and do a little gentle resurfacing. Why they should come when all the roads were covered in snow and ice was anyone’s guess. They were a cheerful lot, their lack of dedication balanced by their sense of humour, while the contents of their pockets were welcomed by the B&Bs and the pubs.

  The gaffer strode across to where I sat in my car in the ditch – feeling very stupid.

  Peering in at the window, he enquired, ‘Taking a short-cut then, Nurse, were you?’ He roared with laughter at his own wit.

  The rest of the gang approached, guffawing loudly and giving me no time to get out, each man took a corner of the little car and lifted it bodily out of the ditch and onto the road with a very surprised nurse still inside. Joining their laughter, I thanked them, started up and continued my rounds.

  But the day’s adventures were not over yet. About an hour later, I was ‘taking a close look at the bottom of another ditch’ (to quote another joker). This time the car, taking on a life of its own, had slid quietly sideways on a slight incline. I was near a group of croft houses and was familiar enough with the island ways to just sit blowing the horn intermittently like a ship’s fog horn. In no time at all, two sturdy crofters on an ancient tractor trundled into view.

  ‘Will we gie ye a lift out then, Nurse?’ And out I was lifted. This time, in the more traditional way of the locals; with ropes and a tractor, but still with laughter and teasing comments.

  Once more, I carried on and had finished my rounds and was on my way home when, rounding a corner, I came on an extraordinary sight. George’s Land Rover was out of action, so he had bought a small Vauxhall to tide him over. There was his car, balancing on its underneath (probably the sump) on a small bank beside yet another ditch, with all four wheels off the ground! It was swaying like a see-saw in the wind. George was standing beside it, looking cold and miserable and talking to Fergie, who was gesticulating wildly.

  ‘We canna just pull it off wi’ the tractor: ’twould rip her underneath from her, I’m thinkin’. How did you get her up there, George?’

  ‘I didn’t. She just got herself up there,’ replied a morose George, digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

  ‘Aye, well. She’s not going to get herself off there. It will have to be Roddy-the-garage.’

  Roddy-the-garage (coalman, undertaker, mechanic, boatmen, shop-keeper) was expensive, but we had no alternative and I drove to the garage leaving George still muttering. ‘…should have kept the L
and Rover a bit longer…’ was the last I heard.

  ‘Right, Nurse, I’ll be with you in a wee whiley,’ said the ever helpful Roddy when I explained. ‘But I have to pull Johno out of the harbour first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Aye. With his truck. It slid into the harbour.’

  ‘Is Johno alright?’

  ‘Ach. He’s fine the now. He jumped out as the truck went in. By! Can that man swear!’

  ‘Where is Johno now and are you sure he’s alright?’

  ‘Aye, He’s in the pub gettin’ dry.’ Roddy paused and roared with laughter. ‘Only on the outside, y’understand, Nurse. Gettin’ dry! Oh, hah, hah’. He wiped his eyes.

  ‘Come to think of it, he’ll be too drunk to drive that truck, even supposin’ it goes when we get it out. I’m thinkin’ I’ll come and do George first.’

  Guiltily burying any sympathy for Johno, I thankfully drove back to tell George that Roddy would soon be here to ‘do’ him.

  ‘I’ll stay to help,’ said Fergie, who seemed oblivious to the cold.

  Roddy rattled into sight in his ancient lorry with its equally ancient winch. With him was a huge man whom I had not seen before.

  ‘Angus Mor,’ Roddy briefly introduced him. ‘He’s ma cousin from Glasgow.’ More cousins! They all had dozens of them!

  Roddy looked at the car. ‘How did you get it up there, George?’ He laughed loudly and was joined by his cousin. George was a little tired of this sally by now but knew that it would be the joke of the pub and would have to be born with stoicism.

  Roddy, Angus Mor and the winch made short work of heaving the car off the ridge. She started first time and, after a swift exchange of money (no complications like invoices here), we were off home in very careful tandem. Three ditches between us was quite enough for one day!

  Two days later, Ina departed for Callamach house. She had a wonderful holiday and regained her health, strength and sense of purpose. She decided to leave the worry of Jaynie to those who were looking after her, realised that when necessary, Angus could manage by himself and that their two great sons would find that, if they wanted to eat, they had to do something about it themselves.