by Jane Yeadon
With basics bought and our unpacking done, we celebrated with cocoa and toasted Mrs Ronce who, surprised by the concept, excused herself on account of a pressing drinks and Scrabble date.
‘This is the life,’ sighed Maisie, happily kicking off her shoes and sprawling on the couch.
We stared into the flames, soothed by their flickering movement. Outside, the rain pattered friendly noises on the small windowpanes. We pulled the dusty red velvet curtains to shut in a world where the fire cast moving pictures on the walls.
With the occasional bus rattling past and its own individual creaks and groans, there were more noises in that little room than were ever heard in the top floor of the Nurses’ Home, but we both dozed off and when we woke, had the virtuous feeling of sleep perfected.
It was odd coming on duty from a different direction. Even the dining hall seemed a cheerier place.
‘Crikey! You’re looking fresh,’ observed Jo, sinking her chin onto her hands as we waited for the roll call. ‘The sooner I move out, the better. I’m going to have a word with Sister Cameron as well. I got hungry the other day and went to make myself some toast and she leapt out of a cupboard accusing me of boiling eggs in the kettle. I’m really sick of being treated like a kid.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I hate to admit this, and even though I wasn’t going to, I’ve had to resort to sleeping tablets.’
‘And much good it’s done you,’ chirruped Rosie. ‘You look like death warmed up, but listen girls! I’ve got good news.’ She patted the table with her hands, then, beaming with the air of an angel bestowing favours, said, ‘We’re all coming back on day duty and into Block. Fancy! We’ll have every weekend off for the next four weeks and not have to run after anybody, whilst sitting down in the lecture theatre during the week. It looks like we’re all going to be back on days and just like a big happy family.’
Isobel waited until we were on duty sorting the drinks trolley in the kitchen. Softening the clatter by laying the thick white cups out as if they were bone china, she sighed. ‘I didn’t want to hurt Rosie’s feelings. She’s got such a kind heart and given me so many tips from her Granny’s precious sleep remedies it’s a wonder I’m not comatose, but now, just as I’m beginning to feel alive again and getting the hang of night duty with its lovely time off, it’s all change.’
She loaded her trolley with enough sugar to turn the ward hypergly-caemic and put her diabetic patient over the edge, then, trundling out, groaned, ‘Is that not sod’s law?’
Nurse Green was of the same mind. ‘Just when I got you trained,’ she complained. ‘I was even beginning to think you could see there were more important things to do than having straight bed wheels.’
I took that as a compliment and in a bid to continue the goodwill, wished her luck for her finals.
She got a sheet of paper and holding a pencil over it said, ‘Right! You do the injections whilst I make up a new list of duties for the next junior. I’ve just thought of a few more things to add to it.’
29
TYPHOID TAKES ME TO A SPECIAL CLINIC
Typhoid had come to town. It came in a box of corned beef tins from Argentina and brought screaming, doom-laden headlines about Aberdeen to papers as far away as America. They were as dramatic as they were inaccurate. Still, it was a nasty outbreak and even if the Aberdonians weren’t lying heaped high and dead in Union Street and were instead treating the situation with their customary phlegm, the disease was going to need some clever medicine and a lot of nursing staff to contain.
Matron and Dr MacQueen, the medical officer of health, took centre stage in the lecture theatre where, as predicted by Rosie, we were very comfortably sitting.
Dr MacQueen came straight to the point. ‘Well, Nurses, today we are in a very grave situation. Typhoid is a killer unless it’s dealt with immediately and by professionals. It’s seldom in recent years that we have had to deal with anything so infectious.’ He cleared his throat and looked about, which was unnecessary; he had all our attention. ‘As a direct result of typhoid, patients have swinging temperatures and will rapidly lose fluids, I’m sure you know what I mean.’ He had the dismal look of a plumber with a small washer confronting major leaks. ‘We will be dealing with many acute cases who will have to be monitored very carefully. Fluids need to be replaced very quickly and of course the patients will need barrier nursing,’ he looked around, ‘which of course you will know all about.’
