To Break A Doctor's Heart

‘That’s the sluice over there, but you don’t keep going in and out of there at mealtimes, not unless you absolutely have to—or Sister’ll have your guts for garters. Morning, Mr Atkins! Pleased to be going home, are you? Mr Atkins has been with us nearly three months, haven’t you, Mr Atkins?’ she asked him cheerfully.

‘Yes, Nurse. Looked after me good and proper, you ’ave.’

Nurse Hunter beamed and piled two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar into his tea. ‘Always try and learn whether your patient has any special dietary needs,’ she confided. ‘I’ll never forget on my first ward when I asked a diabetic patient if he wanted sugar!’ She burst into laughter at the memory, the smile lighting up her rather sallow face.

After they had finished serving out the breakfasts, she showed Claire where the clinic-room was. ‘That’s where we draw up injections and get out dressing trolleys ready,’ she explained. ‘And never take a dirty dressing trolley back in until you’ve cleaned it down properly, or Sister’ll be after you!’

Sister sounded formidable, thought Claire, although Nurse Hunter seemed to speak of her quite affectionately.

‘Let’s just strip this bed before report,’ she stopped by a rumpled empty bed. ‘Mr Fellowes is always first into the bathroom. Then he goes down to the day-room for a smoke.’

Claire looked surprised. ‘Are they allowed to smoke, then?’

The other girl pulled a face. ‘Not really, but some of the old boys have smoked for so long that they just can’t give it up. Sister lets them have one or two if they’re desperate.’

So the practice didn’t always follow the theory, thought Claire as she and Nurse Hunter rhythmically folded each sheet and blanket into three and then turned the bottom sheet over and straightened it. Mrs Haynes would be horrified to think that smoking was allowed!

Sister Thompson appeared at the door of her office, beaming widely down the ward.

‘Morning, gentlemen,’ she cried.

‘Morning, Sister!’ they chorused back at her.

‘Right, girls. Into my office for report, please.’

‘What’s your first name?’ hissed Nurse Hunter as they trooped into Sister’s office behind two yellow-belted second-year nurses.

‘Claire. What’s yours?’

‘It’s Anna—but christian names aren’t allowed on the wards. Don’t forget!’

Claire nodded and sat down next to Anna Hunter, her pen and notebook in her hand, thinking what an awful lot of rules there were to remember.

Sister then began to run through a list of the patients, their age, diagnosis and treatment and whether there had been any change in their condition during the night.

‘You won’t understand much to begin with,’ she told Claire kindly. ‘But don’t worry—by the time you leave us, you’ll be telling me what to do!’

She let out a great thundering guffaw at this remark and the other nurses, including Claire, laughed politely, though she could never imagine knowing a fraction of the conditions which had been mentioned already. Pleural effusion; diabetic keto-acidosis; congestive cardiac failure; unexplained splenomegaly and purpura—the list seemed endless, and she wasn’t even sure that she had spelt them properly!

It was all very well learning the twelve cranial nerves in class by reciting a complicated rhyme:

‘On old Olympus’ towering tops

A fierce and glowering vulture always hops.’

But learning about real diseases was going to prove a lot more difficult.

She realised that Sister was speaking to her.

‘I’d like you to do a blanket bath on a patient who was admitted during the night with acute bronchitis. He’s a bit washed out this morning, poor fellow.’ She smiled at Claire. ‘If you get stuck—just ask. Don’t be shy. Things are always a bit hectic here, especially first thing in the morning, and I have to get ready for Dr Stellingworth’s ward round. But later on I’ll show you round properly.

‘Right then, let me introduce you to your patient.’

She walked swiftly to the second nearest bed to her office. A very thin, anxious-looking man, his face partially obscured by a green oxygen mask, lay gasping against a great heap of pillows.

‘Good morning, Mr Lucas,’ said Sister quietly, bending down to talk to him. ‘I’ve brought one of our new nurses along. This is Nurse Scott and she’s going to give you a bed bath. Then Dr Stellingworth will be coming to see you. All right?’

