Cherry Ames Boxed Set 17-20

by Helen Wells

  The Director of Volunteers announced the teenagers would tour the hospital. They would see for themselves where and how they were needed. The tour would help them decide what assignments to volunteer for, or whether to volunteer at all.

  “Ask questions if you like, but very quietly, so the patients won’t hear you. Please don’t touch anything.”

  Miss Vesey, with Cherry and another R.N. to help with explanations, led the large group first to the Out-Patient Clinic, on the ground floor. In this big room, with booths, sat all kinds of patients; doctors and interviewers studied their records, talked to them. Jayvees—older ones—were very much needed here to take the patients’ laboratory reports to—or records from—the Records Room; to take the patients’ temperatures and to weigh them; to escort patients, some in wheelchairs, to X-ray or some special medical department.

  Cherry said to the juniors near her, “You’ll work with the clinic social worker, compile new charts, answer phones.” Some of the teenagers looked interested, others apprehensive.

  Everyone regained confidence when they came to the Medical Records Room. What could be so difficult about filing? But Miss Vesey said, “There are thousands of records in here. If you misfile one, good-bye record! When a report comes down from a lab or X-ray, you must file it on the proper patient’s charts—imagine what a mistake could lead to!” Only carefully selected Jayvees were trusted to work in here.

  The group skipped Emergency, which, like Surgical, contagious wards, and the Maternity floor upstairs, was off limits to them. They had a look at the Admitting Office, where Jayvee’s escort service was needed. They went on to the Pharmacy, which was interesting with its supplies of medicine. Mr. Cox, registered graduate pharmacist, was in charge. Cherry overheard some boys in back of her say, “Pharmacy for us!” Cherry turned around and said, “Fair warning, fellows. Good jobs and dull jobs, all must he done. Everyone must do half and half, though we will try to meet your interests.”

  The girls, when the group went upstairs, all wanted to help on the children’s wards and in the playroom. Small patients, some kneeling in their cribs, some clumsily feeding themselves at tiny tables, shyly waved back to the teenagers. A small boy on miniature crutches came up to Dodo Ware and asked, “Play with me?”

  Into several convalescent wards, Medical and Surgical, past rows of beds, went the teenagers. Cherry made it a point to notice which juniors smiled at the patients, and which ones simply stared.

  The group went to the X-ray Department, with its many records to take care of, then on to the big Pathology Laboratory where the white-coated technologist in charge said, “We certainly need helpers to wash test tubes and run errands.” Next, they went to Central Sterile Supply where Emma Weaver remarked, “The sterilizers look like giant pressure cookers.”

  In here, juniors were needed to wash and pack sterilized rubber gloves, sponges, wooden tongue depressors. Green packages went to Surgical, yellow to Maternity, white for general use.

  “What boring work!” Lillian Jones sighed.

  The woman in charge heard her and turned around. “Young lady, sterile or not is a matter of life or death. Infection will be spread if this job isn’t done properly.”

  That sobered everybody. Some of the teenagers looked still more shaken when, out in the hall, they came smack up against an iron lung, to be sent upstairs to a polio patient, and oxygen tents waiting for calls for them.

  Cherry said, “I was scared to pieces, too, when I was just starting out as a student nurse. You get over it with training.”

  Some of the teenagers murmured, “Thanks.” Some of them limped a little, after the long tour, on their way back to the Hospitality Lounge. There everyone stood about uncertainly. Cherry glanced at her wristwatch. She was growing impatient to go back to her ward and the new patient.

  The Director of Volunteers said, “If any of you want to volunteer right now, you may do so. Some of you may prefer to go home and talk over with your parents whether being a hospital aide is for you. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here again at ten. Then after you take a pledge of service, you can volunteer for assignments of your choice. Be prepared to stay tomorrow—we have a big program ahead for you. Thank you all for coming today. Good morning.”

  A few of the young people slipped away. Several stayed to ask questions. Cherry was sorry she could not stay on, but her patients were waiting for her. She waved to Midge and Bud and several others, and went back upstairs.

  The head nurse met her hurrying into the ward. Cherry said, “I think I’ll skip lunch hour, Miss Greer, and catch up on my work. How is the new patient?”

  “Better have some lunch, Miss Ames,” said Miss Greer. “Miss Corsi and I doubled up on the few morning chores you didn’t have time to finish. No, don’t say thank you! Your new patient is resting a little more comfortably. She seems anxious about one thing—she asked for her mail. Someone will have to bring it from her house.”

  “Asked for her mail? As sick as she is!” Cherry said. “Must be mighty important mail.”

  “Well, I don’t want her upset,” the head nurse said, “by mail or anything else.” Cherry knew that with arthritics, emotional stress could cause a physical setback or bring on an attack. “Her mail can wait until tomorrow,” Miss Greer said.

  “By tomorrow I’ll have a junior volunteer who’ll go pick it up,” Cherry said, and thought of sending Midge.