Matron interpreting to cover some blanks looks, said smoothly, ‘Of course. All our students have had a grounding in its importance, and know how easily contamination is spread unless protective clothing, masks and gloves are worn at all times, not to mention hand washing. Very like theatre work in fact.’
Dr MacQueen returned to his theme. ‘We are going to need all members of staff to help contain the infection, which is why I have come to explain that we will be cancelling your Block until such time as we have stamped out this contagious disease.’
Matron, with a sheet of paper in her hand and a business-like air far removed from her usual twitter, took over. ‘Dr MacQueen has kindly arranged for you to be included in the staff immunisation programme afterwards and whilst I realise we are asking you all to put your studies on hold, I know you are capable of great sacrifices and will be only too happy to help wherever you can. I don’t imagine anybody has any further questions?’
Unless they want their heads examined, I thought, not liking the idea of being at the wrong end of a needle but flattered that we suddenly had become a vital part of a professional team. Matron, meanwhile, began to read from her paper, ensuring complete attention. Ward changes were important and this one especially so. This called for professionals. Didn’t Dr MacQueen say so himself? I hoped I’d rise to the occasion.
‘Nurse Macpherson, please report to the Special Clinic.’ She gave me a keen glance as if conferring an honour.
‘Special Clinic?’ Goodness! That sounded important. I felt especially privileged until, waiting in the queue for my jab, I asked Maisie what it actually was.
‘Venereal Disease.’ She said it so loudly, nearby people started listening. ‘I worked with a nurse who was there. She said it’s definitely different and she’d some stories I know your folk wouldn’t appreciate. Personally, I’m glad it’s not me that’s going,’ she twitched her nose, ‘try telling folk at the Palace dances that’s where you work. Barrier nursing it ain’t.’
I nearly asked for my arm back but already the injection was in my system, shortly after to give me such a temperature I had to be thankful that the clinic didn’t need me immediately.
Woolmanhill was a centrally located antiquated building in town. It used to be the Infirmary but was now the Casualty Department with Outpatient Clinics nearby.
The Special Clinic was sited discreetly over the road and handily placed for the street punters who could have found themselves in the Leg Ulcer Clinic had they not been acquainted with this less exciting place.
It had the avuncular ease of an old gun dogs’ retreat, occupied by two bloodhound technicians, their sagging eye bags reflecting a world-weary tolerance. In charge was an elderly springer spaniel doctor in leather patches, who waved a welcome whilst putting put down his paper to have a better look.
‘We thought you were business.’ The technicians looked disappointed. ‘We don’t actually need a nurse, you know. There’s not an awful lot of work. Patients are just examined, tests carried out, there’s the occasional injection to give and of course, you’ll be needed to chaperone the female patients when they are being examined.’
I thought it was a bit late for that but didn’t get the impression they needed a witty newcomer.
‘Make yourself at home.’ They waved their newspapers towards the waiting room.
‘What should I do?’
‘You could give the trolleys and instruments a dust.’ They relocated to the columns of the sports section where an occasional outbreak of animation indicated serious discussion of the city football t
eam’s fortunes.
There was a grubby instruction card of duties under the bread bin in the kitchen and I carried it with me as I explored. The small print was the most interesting bit.
‘There is no special time during the day for patients to come. They will be seen as they appear. They must be treated like other patients. Remember! Sexually transmitted diseases can happen to anyone.’ The card was so grimy it carried its own health risk.
Disappointed at the lack of custom, I performed my cleaning duties desultorily.
A bell rang. Ah! Somebody!
Before I could unroll the welcome mat, the team swooped upon an anxious-looking man and bore him off to an examination room.
I dithered outside, anxious not to seem curious and dying to know what was happening. The card had instructed discretion – hard, when there wasn’t even a keyhole.
