One Night in Emergency

‘I’m back.’ Pier breezed into the cubicle, refreshed from his break, his smile fading as he saw Eleanor’s paling face. ‘Sorry, am I disturbing something?’

‘Not at all, Pier,’ Mary responded. ‘In fact, we were just finishing.’

‘Mr Hunter has already gone?’ Pier asked, a curious smile on his face as he eyed the trolley littered with dark blond hairs.

‘Minus ten dollars and some body hair,’ Mary said. ‘Sister Lewis here took it upon herself to treat him. Not only treat him—she practically threw him out of the department into a waiting taxi.’

‘I don’t understand…’ Pier’s voice trailed off and Eleanor waited, waited for an explosion, for that Irish temper to ignite, but, as she was about to find out, not only didn’t she know the first thing about Emergency nursing, she didn’t know the first thing about emergency nurses’ sense of humour. Instead, she watched in stunned confusion as Mary Byrne threw her head back and laughed, followed a moment later by Pier.

And they didn’t just laugh, they roared.

Roared till the tears were falling down their cheeks. And every time Eleanor thought it was over, thought her torture might have ended, they’d catch sight of the trolley and start to roar again.

‘It’s not funny, you two,’ Eleanor finally snapped, protocol thrown to the wind, close to tears now and wishing the night would just end.

‘Oh, but it is, my dear,’ Mary sobbed, wiping her eyes with one hand as she held her aching side with the other. ‘We’ll feast on this for weeks!’

CHAPTER TWO

SO MUCH for patient confidentiality.

Rory Hunter’s injuries and treatment became seemingly the sole topic of conversation for the entire hospital.

At least it felt that way for Eleanor as she stumbled through her week on nights. Every ward she took a patient to, she was sure the nurses were nudging each other. Even the cleaners seemed to be smiling as they quietly mopped the long lonely night corridors as Eleanor made her way back. But as hard as the nights were, nothing was going to compare to facing the man himself and it took a good deal of foundation and a lot of deep breaths to arrive at the nurses’ station for handover the following Monday.

‘You’ll be working the trolleys,’ Mary instructed. ‘Anything you don’t understand, you ask me, not the nurse who happens to be passing, not the doctor who looks approachable. You ask me. Until you feel confident to make decisions for yourself, I’m the one you run things by.’

‘Fine.’ Eleanor nodded, her hackles immediately rising. She was tired of Mary constantly talking down to her and treating her like a child that needed to be told everything not just twice but very loudly, too.

‘Good. Now, in cubicle eight is an Emily Nugent. She’s ninety-four with end-stage COAD. What does that stand for?’

‘Chronic obstructive airways disease,’ Eleanor answered with a slight edge to her voice. She may not be the most experienced of nurses but she wasn’t a complete hick and it was time Mary stopped treating her like one. Taking a deep breath first, Eleanor looked the older woman straight in the eye. ‘I’m not a student, Mary, I’m not even a grad nurse. I’m a registered nurse and I did do some nursing before I came to Melbourne Central. We do have COAD patients in the country.’

‘Do you, now?’

‘Yes,’ Eleanor replied curtly.

‘Well, as I said, Miss Nugent is end stage. Now, she’s been seen by the medical registrar and she’s not for any active treatment and definitely not for any heroics. You’ll not be offended if I ask you to confirm you know what that means.’

‘She’s not to be resuscitated,’ Eleanor responded, ignoring Mary’s sarcasm and still trying to look her in the eye but it was getting increasingly hard.

‘Correct. Now, that might seem like a very basic question, but the fact is, unlike the wards, all patients who come through our doors are resuscitated unless it’s documented otherwise, and the last thing poor Miss Nugent needs is a bunch of over-zealous doctors jumping on her ninety-four-year-old chest. Now, we’re to make her comfortable while the bed manager tries to find a bed for her on the wards.’

‘Does she have family with her?’ Eleanor asked as they headed for cubicle eight.

‘She has no one, so our job…’ Mary paused outside the curtain, opened her mouth as if to speak then instead gave a small nod. ‘In we go.’

Eleanor’s jury was still out on her feelings for Mary Byrne the woman, but if ever Eleanor made it into an emergency room at the grand old age of ninety-four she hoped there would be an equivalent of Mary Byrne there to look after her. For though Eleanor had looked after a few terminal patients, though she had worked alongside a lot of nurses, no one held a candle to the way Mary gently fussed over the frail elderly woman, chatting softly to Emily as if they were old friends as they turned her onto her other side to relieve the pressure from her emaciated hips, gently stroking her forehead as the old lady whimpered in pain.

