Promise the Doctor

by Marjorie Norrell

  PROMISE THE DOCTOR

  Marjorie Norrell

  A grateful old patient had left Sister Joy Benyon a house which would do much to ease her family problems, but when Joy moved there with her mother and invalid sister, a new set of troubles beset them—this time emotional ones.

  CHAPTER I

  ‘Joy!’ Her sister’s voice, from the couch in the small living-room downstairs, sent Joy Benyon hurrying through the rest of her toilet at breakneck speed. She was accustomed to hurrying these days, she thought with a smothered sigh, but with things as they were it seemed more like working on a busy casualty unit, with a fresh catastrophe coming in almost every half hour.

  ‘What is it, love?’ She was back downstairs, still fastening her freshly laundered apron over her crisp deep purple uniform. ‘I haven’t much time...’

  ‘You never have.’ Lana’s tone was dispirited, sounding utterly without hope. ‘Nobody has any time for me these days. Mother’s taken on that extra book-keeping. Pete’s always studying, and so are the twins. Now you haven’t time to get me anything different for my breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll do you something, dearie.’ Cousin Emma, well past middle age and often in pain from the rheumatism which had grown steadily worse over the years, came quietly into the living room, her homely face creased in worry as she saw Joy’s anxious glance at the clock. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Lana announced. ‘I can’t think of anything interesting. I don’t want any more cereals or eggs. You haven’t time to stop and cook anything tempting...’

  ‘Now, now!’ Emma approached the day couch and smiled down at the girl, wishing—as they all wished—there was something she could do to help, but—she stifled a sigh—Doctor Frankton had assured them all they and the hospital authorities had done all in their power to help Lana, that what was lacking was a belief in herself, will power to complete the work they had already done. ‘You know quite well we’re all working together to try and find the deposit for one of those little houses you said you liked on that new estate just outside the town! We can’t all be at home to look after you! I only wish there was something I could do to help.’

  ‘You’re doing enough, Emma,’ Joy smiled at the older woman, adding brightly: ‘There are some mushrooms I brought back with me last evening. We were going to have them with grilled steak and tomatoes when I came home tonight, but I can bring some more.’

  ‘We won’t want mushrooms twice in one day either,’ Lana began to protest, but Joy stooped and kissed the lovely face, still the loveliest face she had ever seen despite the marks of pain and, lately, of deep depression.

  ‘We aren’t all having mushrooms for breakfast, pet,’ she pointed out. ‘We’ll have ours later, just as we planned, because Mum and the others will be looking forward to them—they’re amongst Mum’s favourite foods—and I’ll try and find something else for you, if the little shop on wheels which comes round to the hospital has anything tempting, something I know you’ll enjoy.’

  ‘Sorry I’m such a misery,’ Lana, said penitently, returning the kiss. ‘It’s just that I get so fed up with everything.’

  ‘I know, love,’ Joy gave her a quick hug, thinking of the gay and lively girl her sister had been just over three years previously. Right until she had happened the accident, riding as pillion passenger on a friend’s motor-scooter.

  At the time of the accident Joy had not been at home. She had been working as staff nurse in the big provincial hospital where she had completed her training, but when she heard that after six weeks in the Wilborough General, Lana still could not walk, she had had herself transferred, going as the youngest Sister on the staff to Wilborough General where the shortage of nurses and Sisters was acute. Lana had been from hospital to hospital, but all with the same result. At each one she was told there was no sign of permanent injury or organic disease.

  Elderly Doctor Julian Frankton, who had brought all the Benyon babies into the world, had spoken frankly to Joy when she had first come home to see what she could do to help.

  ‘It’s a form of hysterical reaction, Joy,’ he had told her. ‘You’ve had a certain, amount of experience with varying neuroses, and this appears to be one of them. We can only help Lana if we can in some way completely resolve whatever conflict exists in her mind and is the cause of this ... almost refusal to walk, to be independent again. We can only be patient, sympathetic and try to direct her energies into useful channels.’

