I agreed that that was a great consolation ‒ in theory. ‘Snag is, I love Francis. I like Sister, and the men are angels.’
They were. They seemed to grow nicer every day and they helped me in every possible fashion. ‘Nurse Standing, you’ll not mind my mentioning it, but it’s ten minutes to eight and you’ve not collected the newspapers yet.’
‘Nurse Standing ‒ pardon the liberty, miss ‒ but you left your dusting-tray on that wheel-chair over by Eighteen. Better fetch it away afore she sees it.’
‘You like to fetch me over all your ashtrays, duck, an’ I’ll give ’em a proper shine for you? Reckon you can do with a hand this morning, like.’
Roberts, the man who had been the first patient I had taken to the theatre, was now my greatest friend and ally. The short journey to and from the theatre had joined us in a friendship that was clearly going to last for life. If I forgot anything Roberts was the first person to notice and tactfully draw my attention to the omission; I grew to rely so much on his whispered, ‘Nurse Standing, half a tick,’ that I never left the ward without asking him quietly, ‘Roberts, have I finished properly or left something out?’
He had done very well since his operation. He had had to have that operation as the delayed result of an old war injury. The theatre porter had been quite right when he said that Roberts’s operation was one regularly performed by the S.S.O.; there were several similar operative cases in Francis while I was there, but none of those other men had Roberts’s past medical history.
Roberts was a Londoner. He was small, thin, prematurely grey, and in his mid-thirties. He had a typical Londoner’s quick sense of humour, unbeatable courage, and stoicism. He never complained at any time, was always cheerful, and never stopped talking unless asleep. Consequently, when, one evening about two weeks after his operation, he sat watching me in silence as I dusted his locker I looked at him curiously. As I did so I saw him give a slight wince.
I put down my duster. ‘Is your wound bothering you, Roberts? Or have you a headache?’
He smiled with his lips. ‘I’m all right, duck. Just a mite under the weather to-night, I reckon.’
I did not believe him and said so. ‘Quite sure you haven’t a pain anywhere? You had your stitches out this morning, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘That’s right. Come out lovely, they did. No trouble at all.’
I said slowly, ‘Then ‒ what’s up, Roberts?’
He hesitated. ‘Well ‒ to tell you the truth, Nurse ‒ it’s hard to say, like. I feel quite all right in meself, but ‒’
‘Nurse Standing!’ Bennings stood at the foot of his bed. ‘You are supposed to be dusting the lockers! Not gossiping with the patients! Will you kindly get on! Sister will be back from supper and ready for Prayers in five minutes, and you have yet to do all the ashtrays.’
I turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry, Nurse. I was just asking Roberts how he felt.’
She looked me over coldly. ‘Nurse Standing, Sister and I are here to attend to the patients. You are far too inexperienced to trouble our men with foolish questions that can only fatigue sick patients. Will you be good enough to do your own job in future and leave Sister and me to do ours? If you will only do that perhaps one day you may finish your own work on time.’ She dismissed me with a curt nod, then walked to the head of the bed. Her manner changed instantly. ‘Now, how are you, Roberts?’ she asked in the gentle tone she reserved for men. ‘Do you feel better now you have your stitches out? Or is anything worrying you?’
Roberts assumed a blank expression. ‘I’m doing nicely, Nurse Bennings. Ta very much.’
She took his pulse, looked at his face, then nodded to herself and walked away. I had no further opportunity to question Roberts. I finished my dusting and the ashtrays, feeling decidedly unhappy. I did realize that I was quite inexperienced, but I had a nasty, niggling little feeling that Roberts was keeping something to himself. The short time I had spent in the ward had shown me how incredibly patient and brave the average patient can be. At the same time I knew that Bennings was an excellent nurse; she had taken his pulse, and I noticed she was keeping an eye on him from her seat at the centre table. She would surely discover if anything was going wrong with him. Yet I could not get rid of the feeling that something was wrong, that he was about to tell me it was more than feeling under the weather; only I did not know what it was, and, above all, I did not know what to do about it.
