by Mary Hawkins
'I'm extremely reluctant to order them for most elderly people. It's been proved that in too many cases elderly people wake to go to the toilet in the middle of the night and end up having falls because of the effects of their sleeping tablets making them too drowsy. I'll have a talk with him. There should be other ways to induce sleep. I'll definitely order something mild later on if he continues to suffer from insomnia.' He glanced at her directly for the first time. 'Try not to worry too much. I'll do everything I can to help him. Both of you,' she thought he added softly under his breath.
Whether he was deliberately avoiding her she was not sure, but she did not see him for several days. She continued to spend a large part of each day with George, and her evenings sewing.
George was responding very slowly to the physiotherapy. He was not very co-operative, the staff had told her a few times, especially when she was not there.
The rash still had not disappeared, and they told Jean one day that they suspected he was allergic to something, but had not been able to find out what.
Jean was becoming increasingly disturbed by George's continuing irritability. She had tried to get him to tell her what was worrying him, but he had turned away, just shaking his head. Something stopped her from voicing her concern to the staff.
Then one day Jean decided she had to stay home in the morning and do some washing and cleaning, as well as try to finish the curtains for the lounge of the house she was still working on. She had warned George the day before not to expect her until the afternoon. But she also had to keep an appointment at the hairdresser's, so it was very late when she eventually reached the nurses' station. She smiled at Sister Howard as she went to hurry past.
Peggy Howard had been very reserved the first few times they had met again after that disastrous first day. Now they had developed a genuine liking for each other, even having enjoyed a laugh together over Dr Hansen's first appearance? So she paused as Peggy called out to her.
'Jean, your uncle already has a couple of visitors,' she said with a worried frown. 'I couldn't stop Mr Wallace from seeing him, but ‑'
They both looked down the corridor as they heard a very loud, 'No!'
'That was Mr Mac ‑' Peggy started to say, but Jean was already flying down the corridor.
There was a crash of crockery just before Jean flew through the doorway, almost to collide with a retreating Dan Wallace. A hospital cup was in pieces on the floor near their feet. Jean flew across the room as she saw the saucer in George's hand about to follow suit.
'George!' she yelled. 'No.'
'No,' agreed George in an angry voice, and promptly threw it at the other man, who was staring at him with his mouth open. The man ducked, but it missed by a mile, and also hit the wall with a satisfying crash.
'Mr Macallister, really! We can't have you using hospital property like this.'
Peggy Howard's voice sounded suitably scandalised, but as Jean caught her eye she saw the brief glint of unholy mirth, quickly hidden, as she surveyed the room haughtily.
'Gentlemen, I think my patient is not very pleased with you, and I want you to leave.'
The two large men stared at her without moving.
'Now!' The whip cracked in her voice, and they gave way as her imposing figure drew erect and advanced on them.
They disappeared fast!
'Be right back,' she snapped at George as she followed them, pulling the door closed behind her.
Jean and George looked at each other. They could hear Sister Howard's angry voice and a few rather shrill sounds from Dan becoming fainter as they moved away.
Jean noted with alarm the hectic colour in George's face, as he sank back in the comfortable armchair he now spent most of the day in. He was also rather breathless, and he was trembling. She somehow choked back her fury with Dan, and managed to chuckle deliberately as she moved towards him.
'There's no doubt about you, is there, Mr Macallister? You may be handicapped by a darned stroke, but boy, can you make your wishes known!' She bent over to kiss his cheek, relieved to note the angry tension in his face starting to relax. 'And did you see Peggy Howard's face? I really believe she was enjoying herself! Perhaps we should offer her a permanent job to come and live with us when they let you out of this place. I think she could manage Dan and Alicia very well for us. And now, you old reprobate, are you going to tell me what that was all about?'
He tried to speak. A couple of furious words came out jumbled up and almost unintelligible. He stopped and shut his eyes in frustration. His hand slammed down on the arm of the chair.