‘Thanks very much,’ the patient said as he came out, scuttled past my discreet presence and then disappeared.
‘See, we didn’t need you, did we?’ the technicians jeered.
‘True – what did you do to him?’
‘We took some samples and gave him a jag.’
‘A jag?’
‘Penicillin of course.’
‘I could’ve done that.’
‘He said he didn’t want to drop his trousers in front of you, but we’ve taken a special sample for the microscope, thought you might like to see it. Come on.’
I peered down on a glass slide and could see little other than a wriggly comma.
‘What’s that?’
‘A sperm!’ They sounded like a pantomime act.
I peered again but it had disappeared.
‘It’s gone.’
‘Well it must be somewhere,’ the doctor replied looking round the room.
Between worrying about the lost sperm and getting a dawning awareness of the importance of football, the days drifted past. Even if typhoid raged, with any patient found collapsed taken to Casualty, immediately presumed to have the disease, then carted off to the City Hospital – the designated hospital for treatment – I saw none of it and heard even less whilst Aberdonians, trusting their medical services, just went calmly about their business.
The class’s feeling of importance dwindled too when we realised we were only covering wards to allow more experienced staff members to work in the typhoid wards. My work seemed especially limited but at last the great day came when I was allowed to take off venous blood.
Mrs Low had given the impression this was akin to brain surgery. She said that we could mistakenly inject air into the patients’ systems and floor them – surely a contradiction in terms. I’d been anxious about doing it, even though neither patient nor technician considered it important enough to take their attention from the seemingly eternal fascinations of the Dons and their fortunes. I located a vein, closed my eyes then pressed on the needle of my hypodermic.
As the blood welled satisfactorily into the syringe, it was acknowledged that this was my first time.
‘Same with me,’ said the patient, grabbing back his arm, ‘and yes, I’ll tell the wife she’ll need to come in as well.’
I watched the spivvy, swaggering, macho figure leave, adjusting his storyline and righting his brilliantined coif in some window glass, discreetly darkened but surely not designed for that purpose.
‘What do you think he’ll tell her?’ I asked.
‘Oh, the usual yarn about toilet seats, though the more imaginative can blame bicycles. We have been known to put in bicyclitis as a diagnosis if people can’t accept the official line. Still, we should be glad he’s told her. She wouldn’t know otherwise – not until it’s too late and nothing can be done. Venereal disease is not a pretty sight.’
There followed much sighing and rustling of newspapers. A knuckle was thoughtfully chewed.
A small young woman appeared next day, as bedraggled and dowdy as a wet sparrow. She crept into a far corner, neat, cross-ankled and anxiously clutching a red plastic purse like a talisman, bright against the darkness of her worry. She looked an unlikely partner to yesterday’s bold boyo but her concern for him was real.
‘My James’s right unlucky. He catches everything that’s going,’ she said, meekly surrendering her arm, ‘and I suppose I’ll have to have the examination as well?’
If only she had had some of the self-confidence of Bella Bliss, our most dedicated regular. If a howling gale had met her up an Aberdeen close, it would have been the first to change direction. She had the lines of a majestic ocean liner complete with multi-national flags, handy for helping with ambassadorial hospitality in this seaport city. Even her magnificently sculpted hairstyle had been nailed into submission, remaining constant despite the many ‘wee clinic checks in case I catch typhoid’ she insisted on having. She appeared at least once weekly, more if it was raining, and was never in any hurry to leave. I was reluctant to challenge such frequency, as was the staff, since Bella’s black, flashing eyes and mighty hands ruled out discussion.
‘Why do you think Bella comes here so often?’ I asked as a bang, crash and curse announced yet another appearance.
‘It’s a break from her street work, she likes the warmth, the attention, and of course she takes home the magazines. You know we always send you out for replacements after she’s been. We’d have thought you’d have noticed that – you read plenty of them.’ The doctor was condescending, then he folded his own intellectual paper and scratched his head in a perplexed way. ‘But truth to tell, she’s coming in just a bit too often – she’s killing off our other trade. They’re terrified of her. We’re going to have to tone her down a bit.’
