‘It is. So we are putting up two emergency beds and transferring Mrs Spearn into Isol. Two as she’s our most convalescent medical.’ Sister looked at her watch. ‘Nurse Craig, you should have been off duty forty minutes ago. Just help Mrs MacInnis (the nursing orderly) put up the two beds and be off. She can wheel Mrs Spearn along in a chair, and I’ll manage the beds alone.’
Bed-making alone took more than twice as long as in pairs. ‘Can’t I help, Sister?’ I suggested. ‘I’d like the exercise.’
For one moment I thought she was going to let me. ‘Not without Dr MacAlistair’s permission, lass. Thanks.’ Sister whisked the trolley so quickly back to the ward that the plump Craig panted after her. I waited until they disappeared, then went along the corridor to Dr MacAlistair’s office and knocked on the closed door.
‘Come on in!’
I opened the door. He was writing at the desk. ‘Ach, it’s you, lassie. And what’s caused you to wander so far abroad from your room?’
‘Please can I help Sister make three beds?’
He studied me. ‘Restless?’
‘Yes.’
‘A healthy sign. You may. Only the three for tonight, understand.’
‘Thanks.’ I hurried back to the ward and handed this on to Sister.
Sister said, ‘Then let’s get on with t’job, lass.’
Early next morning I did the ward beds all round with Smith. When I joined the tea-drinkers in my room Miss Donald said we looked as if we really were enjoying our little busman’s holiday. ‘No. No more shortbread, thank you, dear. It is delicious, but I shouldn’t have taken this first piece. As I used to tell my dear children, sometimes our eyes are bigger than our tummies.’ She touched her middle gingerly. ‘A few twinges. The thought of moving.’
Mrs MacPherson, a middle-aged post-op appendix, said she too had only to move to twinge. ‘And do I get any sympathy from my family? Och, no! “Only an appendix!” they tell me. I’m telling you, ladies, the next time anyone says to me “only an appendix!” there’ll be murder done! The agony!’ she assured us, smiling serenely over a large slice of fruit cake. ‘Terrible! And what does that Mr Stewart say? “Och, Mrs MacPherson, it’s not so bad as that, and why don’t you straighten up when you walk, woman?”And how the hell does he know how bad it is, seeing as he’s still his own appendix tucked away in his belly? And how is a body with my shape to straighten up the more? Flat as a board fore and aft have I always been ‒ and a terrible grief it’s been to my man these last twenty years. Having a ‒’ She glanced at Miss Donald and hesitated, then corrected herself, ‘ “Going to bed with you, woman,” he says, “is taking my life in my hands. It’s a wonder I’ve not done myself a terrible mischief cutting myself.” Not that that’s stopped me bearing six bairns, and each one born as easily as shelling wee peas from a pod. I’d as soon produce another bairn than have that wee monster out again ‒ though what my Alec would say if I did, seeing as I’m turned forty, wouldn’t bear thinking! Och, he’s some shocking ideas has my Alec ‒ but he doesn’t remember them when he gets to bed at night, so I’ll not be surprised if I’ve to book up in maternity again. Is that my bath ready?’ She clasped her stomach with both hands as she got out of the armchair. ‘Ouch! There goes another of that laddie Stewart’s wee stitches. He’s not a bad laddie, but what wouldn’t I give to get busy with my needle on him!’
Miss Donald on the locker-seat went on smiling to herself after Mrs MacPherson had gone. A Mrs Jamieson, a youngish and still mild mitral stenosis, took the armchair. I was on the edge of my bed. Mrs Jamieson asked in her slightly breathless cardiac’s voice if Mrs MacPherson ever stopped talking.
Miss Donald said, ‘I believe only when under the anaesthetic or asleep, but she has made us all laugh so much in Surgical that I doubt anyone could object. Despite her comments, even Staff Nurse Smith admits she’s an excellent ‒’ Her voice stopped abruptly, and she caught her breath.
Mrs Jamieson sat forward. ‘Miss Donald, are you well? You’re that pale!’