  Cherry obediently ate some lunch, quickly, leaving a few minutes’ free time to go see her new patient. Peggy Wilmot was half asleep but murmured something. Cherry bent over her.

  “In my wallet—a check—please cash it for me—” Peggy got out. “I’ve had it in my wallet since last week. I—I felt so sick I didn’t go to the bank.”

  “You needn’t worry about money just yet, or about anything—”

  But Peggy insisted, and her face screwed up in anxiety and pain. Cherry did not argue. She promised to ask the woman in the Admitting Office, which kept patients’ belongings under lock and key, to bring Peggy her wallet. Peggy would then endorse the check, as best she could, and Cherry would cash it for her. It was a small favor, if it would quiet the patient.

  Peggy Wilmot looked so relieved, so grateful, that Cherry wondered why all this strong feeling about her mail and a check.

  CHAPTER II

  Off to a Good Start

  TUESDAY WAS PLEDGE DAY. AT A LITTLE BEFORE TEN, Cherry finished up two hours’ work on her ward; she had just carefully changed Peggy Wilmot’s position and applied dry heat, both as comfort measures. That was as much nursing as she could do for Peggy, until later today. So Cherry went downstairs and gave her attention to the junior volunteers.

  At the front of the Hospitality Lounge, several staff people waited. Cherry said good morning and joined them. She felt rather anxious to see how many young volunteers would actually come. Several teenagers were already here: Midge and freckled Bud Johnson, sitting together—the quiet steady ones; Claire Alison, Carol Nichols with the sketchbook she always carried, Dave McNeil and Myron Stern—two or three young persons whom Cherry did not know by name—and tall, theatrical-looking Lillian Jones, somewhat to Cherry’s surprise. Not very many. Cherry would not have blamed any youngster who would rather go swimming in the county fairgrounds pool, this hot July morning. Still, more teenagers came in, self-conscious, determined. Dodo Ware practically bounced in, round eyes shining. By the time Mrs. Streeter rose to speak, she had twenty recruits to greet—fourteen girls and six boys.

  “I am glad to see such a good turnout,” said the Superintendent of Nurses. “On behalf of the Administrator of this hospital, its doctors and nurses and entire staff, I congratulate you on your high purpose. We are happy to have you join us as part of our team.”

  Mrs. Streeter said they would not spend much time on ceremonies; there was too much urgent work to be done. She asked the young volunteers to stand, and in chorus they repeated after her this pledge:

  “I will be punctual … immaculately clean
… conscientious … accept supervision … not seek information regarding a patient … make my work professional … uphold the standards of this hospital and interpret them to the community.” Then, and most important, “I will consider as confidential all information which I may hear in this hospital.”

  The juniors were asked to pledge at least fifty hours’ work over this summer. Now they could volunteer for whatever assignments they had their hearts set on. They had been interviewed yesterday afternoon by Miss Vesey, the young Director of Volunteers, and were realistic about what they could and could not ask for. Carol Nichols, who was fifteen, put her hand up first.

  “I’d hoped to work in the blood bank and in clinic registration, please,” Carol said.

  Midge waved her hand enthusiastically. Being sixteen made her eligible to work in the patient areas. “I’d like to volunteer for Women’s Orthopedics”—she shot a loyal look at Cherry—“and the X-ray Department.” Cherry knew Midge had little interest in doing clerical work in the X-ray Department, but the staff there needed help.

  “Me, too!” said Dodo Ware, and looked questioningly toward Cherry.

  “I’m delighted to have you both,” Cherry said.

  Bud Johnson elected to work as an orderly, wherever the hospital needed him. Miss Vesey replied he would be a floater on the various wards. “And how would you like to help out, Bud, with adult and children’s recreation? You know, occasional shows and ward parties.”

  “I’d like that just fine!” Bud said.

  Myron Stern realized his wish: he would work in the Pathology Laboratory. Dave McNeil asked for and got assigned to the coveted Pharmacy, with its room-size refrigerator; he would also work in the Records Room. The youngest juniors were assigned to Central Sterile Supply—and also to the children’s playroom and to the patients’ flower service. Lillian Jones asked for the Reception Desk, and cheerfully accepted a job in the Dietary Kitchen as well.

  Others requested special jobs “and wherever else I’m needed.” Soon Mrs. Streeter said, “Now you will please go for your uniforms.”

  Cherry led the fourteen girls to the nurses’ locker room where they put on the white cotton, short-sleeved dresses that Hilton Hospital had lent them. The girls themselves had purchased red-and-white candy-striped cotton pinafores with ruffled bibs to wear over the dresses. Getting into the uniform was a big occasion. Cherry wondered how the boys were making out with their white cotton lab coats or tunics and white duck trousers.

  When all the girls were in uniform, Cherry said, “You look very nice, except for your feet.” All looked down at their feet. “After today,” Cherry said, “everyone is to wear flat shoes—white or whatever you own, rubber soles if possible—and white bobby socks. No rings or other jewelry, please, only your wristwatch.”

