“Seems to travel light, that one,” the clerk said from the doorway, where he’d been watching. Libby guessed he’d done that to make sure she didn’t take anything that was actually hotel property, not that she saw anything she wanted that could fit into a satchel. Or even larger than that, actually.
“That just makes it all the easier to gather his things,” she replied with a smile. While the clerk was there, she might as well enlist his help. “Do you see anything I might have forgotten, something that looks out of place?”
The clerk glanced around. “No, it looks like it should.”
“All right, then. Thank you very much. Now I’ll just settle the bill and be on my way.”
“Mr. Franklin paid for three days and this was the third, so there’s no bill.” The man seemed a little reluctant to say it. She wondered if he’d been thinking about double charging and then pocketing the difference. Or that could just be her imagination running off with her.
“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
Once back out in the cab, Libby exhaled a sigh of relief. It had been stuffy inside the hotel, and the outside air was much cooler. She set Mr. Franklin’s modest bag on the seat next to her and wondered more about the young man it belonged to. He had a nice voice, smooth and mellow, and he seemed educated and pleasant. The fact that he didn’t want to worry his mother spoke well of him, as did the fact that he was anxious not to offend. She laughed out loud at that. He wasn’t the first person to call her short.
She asked the driver to take her to the telegraph office, where she sent the note to Mr. Franklin’s parents. She was tempted to explain his condition in more detail, but that wasn’t her place. If he chose to downplay it for his mother’s sake, she would just have to go along with it. She was sure, however, to include the address of the hospital.
When Libby arrived back at work, she paid the driver with money she’d been given from the hospital’s cash drawer for such emergencies and went upstairs to find Mr. Franklin. He was sitting upright on his bed, humming some sort of melody when she walked in. It was lovely, and she stopped to listen.
He went on for another moment and then paused. “Hello? Is someone there?”
Libby stepped farther into the room. “It’s Miss Green. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, not at all. It’s funny—it’s like I could feel that you were there after a moment. Maybe I heard you breathing or something.”
“I’ve heard that when a person loses their sight, their other senses become heightened.” She immediately regretted her choice of words and kept talking to cover her blunder. “And then, when their sight returns, everything becomes normal again.” She didn’t for a single minute want him dwelling on the thought that he might not see again. There just wasn’t a way to know at this point. “How is your pain, Mr. Franklin?”
“It’s still there, definitely, but I believe that quarter dose did take the edge off it. Let’s stay with that, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’ll make sure the night nurse is given that instruction too. Now, I have your bag here from the hotel. I’m going to set it on the chair next to your bed. It’s here to the right.”
Mr. Franklin reached out until his fingers made contact with the back of the chair. Then he felt down until he was touching the bag. “Perfect. Thank you, Miss Green.”
“You’re welcome.” She paused, suddenly feeling shy, but not knowing why. “The music you were humming when I first came in—what was that? I’ve never heard it before.”
He chuckled. “No one’s ever heard it before.”
“What do you mean?”
He dipped his head. “I wrote it. And it’s not finished, so I’ve never played it for anyone.”
Libby’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You’re a composer?”
“Well, of sorts. I’m not very good, and I’m certainly not experienced.”
“What do you mean, you’re not very good? I just heard a bit of it—I thought it was lovely.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his head again. “That’s why I came to New York, actually. I wanted to hear different kinds of music for inspiration. And I was hoping to present some of my pieces to a conductor. If an orchestra in a town like New York were to perform my music . . . I can’t even describe how thrilling that would be for me.”
“I can imagine.” Libby could hear voices in the hallway outside, then saw Phoebe pushing in another patient in a wheelchair. He was a large man, and it seemed that Phoebe was struggling to navigate the corner. “It looks like you have a new roommate, Mr. Franklin. Please excuse me for a bit. I’ll come back and check on you.”
“Thank you, Miss Green.”
Libby stepped over to Phoebe’s side. “Do you need any help?”
“Yes, please. Mr. Brown here is a little unsteady on his feet. If you can support him on the left, I’ll take the right, and we’ll get him into bed.”
Libby did just that, easing the man up onto the mattress. Phoebe seemed to have everything else well in hand, so Libby checked on Mr. Franklin, a little disappointed when he said he didn’t need anything. She did have other tasks, though, and supposed she couldn’t spend all day just visiting with him.
When she returned to the first floor to report to Dr. Wentworth and receive her next assignment, she found Jeanette there, telling Dr. Wentworth her experiences with carbolic acid.
“So your practical results corroborated Dr. Lister’s findings,” Dr. Wentworth mused. “I hesitate to use it in Mrs. Stanford’s case, however. It would be far too easy to put too much of the acid in her abdominal incision, and until I’ve conferred with my colleagues, it seems like a risky thing to do.”
“If you like, you could send a telegram to Dr. Wayment, the man I saw use the acid on a compound fracture,” Jeanette said. “He lives in Topeka, Kansas.”
Dr. Wentworth made a note on the paper in front of him. “I just might do that. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Miss Anderson. You’ve been most helpful.”
Jeanette smiled at Libby before slipping out of the office.
