The Surgeon's Gift

At least she hadn’t cried.

‘The bad news is that all the beds are full,’ Helen started. ‘But the good news is that at least we can’t accept any more patients. Oh, and, Rachael, I don’t know if you’re aware of it but we’re no longer just a general surgical ward. We’ve got twelve cosmetic beds now or, as Hugh keeps reminding me, twelve ‘plastics’ beds, which doesn’t quite have the same ring to it if you ask me.’

‘Oh, no.’ Rachael let out a groan as she ran her eye down her patient list. So much for avoiding Hugh!

‘Oh, yes!’ Helen said, but without any enthusiasm, completely misinterpreting Rachael’s misgivings. ‘I felt exactly the same.’

‘So when did this happen?’

‘Last month. The refurbishment of the private wing of the hospital is taking longer than expected so, rather than lose the admissions, they’re being ‘blended’ into the public wards—and that’s Admin’s expression, not mine! The surgical wards were all supposed to take eight each, but because our ward’s new and has the best facilities we’ve been lumbered with more than our share.’

‘So they’re private patients?’

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘Private patients on a public ward—not the greatest mix at the best of times, and they’re all constantly pushing their bells, asking for their water jugs to be moved two inches to the right. But what can you expect when they’ve got a doctor like Hugh?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He treats them like china. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is too much trouble for him.’

‘Well, he’s being paid to be nice,’ Rachael grumbled, but Helen shook her head.

‘He’s just nice, full stop, as well as a good doctor, which makes it hard to point out just how difficult it can be. He’d move the jug, so to speak, and move it again and again if it would keep his beloved patients happy. So a word of warning for you when you’re in charge—it doesn’t matter if it’s midnight on New Year’s eve, if one of Hugh’s patients is unwell he wants to be informed. So whereas with most doctors you might sit on things for a while, don’t even think about it with Hugh—he likes to keep his finger on the pulse.’

‘He can keep it on mine.’ Bev, one of the other nurses, laughed.

‘And mine,’ Trevor chimed in, which had everyone in stitches until Helen let out a yelp as she glanced at the clock. ‘Come on, guys, let’s get handover out of the way.’

Rachael knew that once the report was over she wasn’t going to get away that lightly from Helen, and was already half expecting it when Helen called her back as she made her way out onto the ward.

‘Here’s your pager,’ she said, handing Rachael the small fluorescent orange bleeper.

‘What on earth is this for?’

‘You’ve got Orange Bay.’ She laughed at Rachael’s bemused face. ‘The new system is finally under way. Now, when a patient presses the call button, their allocated nurse is alerted directly by their pager.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Rachael asked, slowly turning the small pager over.

‘Oh, I’m serious all right. You can’t escape for a moment, not even when you go the bathroom. And look at this.’ She tapped the computer in front of her. ‘This records how long it takes for you to answer the call bell—a bit ‘‘Big Brother’’ if you ask me, but you soon get used to it.’

‘And here was me thinking I’d take up where I left off. A year’s a long time in nursing these days.’

‘It’s a long time, full stop,’ Helen said gently. ‘We really have missed you, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re looking great.’

Rachael gave a thin laugh. ‘You mean I’ve lost weight.’

‘Not just that, you look fabulous.’

‘Amazing what a year of stress will do,’ Rachael said dryly. ‘I’m sure Richard would still be able to find fault.’ She tapped the edge of her cheekbone. ‘I mean, look, horror of horrors, I’ve still got a mole.’

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘So have a couple of supermodels I can think of but, then, no doubt, that ex-husband of yours would find fault even with one of them.’

‘Look, Helen, I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls and letters …’

‘You had enough on your mind.’ Helen waved her hand dismissively. ‘I’m just glad that you got them, glad that you knew I was thinking of you. So how are coping?’

‘Getting there.’ Rachael gave a small shrug. ‘Helen, I know you mean well, and I don’t want to come across rude, it’s just that …’

‘It’s none of my business?’

‘No,’ Rachael answered quickly, somewhat taken aback at Helen’s take on things. ‘I just can’t talk about it. I know talking is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing, but I just can’t, especially not today. It’s hard enough as it is, coming back to work, without bringing it all up.’

‘Fair enough.’ Helen looked at her shrewdly. ‘But if you ever change your mind, you know that I’m here.’

Rachael nodded and turned to go, but Helen hadn’t quite finished. ‘I suppose a girls’ night in with a bottle of wine and a pile of slushy films is out of the question, then?’

‘With no secret agenda?’ Rachael questioned. ‘No waiting for me to open up and reveal all?’

Helen nodded. ‘Scout’s honour. I’ve missed you, Rachael, and our chats.’

There was twenty years’ difference in age between the two women. Helen, happily overweight, blissfully married and successfully juggling four boys with her career, was a world away from a rather brittle Rachael who, as well as being far too thin, was newly single and having enough trouble juggling just getting up in the morning.

‘I’ll bring the videos, you can supply the wine. You did manage to get a couple of decent bottles from the divorce settlement, I hope?’

Rachael grinned. ‘A couple Richard didn’t know about.’

‘I’ll look forward to it, then.’ Helen’s tone changed, adopting a slightly more businesslike attitude she peered at her work sheet. Friends they might be, but at work Helen was definitely the boss.

‘I’ve just given you beds one to four this afternoon. They’re all pretty straightforward—two surgical, two cosmetic, all a couple of days post-op except for Sheila Cosgrove, who’s awaiting her surgery, so hopefully you’ll have a gentle start back.’ As Rachael’s pager sprang into life, Helen started to laugh. ‘Famous last words. Hailey Watkins will run you ragged.’

However, it wasn’t Hailey buzzing but Sheila Cosgrove, eighty years old and awaiting the removal of a large abdominal tumour. The delay in her operation for once had nothing to do with waiting times and bed shortages. Instead, her condition was complicated by a long history of heart problems and other medical ailments which were all causing problems at the moment. Her operation, though necessary, was just too much of a risk while her medical condition was so unstable, and a lot of specialists were playing their parts in getting Sheila relatively well before she underwent surgery.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Cosgrove. I’m Rachael Holroyd, I’ll be looking after you this afternoon. What seems to be the problem?’

‘I’ve got some pain.’

Pulling the curtains around to give Sheila some privacy from the other three patients in the bay, Rachael made her way over to the bed. ‘In your stomach?’ she asked, making to pull back the sheets.

‘No—here.’ Sheila’s hand reached up to her chest as Rachael checked her handover sheet.

‘You suffer with angina—is it the same type of pain?’ Sheila nodded as Rachael checked her drug chart. ‘I’ll go and get you some spray, Sheila, and then I’ll do a set of obs.’

As Rachael made her way swiftly across the small ward, the patient in bed three called her back. ‘Sister?’

‘Yes, Mrs Watkins?’