I thought about it as we waited in the darkened ward for Sister to come in and read the Evening Prayers. Should I mention anything to Sister when she dismissed us for the night? Would she think me foolish or presumptuous? In view of what Bennings had just said in the hearing of the whole ward it was hard to believe that Sister would not think me both of those ‒ but could I let it go? I decided I could not. What if she did think me absurd and impertinent? I felt much better as I got up from my knees, having reached a decision.
The decision did me no good. Sister vanished to Matron’s Office directly after Prayers, leaving Bennings to dismiss the juniors. I did some more worrying over supper. There were several of my set at the table with me, but for once I was in no mood to chat. Someone asked, ‘Going into a decline, Rose? You’ve only had two helpings of stew. Got to keep your strength up, ducks!’
‘I’ll do that,’ I promised absently, and reached another decision. Directly supper was over I hurried back to Francis Adams without giving myself time to consider what I was going to do or say when I got there.
The ward was very quiet and in semi-darkness. Sister sat at her table, giving the day report to the night nurses. I hesitated in the doorway for a second to see where Bennings was; she was at the far end of the ward. I pulled off my cloak, deposited it on one of the fire-buckets, and walked into the ward. It is not etiquette to wear a corridor cape inside a ward.
Sister Francis glanced up from her report. ‘Who’s that?’ I heard her ask her senior night nurse.
The nurse peered down the ward. ‘One of your juniors, Sister. Nurse Standing.’
I had arrived at the desk. Sister looked at me with a faint frown of displeasure at having her report interrupted. ‘Why are you back, Nurse Standing? I thought Nurse Bennings had taken your report and told you to go to supper.’
I said, ‘Yes, Sister, she did, but ‒’ Then I did not know how to go on, and the curious stares of the night nurses only increased my nervousness.
Sister asked, ‘Was there something you forgot to mention in your report to Nurse Bennings?’
‘Yes, Sister. That is ‒ well ‒ no, Sister. It’s about Roberts,’ I added rather desperately.
‘What about Roberts, Nurse?’ Sister’s tone was scarcely inviting.
I hesitated again. ‘Well ‒ when I was dusting his locker to-night, Sister, I ‒ er ‒ didn’t think he looked very well.’ My words sounded so stupid under the circumstances that, having said them, I fully expected Sister to dismiss me with a stern warning about wasting her time.
Instead she asked, ‘Why did you think he looked unwell, Nurse?’
‘Because he was very quiet ‒ and he winced, Sister.’
‘Did he complain of any pain?’
To make this more difficult, just as she said that, Bennings appeared out of the darkness and stood watching me from the other end of the table. Sister glanced up at Bennings, then back to me. ‘Did he complain, Nurse Standing?’
I said, ‘No, Sister.’
She looked hard at me, then back to Bennings. ‘You settled Roberts just now, Nurse Bennings. How was he? Comfortable?’
‘Quite comfortable, Sister,’ answered Bennings calmly. ‘His temperature, pulse, and respirations are normal; his wound has healed; he says he has no pain or discomfort of any sort. I have just asked him again.’
‘Thank you.’ Sister looked down at the table and then up to me. Her expression was thoughtful. ‘I am sure you feel much happier now, Nurse Standing.’
I said mechanically, ‘Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister.’
>
Sister folded her hands and smoothed her cuffs. ‘I appreciate the fact that your anxiety for a patient should bring you back to my ward, Nurse Standing, and I hope you will always tell me if you feel worried about one of our patients. I am glad we are able to reassure you. Now, hurry off or you will be late for Chapel. Good night, Nurse.’ She turned to her night senior. ‘Now, Nurse MacGill, I was discussing Evans. He has had a fair day and ‒’
I did not hear any more as after one glance at Bennings, who looked back and straight through me, I tiptoed out of the ward. ‘She looked at me,’ I told the girls after Chapel, ‘as if I simply wasn’t there. But I’ll bet she remembers in the morning.’
Josephine said I ought to have my head examined. ‘You know that for all her narking Bennings is a jolly good nurse. As if she’d let anything serious slip past her! You are a goon, Rose!’
‘But she wouldn’t know there was anything to slip,’ I protested. ‘Roberts is so tough. He never complains, so if he says he’s feeling under the weather something must be going wrong.’