Miss Donald was more than pale. She was colourless. She pitched forward as I leapt off the bed, caught her shoulders with one hand, and reached for my bell with the other. ‘Mrs Jamieson, could I have the armchair?’ As I spoke I got both hands under Miss Donald’s armpits, and as Mrs Jamieson pushed forward the chair I managed to lift the unconscious old lady from the locker and lower her into the chair. I took her pulse, very briefly, then hauled forward the spare oxygen cylinder that still lived in my room. I had the attached mask over Miss Donald’s face and the oxygen turned up high when Smith rushed in looking pink in the face.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing ringing that bell like that ‒’ She broke off and bent over Miss Donald. She looked at me and then at Mrs Jamieson. She said briskly, ‘You’ve been up long enough, Mrs J. Back to bed.’
‘Can I not help you with Miss Donald?’
‘I can cope. Wade can help if she likes. Off you go, and slowly. I’ll get the hypo tray, Wade.’ She rushed off, and was back before I had time to pull a second blanket off my bed and tuck it round Miss Donald. ‘Get up her sleeve ‒ oh ‒ you’ve done it.’ She gave the injection swiftly. ‘I’ll get MacAlistair. That stuff touching her?’
‘No.’ I was taking Miss Donald’s pulse. Or, rather, I was trying to take it. ‘She’s stopped.’
‘Thought she had already when I first saw her. Help me get her on your bed, then get MacAlistair for me. As we’ve only got three minutes, I can’t waste any before trying to get her back. Not that I think we will, as she looks typical of a bloody great pulmonary embolus.’ We were both breathless after laying Miss Donald’s body on my bed. I left Smith giving her the kiss of life and applying external cardiac massage and ran to the duty-room.
Mrs MacAlistair answered the telephone. ‘I’ll tell my husband; he’ll be over instantly. Who is that speaking for the Staff Nurse? Miss Wade. Yes.’
Dr MacAlistair arrived in the final minute. He had his white coat over his pyjamas. He took over from Smith, but with no more success.
Later, when my room had been cleared and my bed stripped of everything, including the mattress, MacAlistair came back alone. He now wore a sweater and grey trousers over his pyjamas and under a clean white coat. ‘Sit down in that chair, lassie. I want to talk to you.’
I moved from the window. He sat facing me on the locker seat. He said simply, ‘As you must be well aware, the Lord has just shown great mercy to a sick and lonely old woman. That growth was only partially removed. She’d secondaries starting up everywhere. We’d to move her out, as we need surgical beds too badly to keep in one surgical patient one strictly unnecessary moment. To let her stay might have cost the life of someone who could be saved. But both Mr Stewart and I have long been aware of the veritable hell that lay ahead for her.’ He paused heavily. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I will; I’m glad we didn’t succeed in bringing her back. It was our job to try. I’m glad we failed.’
‘So am I. I think she would have been too. She didn’t want to leave. She was happy here. She told me.’
‘Aye. She’d formed a great affection for you, lassie. She’d no one of her own left to love, and we all need to love. Your presence at her death will have been a comfort to her, if not to yourself.’ He looked at the empty bedstead. ‘You’ll know we’ve no empty beds in which to move you. You’ll not know, but maybe you can guess, that there’s not one bed in this hospital that has not been a death-bed many times over, including this one. If I move you out now I’ll have to move some other patient in. But if you honestly feel it will upset you too much to remain, though there’s not much room next door, maybe we can double you up with Mrs Spearn, temporarily. I’m not too happy about that, as with your chest you need as much air space to yourself as we can provide. Maybe for a day or so, it’ll not hurt.’
The moment Miss Donald had died I had wanted to rush from my room and never return. But I had been fond of her, and her death had been so kind. I had seen death too
often to fear death itself. ‘I’ll stay, Doctor.’
‘But will you have to force yourself to do that?’
I looked round the small ward as if seeing it for the first time. ‘No. This room’s got a peaceful atmosphere. Miss Donald’s death hasn’t altered that. It couldn’t. She was so gentle.’
‘A gentle ghost won’t worry you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good gurrrl.’ He patted my hand. ‘You’ll take your breakfast in the ward today, but once this bed’s made up again you get back in it and stay there until well into this afternoon. I’ll listen to your chest later and see what damage all this has done you.’
‘I don’t feel as if it’s done any.’