  Joy had thought a great deal about what the doctor had said. He was right in saying she had nursed other such cases, and she knew the main causes of what was known medically as ‘hysterical reaction’ were usually that the patient herself was using her illness to escape the responsibilities of her daily living, although this ‘escapism’ was totally unconscious.

  ‘It’s mainly because of Tony,’ Joy had thought to herself at the time, and although she had never met him, mentally she was still certain this unknown young man was the cause of her sister’s prolonged state of inactivity.

  At the time when the accident happened, Lana had been fresh from modelling school and just beginning to become known in the circles where such jobs were found. Tony, so Joy’s mother had written her, was a promising young photographer, and he and Lana had struck up what promised to be more than a friendship. They had been going around together for some months, when, for what reason neither Joy nor anyone else seemed to know, they had a quarrel, and Lana, against Tony’s wishes, had gone for a ride with his friend.

  At first Tony had come to the hospital fairly regularly, then, so gradually that in the beginning it had seemed quite natural, he had been ‘busy’ whenever visiting day came around. Now, although Lana had been home almost two years, he had called at the house only once, and then he had not stayed very long, saying that he had an appointment and that it was an important contact and he must not be late! Joy knew that, before the accident, Tony and Lana had talked of being married one day in the not too distant future, and now it seemed that with Tony gone from her life, the impetus to help herself to recovery appeared to have vanished with him. Joy had settled down to the routine of living at home, much to the disapproval of Matron who would never have countenanced such a thing had not the shortage of good nurses and Sisters been so acute. As it was, she kept a stern eye on Joy, daily, it seemed, watching for some point or other which would give weight to her point that ‘it’s too much for you to be Sister at the General and to help look after your sister at home.’

  Matron was in her late fifties and prided herself upon being ‘one of the old school’. She held a firm conviction that to be a nurse—a good nurse—one must be completely dedicated to the profession. She believed strongly in discipline, both in oneself and in the hospital itself, and expected the Sisters on her staff to live as she did, the Wilborough General being the focal point of her life.

  ‘I still say it will not be long before you’re finding the strain too much for you,’ she had told Joy severely, and the girl had immediately protested.

  ‘I don’t think so, Matron.’ She could remember her passionate avowal. ‘I’m a strong person. I’m sure I can cope. It isn’t that Lana will take much actual nursing.’

  ‘I shall watch you most carefully for signs of strain or of undue fatigue, ‘Matron had told her stiffly, and Joy had felt herself almost dismissed before she began there.

  ‘I feel I can do it,’ she remembered saying, ‘but if you think it will be too much for me, I’ll try St Anthony’s across the town...’

  ‘No need to do that!’ Matron had told her promptly. ‘We need good Sisters here, at the General. Providing you can carry on in this manner without allowing your work here or your health to suffer in any way, I will not object
further.’

  That had been all. But Joy knew Matron was always watching, always checking up and the girl knew she would be ‘on the carpet’ in no uncertain manner, should she fail in any way whatsoever to come up to Matron’s required high standard.

  ‘Come on, Joy.’ Pete Bradley, qualified as an accountant with a local firm and recently accepted as a junior member, ran downstairs to join them. ‘I can give you a lift this morning, if you like. I’m going out on a call and it’s not far from the General. It won’t take a minute longer to run you right to the gates.’

  ‘Thanks, Pete. Just let me get my things together.’

  There were difficulties in living at home which she had not really thought about until she actually encountered them. She always took a spare apron and so forth with her—one never knew what might happen between Cranberry Terrace and the hill she always had to climb to reach the hospital! Now she snatched up the things she had already packed in her small daily case, took a last glance in her mirror and ran back to kiss Lana and Emma good morning.

  ‘I like you being on this turn, Joy,’ Lana said unexpectedly. ‘I do seem to see a bit more of you than when you’re on nights.’