In a tone that would have done Bennings credit Josephine told me to remember I was only a junior pro. ‘Juniors don’t know a thing about illness. So how on earth can you tell that something must be wrong?’
‘I can’t. But I’ve just got a hunch.’
She roared with laughter. ‘Rose, here I draw the line! I really do! You can’t start having hunches! You can drop plates and chuck vases about, fall asleep in lectures, faint in odd corners, day-dream all round Francis Adams; but if you are going to start having hunches you’d better retire here and now, because that sort of nonsense really will get you thrown out of Martin’s!’
The other girls agreed with her. A good nurse, they lectured me, had to stick to common sense and base her judgments on facts.
‘And the fact you’ve now got to face, Rose,’ added Josephine, ‘is that you have deliberately disobeyed Bennings. And that fact is going to cause you a packet of trouble and strife in Francis Adams. You must be punch-drunk, my dear. Haven’t you had enough from Bennings already?’
I felt very dispirited when I went on duty next morning. In the cold light of 7.30 a.m. my last night’s behaviour seemed quite daft. Josephine had the day off, and for once I was early on duty. I left my cape in the changing-room and went to report on duty to the senior night nurse. I found her in the sluice. ‘Good morning, Nurse MacGill.’
She gazed at me wearily. ‘Don’t tell me it’s seven-thirty already? Where has the night gone?’ She dried her hands, then produced the work-list from the bib of her apron. ‘Let’s see ‒ Standing ‒ where are you? Oh, yes. Will you make beds with Erith when she gets here, and then help my junior get the ward straight before you start your own routine? Right?’ She tucked the list away. ‘And, incidentally,’ she added conversationally, ‘the next time you get a feeling in your bones about one of the patients, do me a favour. If I’m not with Sister be sure you let me know too.’
I guessed she was being sarcastic. ‘I’m sorry about that, Nurse. It was stupid of me to flap.’
‘It was not stupid at all. It was possibly the most intelligent thing you ever did.’
My jaw dropped. ‘Intelligent? Me, Nurse?’
She cleared a dressing-trolley as she replied. ‘Yes ‒ you. One does get these quaint notions at times. I’ve had ’em often at night, and I’ve never been wrong yet. It’s odd, because when one has them one has nothing to go on. The chart and the general appearance of the patient is all according to the book; but one just feels in one’s bones that the chart, the given facts, and all the books are wrong.’ She yawned. She looked very tired this morning. ‘I trust my bones, Standing. I back them against anything, and they’ve never let me down yet. After last night I trust your bones too. So, as I said, next time you get worked up will you make sure that I know about it? You helped me a lot last night. You really did.’
‘Roberts?’
She gave a grim little nod, and I added anxiously, ‘What’s happened, Nurse? How is he?’
‘Not very well.’ That, being translated from hospital terminology, meant very ill indeed. ‘But he’s better than he was at three o’clock this morning. He was down in the theatre again by half-past three.’ She explained in detail why that had been necessary. ‘The S.S.O. said last night that it’s a complication that crops up in roughly one in ten thousand cases. He’s only met it three times.’ She yawned again. ‘He and I went into every possible complication when he did his night round at eleven. Roberts was sleeping quite well then and not showing anything. He didn’t shoot that sudden pulse until the small dark hours, and then it went up and up. We got the S.S.O. up; he came and took one good look at Roberts, and said, “Well, Nurse MacGill, I can’t say you didn’t warn me. Only one thing to do ‒ theatre, stat.” ’
‘Did you warn him, Nurse?’
She nodded. ‘I told you. We went into every conceivable complication during his night round.’ She washed the top of her trolley and kicked it against the wall. ‘When you’ve done as much night duty as I have, Standing, you’ll find you develop an extra sense about possible complications. I could tell last night that you were genuinely upset about Roberts. So could Sister. That’s why she let you off lightly. She loathes having her report interrupted. Of course, I realized you might have been flapping, but I wouldn’t say you were the flapping type. So I told the H.S. and the S.S.O. about it. The houseman, being newly qualified, obviously thought I was a little odd myself to take any notice of anything a pro. said; the S.S.O., being a very old hand, took it as seriously as I did. Pros. often know more about the patients than anyone else, as the patients always talk to pros. when they may shut up like clams to higher authority. Which was why he and I went through Roberts’s notes with a mental tooth-comb; the S.S.O. listed all possible snags that might be lying dormant, and what actually happened was on his list.