‘It’s OK, Miss Nugent,’ Eleanor said softly. ‘I know it’s uncomfortable while we move you, but you’ll feel a lot more comfortable once we’ve settled you.’

A tiny nod indicated a response and as a frail thin hand peeped out from under the sheet, Eleanor took it and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘Do you have any pain, Miss Nugent?’

Another nod was punctuated by a grimace. ‘Em.’

‘You like to be called Em?’ Eleanor checked, stroking the frail skin beneath her fingers. ‘Then that’s what we’ll call you. My name’s Eleanor.’

‘Give her hair a brush,’ Mary instructed, rummaging through Emily’s bag and pulling out a brush. ‘While I go and find someone to check…’ She paused for a moment, taking the brush herself and running it through the straggly hair. ‘Miss Nugent, I mean Em,’ she said softly into the elderly women’s ear, ‘Sister and I are just going to get you some medicine that will make you more comfortable.’

Eleanor almost had to run to keep up with Mary’s brisk strides, but she was walking on air, thrilled that far from the dressing down she had expected Mary finally seemed to be coming around.

‘OK, you need to use your swipe card to gain access,’ Mary instructed needlessly. Eleanor had checked plenty of drugs in her week in Emergency, just not the controlled ones, but Mary, it would seem, couldn’t pass up any chance for a quick lecture. ‘And it pays to look over your shoulder before you go in—there can be a few undesirables hanging around just waiting to get in here.’ A loud tut came out of her pursed lips as they pushed open the door and stepped inside. ‘For the love of God! Would you believe that her medical registrar has written in his notes that he wants her to have morphine, yet he hasn’t written up an order?’

‘Do you want me to page him,’ Eleanor offered, but Mary shook her head.

‘He’ll be starting his ward round now, it will be ages till he comes back down.’ She shook her head again. ‘I’ll have to ask one of our doctors to do it, which isn’t really fair on them, given Miss Nugent’s status. They’ll need to examine her and go through all the notes, which will take for ever. Oh, poor Miss Nugent.’ As she pulled open the drug-room door Eleanor went to follow, but instead ducked back in as Mary’s tone took on a distinctly friendlier note. ‘Rory! The very man who can help.’

‘What’s the problem?’

Eleanor heard him before she saw him, cringing behind the door as Mary patiently explained the problem. ‘The med reg will be doing his rounds and the poor lady’s in distress. I don’t want her to be prodded and poked just for the sake of it.’

Eleanor had rather hoped her next glimpse of him would have been from a safe distance, that somehow she could have blushed unnoticed from afar, but instead six feet four of dark-suited, heavily aftershaved, damp-haired, masculine beauty squeezed himself into the drug room and gave her the briefest of nods.

‘Good morning, Sister.’

‘Morning,’ Eleanor croaked.

‘Could I see the notes, please?’

Her hand was shaking so much as she passed them to him, she was practically fanning him, but Rory didn’t seem to notice, taking them with a murmur of thanks and then reading them through carefully. If he’d looked gorgeous in jeans and a T-shirt, he looked divine in a suit, those sexy dark blond curls combed back smoothly now, and first impressions clearly counted for nothing because Rory Hunter up close and personal looked every inch the consultant. He had an authoritative air, a distinguished look about him, nothing like the tousled man who had lain on the gurney just over a week previously.

But it wasn’t just his hunk status that was causing a tremor to ripple through Eleanor. As senior as Mary and Rory were, Eleanor wasn’t quite sure how she’d react if Rory just wrote up the morphine without laying eyes on the patient. It was all very well for Mary to call in a favour, all very well for Rory to trust in her, but as junior as she was it was still Eleanor’s responsibility, if she were to sign her name in the drug book, to assure that due care had been given.

‘I’ll need to see her,’ he said finally, and Eleanor let out a relieved sigh. ‘I’ll do my best not to upset her, though. Can one of you give me a hand?’

‘Eleanor will go with you.’ Mary beamed. ‘And thank you for this, Rory, I know it’s not your problem.’

‘If it’s in my department it’s my problem.’ Rory shrugged, nodding to Eleanor to follow him.

It was the longest walk of Eleanor’s life. Apologies bobbed on her tongue, but she bit them back. Clearly Rory wanted to pretend the whole embarrassing incident hadn’t happened, which suited her just fine.

‘It won’t take long.’ Rory gave a brief on-off smile as they reached the cubicle and, utterly unable to look at him, Eleanor gave a small nod. ‘Is everything all right, Sister?’

‘Fine,’ Eleanor croaked.

‘You do understand why I need to examine her?’