  ‘I like it better myself,’ Joy confessed, wondering as she spoke if this was strictly true, for on nights, unless one happened to be on the maternity unit where Matron always seemed to find especial interest one ran less danger of encountering her all-seeing eye and consequent disapproval should anything have gone wrong. So far, touch wood, there had been little of which Matron could complain, and so far as lay in her power Joy was determined things should remain that way.

  ‘Sorry to have held you up, Pete,’ she apologized as she settled herself in his little green mini. ‘Things were ... just a bit out of hand this morning. The twins were excited about it being the last week of term, Mother was in a flap because Miss Wilkinson wanted to be off early on a long weekend...’

  ‘And Lana playing you and Emma up as she always does when there’s any sort of scramble for either of you!’ Pete returned quietly in a casual tone which seemed to take any especial meaning away from the words, unexpected though they were. As usual, Joy was up in immediate defence of Lana’s irritable and awkward moods.

  ‘She doesn’t mean to be difficult,’ she sighed. ‘It must be dreadfully wearisome to lie all day on that couch with nothing much to do except to read or watch television or listen to Cousin Emma. Personally I could listen for hours to her stories of what things were like when she was young, but I can well imagine Lana gets a little tired sometimes. She was always so active, before this happened—Lana, I mean.’

  ‘I know,’ Pete halted for the traffic lights and went on talking, not looking at her, but he was aware in every fibre of his being of the slim figure beside him in the trim Sister’s uniform, the colour of which did such delightful and unexpected things for her eyes and for the lights in her hair. It was not much use to say any of this to Joy, as he had already found out. She was only too conscious that beside Lana, with her hair of fine spun gold, her rose-petal skin and wide eyes of baby blue with their unexpected fringe of long, tangled lashes, she looked almost colourless. She did not, Pete thought to himself, realize that the purple of her uniform brought out hidden depths in her own eyes of a darker blue than Lana’s, and that by the same means unexpected lights in the hair she dismissed airily as ‘just plain blonde’. In Pete’s opinion there was nothing in the least ‘just plain’ about Sister Benyon, except her plain common sense, and sometimes that could be just a little too wearing, since she never appeared to count the cost of her devotion to her sister, or realize just how much of her own life she was giving up on Lana’s behalf.

  ‘I brought Lana one of those do-it-yourself jewellery-making outfits yesterday,’ he said now as their line of traffic moved forward and he put out the indicator ready to turn left and up the hill. ‘She wasn’t interested. Maybe if we could find something which would occupy her mind as well as her hands ... I know your mother tried her with some copy typing, but she said it was too difficult to cope with the machine on the bed-table, but I don’t think she was interested enough to try,’ he ended candidly.

  ‘That’s just it.’ They had reached the top of the hill and were turning into the side road which led to the General. ‘She simply isn’t interested in anything or anybody, not any longer. It frightens me sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t worry so much,’ Pete advised, stopping the car at the entrance to the hospital used by the staff only. ‘It’s too much for you, and for your mother. Thank goodness I’ve finished my training now and it won’t be long before I’m in a better position, then I can do a little more towards helping.’

  ‘You do help, Pete,’ Joy smiled at him, meaning every word, as she banged the door of the little car shut and turned to leave him. ‘I don’t know how we’d have managed without you all this time.’

  ‘The boot’s on the other foot, Joy.’ Pete was serious. ‘I shall never cease to be grateful to you and your mother for all you’ve done.’

  ‘Then we’re all satisfied!’ Joy glanced at her watch and knew she’d have to hurry now. ‘See you tonight, Pete. And thanks for the lift. If you’re back first tell Emma not to worry, I’ll find something different for Lana’s tea,’ then she was off, walking with her quick, brisk step in the direction of the Women’s Surgical Unit.

  The courtyard was mercifully deserted as Joy thankfully sped across and to the Sisters’ room to take off her cloak. She still had five minutes to spare, something she had not expected amid the chaos of home that morning. She was just slipping on her clean cuffs when young Nurse Abbot came hurrying in search of her.