'Take it easy, love,' Jean said very gently. 'The right words will come. Now, let me guess who that man was with Dan.'
She moved over to start picking up some of the broken china on the floor, and continued to talk slowly, giving him time to recover.
'He could have been a friend of Dan's.' She glanced across at him to find him watching her. She cocked an eyebrow enquiringly at him. 'Yes?'
He shook his head after thinking about it.
'No,' she continued matter-of-factly, 'he certainly didn't look flashy enough for one of his friends. Now, let me think. Who else would he want to bring here?'
The door flew open, and Jean was relieved to see a woman cleaner appear.
She looked keenly at George for a second. 'Having a smashing time, I hear,' she said cheerfully as she surveyed the damage. She laughed at herself as Jean gave a loud groan. 'Dreadful old joke, I know, but still good for a giggle.'
Jean could have hugged her as she kept joking the whole time she efficiently cleaned up the mess. Even George gave her a faint smile as she gave an exaggerated shudder, and teased him about hoping he never got mad at her when kitchen crockery was near his hand.
'My, I bet you've been a stubborn old cuss all your life,' she said to him admiringly, as she searched the floor one final time. 'There! All done!' She beamed at them both and bustled out.
'And now, George Macallister . . .' Jean started to say cheerfully as she moved across to sit on the chair beside him, mightily relieved to see that his breathing was almost back to normal.
The door flew open again, and Chris strode in. Peggy Howard was close behind him. Jean felt like bursting into tears of relief at the welcome sight.
Chris was very much Dr Hansen, specialist, as he summed up the situation with a rapier glance at them both. Something undecipherable flashed into his eyes as he took in the now golden curls tumbling around her face. Then he put his hands on his hips, and stared at them with a mock-frown.
'I really don't think I'm going to survive you two in this hospital,' he said mournfully. 'First, it's your fault ‑' nodding at Jean '—that Sister Howard mistakes me the first time she sees me for a down-and-out intruder, and nearly rings Security to escort me off the premises. Now I have a patient who could be charged with assault and battery, by the threats I heard from two very angry men as they were leaving.'
George's face suddenly relaxed completely and he laughed out loud.
'It's all very well for you to laugh, you old devil, but now I'm likely to be up before the medical tribunal for threatening to punch Dan Wallace's face in if he comes anywhere near my patient again!'
'You didn't!' Jean exclaimed with delight.
George was still laughing, but then the tears started streaming down his face at the same time.
And it was as Chris simply grabbed a couple of tissues and shoved them into the trembling hand, his face filled with a mixture of concern and compassion, that Jean kept staring at him. And suddenly knew.
Knew why she had kissed him back. Why she had missed seeing him so much these last few days. Why she had been so angry when he had thought Bill had stayed all night. Why he was constantly invading her waking thoughts. Even her dreams.
Knew for sure that she loved him. That perhaps she had loved him since that very first day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'Right, Sister Howard, I think Mr Macallister will recover faster if he's in bed,' Chris was saying qu
ietly, even as he pushed the chair closer to the bed. 'Perhaps you'd like to get him some diazepam five milligram, please, while Jean helps me.'
Sister Howard slipped out of the room after a brief nod.
Chris glanced up at Jean. Concern flashed across his face again. He took a step towards her.
'Are you all right? You're very pale.'
Jean blinked. 'Yes . . . yes . . . I'm fine.'
He frowned at her for a moment. Then he moved to George's right side and put his hand against his back. She hastened to go to the strong side, ready to support George if he lost his balance.
'OK, sir. Feet placed correctly? Push up out of the chair with your left hand. Left foot around. Try and lift that right foot a bit more. Hand on bed . . .'
Chris continued giving the well timed, routine instructions clearly. He had shown the staff this correct method, ever since George's first time out of bed, and insisted they consistently use it. Chris had been disgusted when he had found out that even this basic technique for 'transferring', as he described it, had not been taught to George and Jean from the word go.