He stood up. ‘I’ve no doubt at all you’re right. There’s nothing like an emergency for speeding a cure. Come. I’ll walk with you to the ward, and if you’re up to it Sister Kilsyth’ll be glad to have you lend a hand to help wee Christine with her breakfast. I wish that lassie’s appetite would improve as well as her heart. She needs all the coaxing she can get, and that takes time. Time, as you’ll know well, is always in short supply in a busy ward.’
I helped Christine with her breakfast before I had my own. Consequently, as MacAlistair and Sister appreciated, I was able to face mine.
The whole women’s side was subdued that day, but more from respect than sorrow. Woman after woman came along to Isol. One. All, with one exception, said the same thing: ‘A terrible shock, but a great mercy she went so quickly. Maybe she’d noot have been able to fend for herself much longer. It’s a sad fate to be old and alone in this world.’
The exception was Mrs MacPherson. ‘Is it right she was taken with a smile on her face?’
‘Yes. It was you that put it there.’
‘Is that a fact? Aye, but it’ll be pleasant to remember. No doubt it was a great mercy, but I’m grieved she’s gone for my own sake. She was a good woman, and there are not so many of those that one less makes no matter.’ She clasped her stomach automatically as she lowered herself carefully into the armchair. She did not open her mouth again for a full ten minutes. Miss Donald would have been very touched. In her absence I was for her. As Miss Donald had said, she and I had much in common.
Chapter Ten
GOODBYE TO SO MUCH
I was watching the clock before Gordon pushed in the telephone trolley that evening. I felt haunted by twin ghosts, but neither was the ghost of Miss Donald, dead. They were Miss Donald in life and myself in the future. Had Archie, Joe Fenton, even Dougal, asked me to marry him that night I’d probably have accepted. For the first time in my life that night the future really frightened me. It was probably as well that Archie didn’t ring.
Gordon was nearly as on edge as myself. Several times the portable was wanted elsewhere. Each time he returned it. ‘The lines from London may be busy, Miss Wade.’
‘Or Mr MacDonald. He’s a busy man.’
The ’phone rang at nine-thirty. ‘It’s not Mr MacDonald, but Professor Grant,’ announced Gordon’s voice sadly, ‘from Mr Urquhart’s establishment.’
Hell, I thought, hell! Even if we talked small talk again, Dougal’s presence would be preferable to my own bleak company and the silent telephone. ‘Thanks, Gordon.’ I was too glum to bother to hide the dejection in my voice. ‘Put him through.’
‘I am through,’ said Dougal’s voice. ‘Good evening, Elizabeth. Are you still expecting your London call?’
‘Yes, but ‒’
‘Just excuse me, one moment. You there, Gordon?’
‘Aye, sir?’
‘Don’t hesitate to break in if that call comes through while I’m on this line. Elizabeth?’
‘Yes, Dougal?’
‘How are you today, and will you forgive me if I take you up on your last night’s suggestion and skip tonight’s visit. The party’s been extended another hour, and I’d rather not drag the kids away.’
‘Of course not. Thanks for ringing.’
‘And what kind of a day have you had?’
Gordon was almost certainly listening-in and in Dougal’s background I could hear pop music, shouts, and laughter. It was no occasion for the whole truth, but I kept to the truth. ‘A routine hospital day. How’s the party going? As it’s running overtime, I guess well.’
‘I’m reliably informed it’s a right groovy rave. No doubt you can hear the uproar. I’m afraid it’s stopping me hearing you well. How do you feel tonight?’
‘All right, thanks. How about the Trials? Did Robin win anything?’
‘He got the Beginners’ Medal. As you’ll appreciate, great is the rejoicing in the Fenton clan, and I’m trying ‒ but not too hard ‒ not to look smug. He did very well. He went up the test stretch like a natural.’
‘That’s splendid. Do give him my congratulations, unless’ ‒ I was too glum for pretence, either ‒ ‘you think it’ll spoil things for him.’
‘I very much doubt that. I’ll pass them on with pleasure.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Did Hamish listen-in today?’
‘Yes. Quite clear.’
‘That is good news.’
‘Yes.’
‘Been doing too much in the ward in celebration? Is that why you sound tired, or is it just this line?’
‘Could be the line.’
