The Spice of Life

‘Think I’ll pass. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. What’s hospital policy on HIV testing after an incident like yesterday?’

‘I don’t think we have a policy. It’s never been a problem before. If someone knows they’ve been contaminated by a needle or a knife, for instance, then I think the testing certainly is available.’

‘But not otherwise?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Why should it be necessary? I mean, I don’t think anyone took any risks, and we were all wearing gloves anyway because of the state he was in—I would be worried that it would make people panic unnecessarily. You know, rather like getting an adverse smear test, and before you know where you are you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got cancer when it was probably just a lousy smear and they didn’t get enough cells. Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t think we should threaten people’s conception of their immortality unnecessarily, and I’m perfectly certain we’re all quite safe.’

He shrugged. ‘It was just an idea. Professionally, if I felt there was a risk I should want to know that I was clear so I was certain there was no danger of me passing anything on to a patient or a future partner. I mean, if you did contract it, wouldn’t you want to know?’

She met his eye determinedly. ‘Of course, if I felt there was a real risk, but I wouldn’t pass it on anyway. I’m extremely careful at work and I don’t have indiscriminate sexual relationships.’

He laughed softly, and it tickled up her spine. ‘Your rosary’s showing again, Irish. I didn’t say anything about indiscriminate sex. Take Ben, for example. He’s married. I gather his wife’s pregnant. Now how would he feel if he contracted the virus from a freak accident at work and gave it to his wife and child just because we had failed to test him?’

Kath stared at him, stupefied. ‘Maggie’s pregnant? When?’

He grinned lazily. ‘Well, I hardly liked to ask him that!’

She clicked her tongue irritably. ‘You know what I mean …’

‘Ask him—I’m sure it’s not a secret.’

‘I wonder why he hasn’t said anything?’ Kath mused.

‘I think they only knew this morning, and you’ve been so busy being cross——’

‘Huh! How would you like it if you were sexually harrassed?’

He grinned again. ‘Try me.’

She drew herself up and sniffed. ‘Don’t be absurd. Why would I want to do that?’

‘Because you’re curious? Because you’re secretly dying to press that delightful body up against me and find out how it feels?’

He was so close to the truth that she flushed and looked away. ‘Please,’ she muttered in a strangled voice. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

His deep chuckle curled round her insides and squeezed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave you in peace with your atrocious coffee.’

Her head came up. ‘Jack?’

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. ‘Hmm?’

‘About the testing—do you really think it’s necessary?’

‘In this case, no, but I think we should keep an open mind if anyone asks. I doubt if they will, but just keep your ears open.’

She nodded, and with a wink, he was gone, leaving her dealing with her curiosity about how his body would feel pressed against hers, and the slow recognition that the coffee was, indeed, atrocious.

‘Who is he, do we know?’

The ambulanceman shook his head. ‘Collapsed in the park. Nobody knows him, no ID. Passer-by saw him and reported him—thought he was drunk. He was unconscious when we got to him.’

‘Right, thank you, Sid.’

Kathleen bent over the unconscious patient and sniffed. No alcohol, but he was clammy and grey, and quite likely hypoglaecaemic. There was a pin-prick hole in the tip of his left thumb, and she nodded. Diabetic, gone into a coma from low blood sugar. She left the cubicle to find a blood test kit, and came back to find the new houseman, Joe Reynolds, ordering head X-rays and a neurologist’s opinion.

She rolled her eyes and wondered how to tackle it. Young doctors were usually only too willing to take advice, but every now and again you got one like this lad, who clearly was all at sea and didn’t know how to light the flares!

‘Not a bad idea,’ she said, ‘considering he’s probably banged his head when he passed out. Diabetics often damage themselves, don’t they?’

He looked faintly startled. ‘Diabetics? Does he have a Medic Alert bracelet?’

‘I have no idea, but he——’

‘Well, then, I think it would be safer to assume a neurological cause such as CVA, don’t you, Sister?’ he said loftily.

‘Certainly, Doctor, if you say so,’ she replied sweetly, containing the urge to crown him for his patronising ignorance. After all, how long would it take to do a blood test with a Haemastix strip? Thirty seconds? What he was planning would tie half the hospital up for the entire morning!

Jack was busy, dealing with a nasty fracture, so she went to the nursing station and picked up the phone. Tage Dr Marumba for me, could you?’ she asked the switchboard. Seconds later she was connected to the consultant physician.

‘Are you busy, Jesus? I wonder if I could offer you a cup of coffee in my department within the next couple of minutes?’

There was a deep chuckle from the other end. ‘My pleasure, Kathleen. Problems?’

‘You might say that.’

‘Be right down.’

‘Bless you.’

She put the receiver down and went back into the cubicle. ‘Should we take some bloods for chemistry, Dr Reynolds?’ she asked mildly.

‘Ah—good idea, Sister. Perhaps you’d like to do the honours?’

‘Certainly.’ She withdrew fifty millilitres of completely unnecessary blood from the patient’s arm, filled up the appropriate bottles and then put a blob on the treated strip and glanced at her watch.

As she finished she heard Dr Marumba’s deep, cultured rumble in the corridor.

She stuck her head round the curtain and winked. ‘Nearly done here, Dr Marumba. Could you give me a minute?’

‘Sure.’ The tall man elbowed his way past the curtain and peered at the patient. ‘Interesting—looks like hypoglycaemia, doesn’t it, Dr Reynolds?’

The SHO’s jaw dropped. ‘Ah—um—well, it’s certainly a possibility, sir.’

Jesus nodded. ‘Oh, yes, see the strip—blood sugar way down. Well spotted. I see Sister Hennessy’s done all the necessary tests for you. Well done. Glucagon?’

‘Ah—well, yes, I—’

‘Good, good. Well, I mustn’t hold you up. Perhaps I’ll come by for coffee another time, Sister. I can see you’re busy here with Dr Reynolds.’ He brushed past Kathleen, and the orthodontic miracle of his smile flashed against the rich ebony of his skin. His wink was wickedly conspiratorial.