At last George was sitting on the bed. Chris scowled at Jean as she bent to lift up George's feet. She straightened quickly, and watched as George wriggled himself back, tucked his left foot under his right leg, and, with the minimal assistance of Chris's own hand, swung both his legs up on to the bed.
'Have you always done that for him before?'
Jean nodded, and Chris frowned again. 'Well, it's something he can, and must, do for himself from now on,' he said emphatically, 'especially when he managed so well, even after such a traumatic time.'
Jean turned to George. He was looking very pleased with himself, and she forgave Chris his autocratic tones immediately.
'Amazing,' she said with pseudo-sadness, 'to think I've been doing that for you all this time, you lazy old thing,' and was immediately annoyed with herself at the thoughtless words. Pull yourself together, Jean, she commanded herself as she saw the delight disappear, and pain enter the lined face. 'It's really great to see you improving with being independent, love,' she added quickly, and was relieved to see his expression lighten again.
'And he's only had a few days of training,' said Chris approvingly. 'You really are doing remarkably well, Mr Macallister.'
'George.'
A thrill of delight shot through Jean. She knew by that single word how much her uncle thought of his old friend's nephew. He had always been old-fashioned, and did not like the younger generation calling older people by their first names without permission. Unconsciously she beamed radiantly at them both.
Chris stared at her. The warm expression in his eyes made her catch her breath and look quickly away.
'OK, George,' she heard him say, 'I want you to rest now. Whatever has upset you is best left until tomorrow when you feel better. You'll be able to remember the words better then too. I'm sure your bout of dealing with your visitors has shot your blood-pressure through the roof. Ah, good, here's Sister with some Valium to help settle you down.'
George scowled ferociously as Peggy filled his glass with water and handed him the small white tablet. He looked up at Chris again, suddenly looked resigned, shrugged, and thrust out his hand for the tablet.
'And no spitting it out the minute my back's turned,' Peggy said sternly, 'as you did with that blood-pressure tablet the other day.'
Jean looked at George with surprise, as he flipped the tablet on to his tongue and then accepted the water.
'Why are you still making a fuss about your tablets, George?' she asked with a frown.
He looked up at her, then at Chris, and suddenly a desolate look came over his face. He pulled aside the collar of his pyjamas, and jabbed his finger at several places.
'He did that the other day, too,' said Peggy with a puzzled expression.
George glared at her, and then threw aside the sheet, pulled up his shirt, and again pointed at his abdomen.
Something clicked with Jean. 'Is it the rash, love?'
He looked at her so lovingly as tears flooded his eyes that she went to him and hugged him.
She smoothed back the mop of hair off his forehead with a tender hand. 'Oh, what an idiot I've been. I should have remembered. Is it those yellow pills again?'
He grabbed her hand and clung to it. There were tears in her own eyes as she turned to Peggy.
'Are his verapamil tablets yellow?'
'Why, yes, I believe they are. They were brought in on admission by . . . by that man.'
Chris said sharply, 'Yellow!' He mentioned a brand name, and when Peggy nodded he said to Jean, 'He's allergic to the yellow dye. Right?'
She could only nod, then turned to hug George again.
'I'm so sorry. I'd forgotten. They found out in Sydney he was allergic to it, and changed the brand of the tablet. Dan must have had the prescription renewed. It's a cheaper brand.'
'But I had no idea there could be a problem with that,' Peggy said, wide-eyed.
Chris sighed. 'A person can develop an allergy to almost anything these days, and that's why it's so hard to find out what the problem is. I only happened to notice a report about this in my reading a couple of weeks ago. But that brand is not widely used, and I never gave it a thought either. I'm sorry, Mr—er— George. Well, we'll order a different brand as of now, and continue with the anti-histamine for a few more days, and I think you'll feel a lot better very soon.'
George beamed at him, the relief in his face there for them all to see.
