More From A Nurse's Life: More drama, love and laughter from a 1950s nurse (Nurse Jane Grant Book 2)

by Jane Grant

  ‘And Dad says,’ she went on, ‘he hopes the patient will recover and he’s glad it’s not him.’

  With further reassurances on both sides, they wished me luck and I rang off.

  Well, it wasn’t quite what I had wanted, but it would have to do, I thought. No good ringing Mary, she knows too much about it to be really impressed. So, contenting myself with scowling at a new Junior, I went to my room.

  On my calendar I saw the big mark I had made round the Tuesday week, and for a moment I couldn’t think what it was for, and when I remembered it was the day I had been going to give in my notice I was rather horrified. Had I told anybody, I wondered? If not, it might not be necessary to give it in at all.

  Then I thought of tomorrow. I decided I should know by tomorrow night whether or not I would stay.

  When I arrived in the theatre next day, it didn’t really seem any different from what it usually was. It was slightly more crowded than usual, and the cupboards were a bit more untidy, but there was nothing really out of the way. Although I tried hard to appear normal, my nerves were very jumpy. I started when Mrs Denning hit her mop against her bucket, I scolded the porter for whistling, and nagged the Junior for dropping a pair of forceps off one of the sets.

  In the office the newly typed list lay on the table:

  Mr Mitchell, 10 o’clock – Minor Ops

  Patient: Julie Want

  Age: 6

  Ward: Mark

  Operation: Appendix

  Pre-Med: 8.30

  Patient: Tommy Kindon

  Age: 10

  Ward: Mark

  Operation: Appendix

  Pre-Med 9.00

  Patient: William Parsley

  Age: 2

  Ward: Mark

  Operation: Right inguinal hernia

  Pre-Med 9.30

  I pinned the list up for the porter to collect the patients, then went back to work out the off duty for Sister Wright.

  The telephone seemed to explode in my ears. I picked up the receiver.

  ‘Minor Ops, Staff Nurse speaking,’ I said in what I hoped was my cool efficient voice.

  ‘Is that theatre?’ said a high-pitched voice.

  ‘Er – yes.’

  ‘’Ow’s Dad?’

  ‘How’s who?’ I asked incredulously.

  ‘’Ow’s Dad?’ repeated the voice. ‘’E ’ad ’is ’ernia done last night.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, taking time to collect my shattered nerves.

  ‘My dad come in last night to ’ave ’is ’ernia done. Got took bad just as ’e sat down to ’is tea. So I ups and rings Doctor and Doctor says seeing as ’ow it comes and goes better see the back of it.’

  This was the second idiotic telephone conversation I had had within twenty-four hours. I felt it was a little too much.

  ‘I think, Madam, you have the wrong line,’ I said with cold dignity. ‘I’ll put you back to the operator.’

  ‘You’re featres, aren’t you?’ said the voice aggressively. ‘Well, me Dad –’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I interrupted hastily. ‘Look, I’ll give you back to the operator and he’ll put you through to the right place.’

  Before I could hear any more of Dad’s history, I shook the rest up and down until I got the operator. ‘This lady would like to know how Dad is,’ I said, and quickly banged down the receiver.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ I called. The door flew open to disclose a second-year nurse with bright intelligent eyes and a quick lively look about her.

  ‘Please, Staff Nurse, I’m Nurse Whitely from Mark theatres.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said in a distant voice, ‘Nurse Johns is in the theatre, can you go and help her until I can show you around?’

  ‘Yes, Nurse.’ She bobbed out again, while I sat back and tried hard to think yet again of the exact order of instruments and sutures.

  Sister Trevelyan came in as I sat thinking.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late, I went to see Sister Wright. Has Whitely come yet?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I jumped up nervously. ‘I haven’t shown her round yet.’

  ‘I shouldn’t bother,’ said Sister, sitting down easily, ‘She’s been on my theatre for a fortnight, and let’s face it, there’s not much to see here is there?’

  ‘Did – er – Sister Wright say anything about this morning?’ I asked.