He gave her the glimmer of a smile. Claire gulped nervously. He looked terribly ill, and what was she supposed to do about his oxygen mask while she was washing his face?

As if sensing her hesitation, Sister Thompson said softly:

‘Don’t worry—Mr Lucas is able to do without his mask for short periods. I’d really liked to have stayed and helped you with him, but we’re so desperately short-staffed this week. Come with me and I’ll show you where we keep the bowls.’

Claire filled a plastic bowl with warm water and drew the curtains around the cubicle, as she had been taught by Mrs Haynes.

It was certainly easier to bath the life-sized plastic doll in the School of Nursing than a real person, she thought, as she gently patted her patient’s face dry. She sensed that Mr Lucas was too breathless to want to chat, so she went about her work gently and silently. She changed the water in the bowl several times, and when she had finished washing him Sister came in and helped change his pyjamas and make the bed.

‘I’d like you to go to coffee with Nurse Hunter when you’ve finished here,’ said Sister.

Claire nodded—she was dying for a cup of coffee, but already she felt twice as confident as she had done when she’d walked on to the ward that morning. She had given her first blanket bath and the patient had come through unscathed!

It was while she was finishing off Mr Lucas’s chin with the electric shaver that she heard a male voice echoing outside the cubicle.

‘Come on, Sister. I haven’t got time to dawdle while you fuss around powdering your nose!’

‘That’ll be the day,’ retorted Sister goodhumouredly, pulling back the curtain. ‘You can go to coffee now, Nurse Scott. Dr Stellingworth is waiting to examine Mr Lucas.’

Luke Hayward, standing by the notes trolley with his house officer, senior house officer and a whole clutch of medical students, heard the name and started involuntarily. Surely it couldn’t be the same Scott?

But then he saw her, coming out of the cubicle, looking like a sweet, seductive angel, her eyes sparkling like jewels and her cheeks pink from her exertions. A single red-gold curl lay on her cheek like a sculpture. She had done it—she had taken his advice!

Claire, carrying a basin full of soapy water, was mortified to see Luke Hayward standing there, surrounded by a crowd of other doctors, and her colour heightened even more.

She walked towards the sluice-room and you could have heard a pin drop. Then the silence was broken by Dr Stellingworth demanding, ‘Where’s the admitting houseman who wrote these appalling notes?’ He strode behind the curtains, followed by a terrified-looking young doctor.

Pulling his stethoscope out of his white coat, Luke watched out of the corner of his eye as she and another nurse collected their cloaks and left the ward. He’d seen literally thousands of girls in uniform over the years, but he had never seen anyone wear it quite like Claire.

Bill Dixon, his SHO, also stood there, his eyes frankly appraising. He made a soft sound. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘It looks like the décor of the ward has been a hundred per cent improved!’

‘I see that there’s been no peak flow reading done on Mr Lucas since the time of his admission,’ interrupted Luke coldly.

‘I’m sorry,’ the other replied, slightly taken aback. ‘I’ve done two, actually—it’s just that I haven’t written them in the notes yet.’

‘Really, Bill,’ said Luke sarcastically. ‘If you used just one quarter of the enthusiasm in your work that you display whenever a pretty nurse is around, then you’d be a far better doctor, in my opinion.’

Scowling, he pushed back the curtains to join the consultant and Bill Dixon was left standing there, feeling rather bewildered. It was not like his boss to be so snappy. They’d both often commented on good-looking nurses before. He raised his eyebrows at one of the medical students who had overheard the proceedings and grimaced, then began to write the peak flow results down.

Forcing himself to concentrate on a discussion with Dr Stellingworth about the various options open for treating Mr Lucas, Luke was himself surprised at his behaviour. Bill hadn’t acted so appallingly, had he? Of course he hadn’t. But he wanted to protect the girl from the men like Bill who would all be flocking round her like wasps round a jamjar. He felt responsible for her, that was all. If it hadn’t been for his suggestion, then she most probably would never have come here to St Anthony’s.