'And we're going to have to twist a few arms to get the services of one of those overworked speech experts. I'm sure your communication skills can be improved considerably. If you are prepared to work on it,' Chris added firmly, when George tilted his chin at him stubbornly, with the smile wiped off his face. 'Now, how about I give you a quick check-over before I go?'
Peggy moved quickly to help sit her patient up, as the stethoscope from around Chris's neck was put in his ears. After listening to George's chest, checking his pulse and blood-pressure, Chris straightened up.
'Not too bad at all for a fiery old gentleman like you,' he said cheerfully. 'Tell me,' he suddenly drawled casually as he flung a glance at Jean, 'is throwing things and flinging punches typical of your family when you lose your tempers?'
He turned away, but she felt the blush creep into her cheeks, and glanced quickly at Peggy Howard. To her horror the sister was looking calculatingly from her face back to Chris.
'A door-post in a strange house, I think you said, Dr Hansen?' she murmured with a bland voice. Her eyes twinkled with relish as she caught Jean's embarrassed expression, and watched with satisfaction as dark colour crept into Chris's averted face.
'I really think I'd better go and let you rest, George. Bill is calling in later, too,' Jean said in a choked voice.
She swung back to the bed so quickly that she missed the sudden scowl that changed the doctor's face. Peggy didn't. All Jean saw was George frowning at her with censure in his eyes. There was certainly not much wrong with his comprehension, even if his brain centre that turned thoughts and ideas into words was damaged, she thought as she dropped her eyes and bent to give him a hasty kiss.
'I've still got far too much curtain material waiting at home to be cut up into correct lengths.'
George was still glaring at her from beneath his thick eyebrows as she turned away.
'I was intending seeing you tomorrow if I could. Here with George. We need to talk about a few things,' Chris said in what Jean had thought of before as his 'professional' voice.
'Yes, of course,' she said coolly, avoiding his eyes. 'I'll be here again tomorrow from ten until the afternoon as usual.'
She was more than glad to be able to escape as at last she hurried out of the room.
Once she was sitting in her car in the car park with the door safely locked, she placed both hands on the steering-wheel, and leaned her head on them.
'You idiot, Jean,' she whispered out loud. 'How could you
go and fall for a man who looks at you with contempt after he kisses you, and keeps flinging in your face the time you socked him in the nose?'
She groaned out load, thumping a hand on the steering-wheel as she raised her head and stared blindly through the windscreen. And he was a doctor—a specialist. Obviously a very dedicated one, but very ambitious also.
Like her father. Like Tony.
She moved out of her daze at last, and turned on the ignition. It would add to her embarrassment if he came out and found her still sitting here like the fool she was.
Afterwards, she was thankful that she'd arrived home safely. Her mind had been filled with such pain and bewilderment that she knew she had been a good candidate for an accident.
Jean had only spent a total of just over three months actually working in various hospitals for her practical nursing, or clinical experience as they had called it. Even before she had met Tony she had realised how foolish it would be to get involved with a doctor. Especially a specialist. They must be even more ambitious, it seemed to her. There was little time left for a life away from their patients . . . their work.
She remembered vividly the comment of one very bitter nurse who had been stood up on a date for what had seemed like the hundredth time.
'Never again! Doctors' priorities are the pits! The dedicated ones put their beepers first. The not so dedicated ones are only there because they want all the prestige and perks!'
Like her father, she had thought then. Never would she let a man do to her what his ambition and hunger for power and money had done to her mother. And yet she had still been so stupid to think that Tony might have been different.
Jean's earliest memories of her mother were of her restlessly pacing around, smoking endless cigarettes as she either waited for her husband to come home, or for a phone call when he was away, more often than not overseas.
As Jean had grown older, the cigarettes had been replaced more and more by a glass in her hand. When her mother was drunk, she had blamed Jean's very existence for the fact that her husband was rarely with her.
'He insists I stay with you,' Jean had heard her scream more than once before the blows started landing. And then, 'I wish you'd never been born!'