  ‘No, what about it?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, my heart in my mouth. ‘About the scrubbing list.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes. She wants you to do Mr Mitchell, doesn’t she? But I thought you’d better go off duty this morning, because it’s Barnett this afternoon and you know how to deal with him, and I want the evening.’

  ‘Oh Sister,’ I cried, trying to keep the dismay out of my voice. ‘Do you really –’

  ‘Do I really what?’ asked Trevelyan, surprised.

  ‘Do you really want me to have the morning off – I mean Mr Barnett’s only got two circumcisions and I wouldn’t mind not having any off duty.’

  ‘Oh Lord love you, girl,’ she said with a merry laugh, ‘you mustn’t go without your off duty. Why should you?’

  ‘Well – I thought – That is, Sister Wright –’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, the revelation of my predicament coming to her suddenly. ‘You want to scrub for Mr Mitchell. Is that it?’

  I nodded vigorously.

  ‘We’ll, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘So you shall. And take the afternoon. We’ll have to sort this off duty out.’

  I thanked her fervently. ‘Have you put the sets out?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Sister.’ I could hardly get the words out, my relief was so great.

  ‘Let’s go and check them.’

  We went out and both crowded into the sterilising room. She began to rearrange the instruments.

  ‘I always like,’ she explained, ‘to have a set order for my instruments in the way they are used.’

  She looked at my jumble of instruments rather disapprovingly. ‘So you see you work from left to right. Well, start this end, shall we? First of all, sponge holders. Then towel clips, then your dissecting forceps, two non-toothed, two toothed. That’s right. Artery forceps – h’mm – he won’t need more than five, dear.’ She took off some of the forceps I had given her. ‘Then your Allis tissue – he never uses them, but still I always put a couple on in case. Then your retractors. That’s right.’

  She looked approvingly at the neatened sets. ‘That’s fine. Good.’

  She went through the remainder of the sets and it seemed ages, and yet no time, when suddenly everything was ready.

  Trevelyan said kindly: ‘I should get scrubbed now if I were you, dear. Have a nice lot of time to do your trolley.’

  I scrubbed my hands carefully, put on the sterile gown and gloves, and started to prepare my trolley with trembling hands.

  The patient was on the table when Mr Mitchell walked in.

  ‘Morning, all,’ he called out. I glanced at him quickly, he didn’t look too much like an ogre, in fact he looked rather pleasant.

  He strolled over to me. ‘You’re the one I’ve got to be nice to,’ he stated.

  I gave a sort of gulp.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve had my breakfast. No less than three people have stopped me and told me to be kind to you and not to chop your head off if I get the wrong sutures. It’s a bit of a tall order, especially on a Monday morning, but we’ll try.’

  So saying, he walked away to get scrubbed.

  When he did start, in my agony of nervousness I wasn’t ready with the skin paint, and he waited patiently while I fumbled with the sterile towels.

  There was a pause, while the anaesthetist made sure the little patient was ready. Then Mr Mitchell leaned over the table, catching hold of my gloved hand, and said: ‘You’re doing fine, honey bun. Now, take it easy.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I answered meekly.

  ‘OK?’ he enquired.

  I nodded.

&n
bsp; ‘Knife, please,’ he said briskly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Sister Wright had predicted, within a fortnight of the Children’s Theatre moving in, I was taking appendices in my stride. After my first attempt with Mr Mitchell, they seemed to hold no special significance for me. We performed on an average about six a week, and I soon felt capable of managing one without having to ring up my parents to tell them of the miracles I was performing.

  The surgeons got used eventually to the change, and even became quite attached to the little theatre.

  ‘Ever so cosy, here, isn’t it, Staff,’ said Mr Mitchell one day. ‘I mean, if you accidentally touch a nurse, she doesn’t accuse you of being fresh, she thinks it’s just the size of the place.’

  I blushed and did not reply.

  There was just one small fly in the ointment, Mr Anderson; a tall pompous young man who had just got his fellowship. He was very conscious that he was entitled to the prefix ‘Mr’ instead of ‘Dr’, and took it upon himself to tell no less than three people on one of his Wednesday sessions that he wasn’t a doctor now, but Mr Anderson.