‘Then I’ll get off it and give you a breather before your next call comes through. I’ll be in in the morning before we leave. Sleep well. Goodnight.’
‘Dougal, before you hang up, could you tell the twins ‒’
‘I’m sorry, miss.’ It was Gordon. ‘He’s already hung up. Shall I get him again?’
‘No, thanks. Not important. I can tell him what I wanted to say tomorrow.’
I replaced the receiver very slowly. For a man with Dougal’s impeccable manners to hang up on me was tantamount to his having slapped my face. It had the same effect. I felt ghastly when my crying jag wore itself out, but it did me a lot of good. I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep very well. Next morning my temperature and chest were normal, and stayed that way for the remainder of my time in Gairlie Hospital.
Again I helped Smith with the ward beds. Since yesterday our mutual attitude had changed. We were not, and never would be, mates, but we now knew we not only made beds at the same speed and in the same way ‒ there are roughly six different ways of making an approved hospital bed ‒ but had discovered that, in a crisis, we could work on the same side and in unison. That did not alter my fundamental conviction that she was in the wrong job, or hers that I’d been grossly over-pampered as a patient and unfairly enjoyed an over-privileged professional position as a Martha’s-trained nurse. But we were now prepared to accept each other professionally, warts and all. It was like the switch from cold war to co-existence. No real joy, but a considerable relief.
She offered me a saucerless cup of tea in the ward kitchen before the day staff came on. ‘How much theatre time have you had?’
‘Eight months orthopod; six general surgical in my fourth year.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Bloody great slice out of your fourth year. I thought Martha’s prided itself on the variety of its training, as well as on being THE snob hospital in the British Isles.’
I ignored her second crack and answered the first. ‘Usually we are switched round every three months in training. It just happened that when I’d worked my way up to head student nurse in the G.S.T. (General Surgical Theatre) three of the five staff nurses got married within two months. I was kept on as acting-staff until the honeymoons were over.’
‘H’mm.’ She sniffed. ‘Does Archie MacDonald want to marry you?’
‘Not knowing; can’t say.’ I helped myself to more tea. ‘You going steady?’
‘With a Scotsman? Do you mind! Women are worse than fourth-class citizens up here!’
‘Perhaps a bit olde-worlde ‒ but the manners are good.’
‘Good! Huh! A load of bloody insincere buggers, if you ask me!’
‘Don’t w
e have a few of those back home?’
‘At least back home one’s right to earn one’s own living and live one’s own life is taken for granted. Here they think one’s touched or something. They think all one wants is a man. Of course, they’re all sex-mad!’
‘They are?’ I queried, thinking of Dougal. ‘Maybe that’s why they wear kilts?’
Like so many women who like using four-letter words, she had a very prim streak. ‘Don’t be disgusting! If you must know, I think men in kilts are downright obscene!’
‘Smith, you can’t! They look so cute. I love ’em.’
‘You would! You upper-classes are all the same. Only one thought in your heads. Probably just as well in your case, as after this second go you haven’t much future in nursing, have you?’
I emptied the remains of my tea in the sink and rinsed my cup while I got my mental breath. ‘Is that just your idea, Smith, or unofficial official?’
She realized she had let out a trade secret, and tried to conceal the fact by battering me over the head with her bruised ego. ‘You’re joking, of course! I’m just the bloody night staff nurse on the women’s side. I’m just responsible for every bed in both wards for eleven hours every night I’m on, but as I don’t entertain Matron and Kilsyth to tea like Lewis, I’m not a bonnie local lassie like Craig, and I didn’t train in St Martha’s Hospital, nobody ever bothers to tell me anything ‒ unless I’ve slipped up. Then even God Almighty MacAlistair deigns to talk to me. But as it so happens that I do know some medicine, sometimes I get ideas. Of course, I’m probably wrong.’
I said, ‘Not as wrong as all that with my medical history to date.’
She was frowning. ‘You really mind like hell.’ She was not asking a question, she was stating a fact. ‘How extraordinary!’
‘Why?’
‘I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if I had Archie MacDonald in my pocket. Even if he hasn’t proposed yet, you lift a finger and he will. The whole hospital knows that.’
Highland Interlude Page 12