  ‘Glad you’re on time this morning, Sister,’ she began. ‘We’re having a little trouble with Mrs. Histram ... She’s convinced she’s going to die, and heaven knows what we’ll have on our hands before she’s left us! I don’t like hysterical patients. I was once on a ward where it started just in the same way with only one woman, and before we knew where we were it had gone like wildfire, half round the ward.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Joy sighed. She knew only too well. ‘Hysteria’s as contagious as measles! How about the hysterectomy?’

  ‘Mrs. Barker? Good as gold and trying her best not to be any trouble. Wish every patient took her common-sense views about what we’re trying to do for them.’

  Most of them do,’ Joy returned. ‘Mrs. Histram is an exception, but one can understand...’

  They went on into the ward, from the depths of which Joy could hear the sound of muffled, hysterical sobbing and the brisk tones of Staff Nurse Wilson’s calming response, given in her most soothing and professional tones. She felt suddenly sorry for plump, comfortable Mrs. Histram. She had come into the General two days ago for a simple curettage, with no trouble whatsoever anticipated, but she had arrived in a state of high nervous tension which had, it seemed, increased hour by hour. She was in her late middle years and had never before been inside a hospital, and what she had read and imagined had built up in her mind to a state of absolute fear, a condition which would have to be dealt with medically, by the R.M.O’s prescribing a sedative or by some other calm-inducing means. At the moment, Joy could only feel sorry for the woman and her unreasoning fears, knowing that it was a similar state of mental stress which made her own sister’s such a difficult case to deal with and to nurse.

  She went quietly into the ward. Mrs. Histram was sobbing quietly now, but Joy knew the effect this was likely to have on the rest of her patients. She walked over to the woman’s bed, but as she was about to speak a deep voice sounded behind her.

  ‘Good morning, Sister. I’ve written up a sedative for Mrs. Histram. I don’t think you’ll have any further trouble with her this morning. We’ve had quite a friendly little chat, and she’s feeling much better about things already, aren’t you?’ he asked the question, confident of the reply.

  Mrs. Histram did not disappoint him. Doctor Mark Stanton, R.M.O. of Wilborough General, was not an eas
y man to disappoint!

  ‘Yes, Doctor. Thank you,’ she said in a small voice which to the trained ears about her still held the strain of repressed emotion, of fear held, for the moment, completely under control. .

  ‘That’s fine.’ He patted her hand gently as he moved away. ‘We’ll have another little chat when you’re feeling better,’ he told her. ‘I know you’ll agree with me you’re going to feel fine in a very little while, and you’ll wonder why you didn’t come in sooner!’ He signed to Nurse Talbot to administer the prescribed sedative, then, speaking softly to Joy, proceeded with their tour of the ward.

  There wasn’t anything else of a particularly alarming or worrying nature, and by the time Mark had left, Joy was feeling more herself—her usual capable self—the self she normally felt on duty, and less the bewildered and worried sister she had been earlier that morning. Why was it, she wondered as she turned to her desk and looked over the report sheets, it was always so much more difficult to nurse a member of one’s own family than a ward full of strangers, all with varying degrees of varying illnesses and post-operative or ante-operative conditions? There was no answer to the question she was asking herself, and as little Nurse Bagshaw began to push round the breakfast trolley, Joy forced herself to put all her home worries into the background of her mind and to concentrate on the task in hand.

  CHAPTER II

  The work on the ward went smoothly enough as Mrs. Histram gradually calmed down and became quiet. The remainder of the patients in the ward appeared to be, in some cases, equally gradual in their process of awakening. Some of them, as a few always were, seemed quite lively, others were not, as yet, quite so interested in all that was going on around them, but all were pleased by the Sister’s and the nurses’ obvious interest in their wellbeing, all of them responding in their varying ways, so that, as always, Joy felt that satisfying sense of contentment, fulfilment, in her chosen work as her day settled to a customary routine.