  The porter against whom one of the complaints was registered, said angrily afterwards: ‘You’re telling me he ain’t no doctor. I ’ad to tell ’im which was that last ’un’s feet and which was ’is ’ead.’

  The second week of the transfer, Mr Anderson came down to do a small biopsy session, and I was scrubbing, while Whitely, who had hitherto not come across him, was running for me.

  The first patient was a biopsy of lumps in both breasts, and at the end of the case there was a silence. The houseman, a pleasant youth, said to Whitely in a stage whisper: ‘Can we have some six-inch crepe bandages, please?’

  She slid off to get them, and then stood by to see the patient off the table, while I prepared for the next case.

  As I collected some sutures from the jars on the theatre trolley for my own trolley, I was electrified to hear Whitely’s sprightly voice exclaim: ‘Is that meant to be a double breast bandage?’

  Anderson stopped bandaging and looked at her in utter astonishment. Before he could gather himself together for a cutting reply, Whitely remarked chattily: ‘Oh, you’ve done it all wrong, you know.’

  ‘Wh-a-t?’ said Anderson, the tremor in his voice warning us all – except apparently Whitely – of an impending storm. She, however, went on in the same bright voice: ‘Yes, you see, you’ve got the bandage going the wrong way. You want it coming up, to give support.’

  Anderson gathered his forces. ‘I see,’ he said cuttingly, ‘I suppose you know better than me.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ conceded Whitely pleasantly. ‘I expect I do, because I had it in prelim., and the old battleaxe who tested me didn’t half give me what for for doing it your way.’

  The next moment she had moved over the patient. ‘You hold her up, love, and I’ll show you.’

  Anderson, apparently too stunned to dissent, did as he was told, and Whitely began deftly to bandage. As she finished she enquired: ‘There, isn’t that better?’

  She then went to the door and called the porter, and before the shattered group of the rest of us, put the patient on the trolley and wheeled her out of the theatre whistling.

  ‘Well! I’ll be damned!’ exclaimed the anaesthetist.

  The houseman looked shell shocked. Weak at the knees, I gave a hurried glance towards Anderson. His face was set and his backbone rigid, but even as I looked at him, I saw the corner of his eyes above his mask twitch slightly.

  ‘Good heavens!’ I exclaimed involuntarily. ‘You’ve got a sense of humour!’ It was hardly a compliment, there was so much surprise in my voice.

  He gave a sudden sheepish grin, then said stiffly: ‘Let’s have the next case, shall we?’

  After the session, I was going back to the office, when Mr Anderson called out: ‘Staff!’

  ‘Yes, Mr Anderson,’ I said with meek restraint.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that Junior. I think you ought to tell her off.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Anderson.’

  ‘I mean, it’s all very well, but she oughtn’t to speak to surgeons like that.’

  ‘No, Mr Anderson. Especially when she’s right.’

  He coughed slightly. ‘Well – that’s as may be.’

  He stood there, evidently embarrassed, and struggling between dignity and naturalness. At last he said with an effort: ‘Is there any – er – coffee in the house?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said cordially. ‘Come in.’

  He followed me into the office. There was rather a frigid silence which I did not know how to break, as we sat down, and when I swallowed a mouthful of coffee, the noise seemed to echo round the room.

  He broke the silence by saying in a self-conscious tone: ‘What’s Sister like?’

  ‘Oh, she’s very nice,’ I said. I tried to think of something else to say about her. ‘She’s off this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Oh? I don’t seem to have met her.’

  ‘Oh, haven’t you? Well, she usually has Wednesday mornings, because I have a half day.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ He seemed to have got more distant. I wondered anxiously if he thought I was suggesting he took me out. I searched desperately for other topics of conversation.

  After a protracted silence, I said in a voice which sounded much too hearty and jovial: ‘By the way, wasn’t it hot in theatres this morning. I was boiled, especially when Whitely –’ Here I trailed off miserably.

  He said nothing to this, and we sat not looking at each other. Then suddenly the door burst open and Phyllis rushed in.

  ‘Hullo, you old bat,’ she bellowed, knocking me on the back and making me spill my coffee and half choke over the mouthful I’d got.