Dr. Wentworth seemed lost in thought for a moment, then came to himself. “Well, Miss Green? How’s our patient?”
“He’s settled in, and I retrieved his things from the hotel. His parents have been contacted, and I believe we’ve taken care of all his immediate needs. He does prefer the quarter dose of medication, so I put that on his chart.”
“Excellent. Now, I’m sure you noticed his cough.”
“I did, sir. I wasn’t sure if he had a cold or if that was a side effect of the fire.”
“I believe it’s due to smoke inhalation. He’s lucky to escape with just a cough—that’s minor, and will heal itself rather quickly. Some persons inhale so much smoke that it burns their lungs quite severely. There’s not a lot we can do in a case like that, and the patient either learns to live with the pain until it goes away, or, if the damage is bad enough, they succumb.”
“That sounds like a horrible way to die,” Libby said, hardly able to imagine it.
“It is. One of the worst I’ve ever witnessed.” He seemed to notice she was still standing and waved her to a chair. “Now, in regards to Mrs. Stanford. I’m going to speak with the other doctors in this hospital and your own excellent Dr. Russell and see who among them might have experience with carbolic acid. I imagine this might take me some time and be rather boring for you, and since you’re specifically assigned to me this week, I hereby suggest that you go home and get some rest. I know it’s a little early, but it has been a taxing day, and I imagine you wouldn’t argue too badly to being let go before dark, would you?”
“Oh, no, of course not. Thank you, Doctor.” Libby came to her feet. “I’ll be here right on time tomorrow, and I’ll be very interested to hear what your colleagues have to say—that is, if it’s appropriate to share that with me.”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Thank you, Miss Green.” Dr. Wentworth stood and nodded. �
�See you tomorrow.”
As Libby walked back to Dr. Russell’s sprawling house where all the nursing students lived, Mr. Franklin’s haunting melody played in the back of her mind, and she found herself very much wanting to hear the rest of the song.
Chapter Five
The burning just wouldn’t stop. Lewis tucked his hands behind his back and kept them there so he couldn’t reach up and scrub at his eyes like he so badly wanted to, and found himself digging his nails into the palms of his hands. Everyone in the ward had gone to sleep, from what he could tell, and it was just him and the endless darkness and the pain, and he didn’t know if he could bear it.
He could ask for more opium, but no. He’d seen his brother suffer horribly because of the stuff, and it would be worse than trying to endure the pain. He’d have to remind himself of that often, though, because it was tempting. It was so very tempting.
He needed to think on something else. Without any effort at all, Miss Green came to mind, and he smiled. He wished he knew what she looked like. Her voice was soft and sweet, and he imagined her to be like an angel—a very short angel. But then again, if she was that pretty, why wasn’t she married? All the nurses of his acquaintance had gone into the profession to provide for themselves because marriage hadn’t been an option. He was most likely being unfair, but that did seem to be the case.
Well, until his eyes healed and he could see for himself, he could imagine Miss Green any way he liked, and he chose to think of her as being like a wood sprite, light and beautiful, using her healing touch on all who would accept it. With these pleasant thoughts in his head, he was finally able to drift off to sleep, still lying on his hands to keep them immobile.
***
Dr. Russell taught the next morning’s class, something he tried to do at least once a week, but sometimes, his schedule didn’t allow for it. Libby always appreciated hearing what he had to say. He and Miss Cantrell both were so dedicated to their careers, their devotion shone through whenever they addressed the girls.
“You’ve been here with us for two months now, give or take,” Dr. Russell said, hooking his thumbs through his suspender straps. “How many of you have dealt with bedsores?”
All the students shook their heads.
“Not surprising, considering that your training to date has been for emergency care only. A bedsore is an abscess that forms on the patient’s skin when they have been lying in one position too long. The friction of bedclothes against the skin, in combination with lack of circulation, seems to cause this condition. Dampness, such as created by humidity in the air or lack of hygiene, can make the sores markedly worse. Now, how do you suppose we would prevent them?”
Millie raised her hand. “If they’ve been lying in one position too long, can they be moved around?”
“Excellent suggestion. Helping the patient change their position as frequently as possible is a very good way to keep sores from developing. But what if the patient is unconscious or in a coma?”
The girls glanced at each other, and then Jeanette spoke up. “Does a patient in a coma develop bedsores as easily as an awake patient? I mean, if a bedsore is caused by friction, and the coma patient isn’t moving . . .”
Dr. Russell smiled. “You make a good point. A patient in a coma isn’t likely to cause much friction against the bedsheets, but they will suffer from lack of circulation. How could you as a nurse help them?”
Phoebe spoke up. “My grandmother’s nurse would rub her legs for her at night sometimes.”
“Yes, precisely. Rubbing the limbs to increase blood flow is invaluable. The skin is tender, however, so we don’t rub too vigorously. We can also turn the patients over carefully to vary how they are lying in the bed.”
They continued to discuss prevention, then moved on to talk about treatment of existing sores. Halfway through, the doorbell rang, and Miss Cantrell stepped out to answer it. She returned a moment later with a folded note, which she handed to Dr. Russell.