Stung by his observation and my lack of it, I should have realised why in all weathers she wore a red coat so massive it must have been bought in a tent shop. It could probably hold a bookshop. The sparkly butterfly fastener could have come from a less mundane outlet, but the toning down of Bella Bliss defied imagination.
‘I’m just thinking of my clients and with this typhoid thingie you can’t be too careful,’ she explained as she made her usual entrance accompanied by jangling bracelets and high heels so staccato she could have been a flamenco dancer.
I fully realised then the role of chaperone as I caught Bella giving both technicians a measuring eye. She headed straight for an examination room and seemed surprised I was following.
‘I think you’re only due a blood test, Bella,’ I said, hiding behind her medical notes.
‘Miss Bliss to you,’ she returned, stepping out of her fishnets and continuing to undress. Big knickers crashed to the floor. ‘Now just you run along like a good little nursie and tell the boys I’m ready.’
I didn’t fancy arguing with an Amazon and neither apparently did the boys, for they were showing all the signs of a pack on a planning mission and far too busy to attend their sole patient.
After some discussion, the doctor was transformed from a friendly dog into a wise but impersonal clinician whilst the kindly technicians became Rottweilers.
Dr Dog stood outside the examination room and spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard in Casualty: ‘Nurse Macpherson, on no account are you to leave this patient’s side. We’ll also get a staff nurse from another clinic, and we’ll attend to you in just a moment, Miss Bliss.’
Silence fell as he shut himself away to make a private phone call. The guard dogs planted themselves outside his office, ears cocked and grim of countenance.
‘What’s keeping the boys?’ said Bella at last, her sighs and gusts of irritation beginning to reach gale force. ‘See – if I’ve to wait any longer, I’ll start looking for them myself.’ Her hands curled into steel balls.
Incarcerated with her I began to panic. I was trapped with an impatient woman who took up so much room it was getting sweaty. The outside silence grew louder. I mopped my brow.
‘There better be somebody here in the next five seconds,’ Bella growled, ‘or –’
I was planning an exit strategy when the
staff nurse appeared at the door, so large, she blocked it.
‘Miss Bliss?’ She approached, running a practised eye over our patient, who was already regarding the big feet, bigger hands and suggestion of a moustache with a suspicion that made her reach for a blanket to cover her shoulders, her sledgehammer hand protecting the seafaring tattoos.
‘Right, Miss Bliss, we’ll have you out of here in no time at all. The doctor here has been giving me training for examinations and it’ll just take a second. I don’t think we’ll need anybody else here other than the student nurse. She’ll need to learn too.’
Had she done an air kick and cracked her knuckles she couldn’t have been more threatening as, donning the biggest size of rubber gloves and picking up the clinic’s most treasured female investigative gynaecological/gardening kit, Nurse Powerful advanced.
‘Well maybe I’ll just not have anything. You can just go and find another guinea pig.’ Bella flew off the couch, flattening me against the wall whilst tussling to put her clothes back on. A fish scale, bright as a sequin, fell at her feet. ‘Ah’m off!’ Her coat flew behind her like a parachute but didn’t slow her. Perhaps being magazine-free helped to speed the process but certainly Bella could shift.
‘You’re killing trade but I’ll be back, see if I won’t!’ she yelled, shaking her fist at the kennel door. ‘And I’ll be taking my sailors with me.’
‘Good. That’s what you must do,’ growled the doctor, all but marking his territory.
30
THE JOYS AND JINGLES OF CASUALTY
Maisie and I were supposedly studying. In the face of ferociously good hygiene and practice, typhoid had packed up and left a city with a clean bill of health, immaculate public toilets and us back in Block. If we passed its exam we would graduate to purple belt, second-year status.