  ‘Phyllis –’ I began weakly.

  ‘Any of that for me?’ She nodded cheerfully to Anderson, and poured herself out a cup.

  I had no time to introduce them to each other, I could not get a word in edgeways before Phyllis was off again.

  ‘Well, how are you, ducks?’ She sank into a chair. ‘Oh, dearie me, what a life we lead! I didn’t come up and see you the last time, honey, I was so tired I slept till 4 pm. This midwifery lark is no joke. Who are you?’ She looked abruptly at Anderson, who had been staring at her in a mesmerised way.’

  ‘David Anderson,’ he said meekly.

  Phyllis stretched and yawned. ‘Oh dear, I am exhausted. I hope you’re off this afternoon.’

  I managed to say that I was, and to enquire what she wanted to do.

  ‘I’d like to go for a long drive in the country. Get to some nice place and just fritter the time away. Have you got a car, David?’ she asked innocently.

  I felt myself grow hot with embarrassment.

  ‘Er – yes, I have,’ he replied, evidently startled.

  ‘Does the roof let down?’

  He nodded.

  ‘A real coupé – oh smashing! Well, that’s settled.’

  ‘What’s settled?’ The whole thing seemed to have happened so quickly I hadn’t got my bearings.

  ‘Why, David will take us for a ride this afternoon.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Phyllis,’ I said blushing, ‘David – Mr Anderson doesn’t want to be stampeded into taking us out. He’s probably busy anyway.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he replied in rather a surprised voice. ‘I’ll be free about three.’

  ‘No, look, it’s terribly sweet of you – but you mustn’t pay any attention to Phyllis, she’s always like this. Anyway,’ I turned sternly to Phyllis, ‘what about Mike?’

  ‘Oh, he’s tied up till six,’ said Phyllis lightly. ‘We’d be back by then, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Phyllis, you’re shameless!’

  ‘I’m sorry, I just thought it would be nice –’

  ‘But you can’t just march up to someone you don’t know and ask them to take you for a drive –’

  The embarrassed voice of Anderson was now heard, murmuring, ‘I’d like to.’


  ‘He doesn’t know us – why should he want to take us out? Now you’ve forced him to.’

  ‘But he said he’d like to,’ said Phyllis innocently.

  There was a pause. ‘Yes, I would,’ said Anderson in rather a startled tone. ‘That is, of course, if you’d like to come.’

  ‘Yes, of course we would,’ I said unguardedly, ‘but –’

  ‘Well, that’s settled,’ said Phyllis delightedly. ‘You push off now, David. Get all your work done so you’ll be free for us. I’ve got lots of girls’ secrets to talk over with Jane. Three o’clock at the main gates?’ she called, as he meekly went to the door.

  As the door closed, I exploded at Phyllis.

  ‘Honestly, you are the end,’ I said wrathfully. ‘You march in and order the wretched man –’

  She interrupted, her whole manner changed from exuberance to seriousness. ‘Look, Jane – what’s happened to Mike?’

  ‘What do you mean – what’s happened to Mike?’ I asked, noticing for the first time that she looked rather strained and pale.

  ‘He hasn’t written to me for ages. He tried to get out of seeing me tonight.’ She paced up and down in the office. ‘Jane – what shall I do?’

  ‘If he doesn’t want to see you, why force him to?’

  ‘Because – because I love him,’ she said despairingly.

  ‘Phyllis,’ I chided her gently. ‘You don’t know what love is. He’s the first man that hasn’t fallen flat on his face for you. Isn’t that what you mean?’

  She looked rather aghast. ‘Do you really believe that, Jane?’

  ‘I think it has a lot to do with it. No one has ever done this to you, have they?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘but I wish it wasn’t him who was doing it.’

  There was silence for a moment, while I tried to think of something consoling to say. Then the door opened and Sister Trevelyan came in.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said brightly, ‘any coffee left over?’

  She filled herself a cup and stood looking cheerfully at us. ‘How is midder getting on?’ she asked Phyllis.

  Phyllis’s manner changed in a flash from solemnity to frivolity.