He took it, read it, then said, “You’re with me, Miss Green.”
Without taking the time to grab their hats, the two of them raced down the block to St. Timothy’s. Libby wanted to ask why they’d been summoned, but she was afraid she already knew. They were greeted near the front doors by a grim-faced Dr. Wentworth.
“It’s Mrs. Stanford, isn’t it?” she asked as soon as she could draw breath.
“It is, I’m afraid. She passed not five minutes ago. I hoped there would be time to confer with Dr. Russell once again, but I was too late.”
Dr. Russell pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry to hear it. I can’t help but wonder, though, if we can’t find some good in this situation.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Wentworth asked.
“I’d like to perform an autopsy. It would help us determine the exact nature of her internal infection, and it would give us the chance to experiment, if you will—we could pour some carbolic acid into the wound and see how it would react on the tissues while they are still fresh.”
Libby’s stomach turned at the thought. She’d never been present at an autopsy—she doubted the other students had either. At the same time, she was intensely curious. Just what would they discover?
“You’re right,” Dr. Wentworth said after a long moment of seeming to consider. “This is too rare an opportunity to let pass by.”
“Did she have any family?”
“No, she was quite alone in the world.”
“That’s a terrible way to pass.” Dr. Russell shook his head.
“I’ll have her moved into an operating room.” Dr. Wentworth turned to Libby. “Miss Green, are you interested in assisting?”
“I am, and yet, I’m not,” Libby replied, and both men smiled. “I mean, from a scientific standpoint, it’s a fascinating idea. I’m just not sure if I’ll be of any actual use.”
“Just pretend that it’s an ordinary surgery, and you’ll do fine,” Dr. Wentworth assured her. “You’re very capable.”
“Thank you, Doctor. How shall I prepare the room?”
“All the standard supplies, and we’ll need a bottle of carbolic acid. And I believe Miss Anderson spoke of using olive oil to cut the burn of the acid.”
“That’s right,” Dr. Russell interjected. “I’ve spoken with her about that as well.”
Libby hurried off, ready to help in any way she could. She only hoped that she’d make it through the procedure without doing something horribly embarrassing, like fainting right on the floor.
***
“The first thing we’ll do is open the incision from her surgery,” Dr. Russell said, taking the scalpel from Libby’s outstretched hand. His movements were sure as he brought the blade along the patient’s skin. As the wound reopened, it was instantly obvious that her entire abdominal cavity was filled with pus. Libby turned her head at the sight, and more specifically, at the smell. Oh, it was awful to think of someone holding that kind of infection within their body.
“We’ll need to pull out as much of this as we can to see what’s behind it and to get a sense for how much there is,” Dr. Russell continued. “Miss Green, please hand us the towels one at a time.”
The doctors worked for several minutes, laying the towels inside the wound and then pulling them out once they were saturated. Libby made a pile of linens in the corner, knowing she’d be burning them as soon as she was no longer needed in the room. Once the wound was clear, Dr. Russell picked up the bottle of carbolic acid. “Now, if I pour this into the incision directly, how will the tissues react? Will they burn badly enough that they won’t be able to knit back together? And how does adding the olive oil help that regeneration process?”
“Well, as the patient is dead and can no longer regenerate tissue, this will be guesswork at its best,” Dr. Wentworth replied. “However, we can study the tissue and conjecture from there.”
“I’m going to use the acid straight on this side of the abdomen,” Dr. Russell said. “Then we’ll dilute it with olive
oil and administer it to that side, and we’ll compare.”
Libby watched carefully as Dr. Russell applied the acid to one side, then the mixture to the other.
“Pardon me for just a moment,” Dr. Wentworth said. “I have a microscope in my office, and I’d very much like to look at the tissues under greater magnification.”
While he was gone, Dr. Russell took the tip of the scalpel and lifted different tissues and organs out of the way to see how far the acid had spread within the cavity. “Being a liquid, we can’t really control where all it goes,” he explained. “This will help us determine if it should be used in this manner or not.”
When Dr. Wentworth came back, he set up the microscope on a small table in the corner, and placed a lamp next to it. Then he carefully removed a piece of tissue from the side that had been doused with the acid and placed it on a small glass slide.
“Interesting,” he said, motioning for Dr. Russell to come take a look. “You can definitely see the tissue damage that has taken place here.”
Libby took a peek as well, but she wasn’t entirely certain what she was looking for. “Would this tissue have a chance to knit?” she asked.
“Based on Dr. Lister’s studies, we have to believe that it would, because he did have success in using it for compound fractures before he began mixing it with olive oil,” Dr. Wentworth said. “However, a compound fracture is different from an abdominal wound.”
“The tissues of the body are the same, though, regardless of where they are located. Arm, leg, or stomach, they would have the same propensity or disinclination to knit,” Dr. Russell pointed out.
“True. Now let’s look at the tissue treated with acid and olive oil.”
Comparing the two, Libby could see that the oil seemed to keep the acid from doing as much damage as it did when used alone.
“Is the acid as effective when diluted this way?” Dr. Russell asked.
Touch of Tenderness (Nurses of New York Book 3) Page 3