‘Between him and you we night girls were well and truly prepared. We even had a theatre pack and a transfusion setting ready ‒ just in case. If it hadn’t been needed it would have been good practice for my junior, and, as it was, it saved a lot of time. Mind you, I would naturally have spotted what had happened and got up the S.S.O. in any event; but it makes life so much easier if one’s not caught absolutely by surprise.’
The other day nurses joined us in the sluice then, and she gave them their early-morning work. As I followed Erith to the door MacGill called after me, ‘Might interest you to hear the S.S.O.’s comment at three-five a.m. “Out of the mouths of babes ‒ and so on, eh, Nurse MacGill?” With which I much agree.’
Erith nudged me as we walked into the ward. ‘What was all that about you and the S.S.O., Standing?’
‘Just a joke of MacGill’s.’ For some reason I did not want to discuss it. I changed the subject by asking how senior was MacGill. ‘She wears a fourth-year belt, I can see. But she’s so ‒ normal.’
Erith pulled a chair to the foot of one bed, smiled a good morning at the man in it, and began stripping the bed neatly. ‘Not everyone alters as they sail up the hospital ladder,’ she murmured as we met at the foot of the bed. ‘She ‒ the person you mentioned ‒ has always been the same. I can remember her as a second-year when I first started. She was normal then. It is possible to remain so and be good at the job.’ She smiled once more at our patient. ‘Do forgive our chatting over your feet, Davis. It’s shocking bad manners, so we’ll stop. Tell me, how are you this morning? Did you sleep well?’
‘Mustn’t grumble, Nurse. But I’m sorry to hear poor old Bobs got took queer in the night. Ever so quiet they must have been down the other end. I didn’t hear the trolley at all, and they say he went down to the theatre. Course, I did see that tall fair chap in here early when we was drinking our tea. On the go most of the night he was, so they tell me. I don’t know’ ‒ he shook his head solemnly. ‘I don’t know how these chaps can stand this doctoring racket. They never seem to get no sleep at all.’
Erith fluffed his pillows. ‘If the S
.S.O. gets a whole night in bed, Davis, it makes history.’
I asked, ‘Does he get called up every night?’
She picked up the chair, and we moved on to the next bed. ‘You’ve got the wrong word there, Standing. The word is calls.’ She put down the chair. ‘Morning, Bowen. How are you this morning? Sleep well?’
I glanced momentarily down the length of Francis Adams. Every one of the forty beds was occupied, and Francis was merely one of the many surgical wards. It was certainly one of the S.S.O.’s own wards, but he was also responsible for every other surgical ward and every surgical patient coming to this hospital. No, I thought as I nipped round the bed, clicked the castors straight, moved the chair on to the foot of the next bed, and began to strip it with Erith, I could hardly blame Jake Waring for being slightly impatient with my daft behaviour, and I was not at all surprised that he found no time in which to lead a gay life. Tradition might bar us first-year nurses from joining in the social side of the hospital; solid hard work must bar the senior residents. Yet he must relax some time; everyone had to do that or crack. I thought of his thin, intelligent face, his cool grey eyes; he certainly did not look like a man about to crack or a man who needed to relax. He looked as if he was doing what he wanted to do with his life ‒ and did not suffer fools gladly. I closed my eyes involuntarily and clutched the blankets I was holding; why should the poor man suffer fools gladly?
‘Standing!’ Erith leaned over the bed and tugged at a corner of the blanket. ‘What are you doing? You can’t fall asleep here! Wake up, girl! We’ve seven more beds to make and twelve minutes in which to make them! Get moving!’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I rushed back into action with too much zeal and knocked over the chair-load of bedclothes. Bennings, who was taking temperatures at the next bed, leapt forward and caught the chair and the clothes before they touched the floor.
‘Nurse Standing! When will you learn not to be so clumsy?’ She straightened the chair and the clothes. ‘Really, you beat the proverbial bull in the china shop! Please try to be more careful in future.’
The First Year Page 7