  “Aren’t we going to wear caps, like the nurses?” Midge asked disappointedly. “Most Jayvees do.”

  Cherry explained that Hilton Hospital wanted only its nurses to wear caps. “Patients think anyone who wears a cap is a nurse, and we don’t want any confusion. Come along, now.”

  The girls assembled in Room 110 where the boys were already waiting, looking proud but uneasy in their whites. Cherry asked everyone to take seats. She went to the head of the improvised classroom. A hospital bed, table, supply chest, bandages, charts, and some other demonstration articles had been brought in.

  “I am going to teach you,” Cherry said, “some of the fundamentals such as bedmaking, feeding a patient, taking and charting TPR—that’s temperature, pulse, and respiration—and folding bandages. Some of you may not need to know about bedmaking, but you never can tell when you may be called upon to pinch hit.”

  Bud Johnson said gamely, “The more we know, the better.”

  Cherry demonstrated these techniques, then had the members of the class practice on one another. They laughed a lot, and made a few blunders, but they learned quickly. This part of their preliminary training took all morning. At lunchtime Cherry announced:

  “Now that you’re members of the staff, the hospital cafeteria is open to you. Or if you’d rather go home for lunch, you may. Please report back here in an hour.”

  The class rushed out, eager to share cafeteria tables with physicians, surgeons, nurses, and technologists. Midge led the way, proud of her know-how around the hospital. Cherry felt pretty proud of Midge, herself; she should prove to be a huge help on the ward.

  Cherry then went to the east entrance of the hospital where she had an appointment to meet her mother for a few minutes at noon. Mrs. Ames had agreed to cash Peggy Wilmot’s check, since Cherry had no time to go to the bank, and junior volunteers were not permitted to handle money.

  Her mother was there right on time, looking lovely as usual. She smiled and handed Cherry an envelope containing the cash.

  “Oh, Mother, you’re a friend in need!” Cherry said. “This will make that poor girl feel better—though I don’t understand why she’s so excited about money matters just now.”

  “Well, I hope it will help her, and I hope,” said Mrs. Ames, “that the check will be honored. Mr. Alison at the bank required me to add my endorsement, too, to the check. That means if the company issuing the check doesn’t honor it, and if your patient can’t make good, then I will have to reimburse the bank for that sum. And it’s a fairly substantial sum.”

  “Gosh,” said Cherry, “I never thought of that. Not that I’d let you get stuck, Mother—I noticed it was a printed check from some business firm, not just a personal check, and drawn on the First National Bank of Chicago, so I thought it was all right.”

  “Oh, it’s probably all right. Don’t worry about it. I have to run now, honey,” said Edith Ames. “I’m having lunch with my Garden Club ladies at Sue Webb’s house.”

  “Enjoy yourself,” Cherry called as her mother went down the hospital path to where she had parked the car. “See you at home.”

  Cherry went upstairs to give Peggy the cash, and to resume her duties.

  The patients on the women’s orthopedics ward were having lunch, except for Peggy Wilmot. She was asleep. Miss Greer said to let her sleep a little longer. Cherry went to say hello to Mrs. Davis, who had osteoarthritis, which some old people get as they age. Mrs. Davis had no family. No one but the social worker ever came to visit her. This little old lady had had surgery and had already been in the hospital for rehabilitation for a month; she was expected to remain for a month or two longer. When she got out, she would be able to walk again, but with a permanent limp, and always with some pain. Cherry smiled at her, and Mrs. Davis smiled back.

  “Were you a good patient this morning, Mrs. Davis?” Cherry asked. “Did you go for your whirlpool treatment?”

  “Yes, and the physical therapist says I’m a whole lot better if I only didn’t have to be pushed to the therapy room in that wheelchair!”

  Liz Emery said from the next bed, “Mrs. Davis wants a motor on the wheelchair, so she can drive the chair herself. I’ll bet she could drive it, too!”

  Liz was fourteen, blond and pretty, restless in traction but unfailingly good-tempered. She was here because of a fractured heel, suffered when a horse she was riding bareback threw her and she landed on her foot. Cherry was glad her bed and Mrs. Davis’s bed were side by side. Liz was cheerful young company for the lonely patient.

  Cherry moved on past Liz’s bed to speak to quiet Mrs. Swanson, who had a badly sprained back, then spoke to the patients on the other side of the room. Peggy Wilmot was awake now. Since Nurse Corsi was busy serving lunch trays, Cherry fed her.

  “Your check is cashed,” Cherry told her and handed her the envelope. “I’ll call admitting to send someone up for it, and lock it away for you.”

  “Oh, thanks! That’s good,” Peggy sighed.

  She looked thin and pale—anemia often accompanied arthritis. “Dr. Watson or Dr. Dan probably has ordered a blood-count test for her,” Cherry thought. “She may need a special diet.” Aloud Cherry said:

  “How do yo
ur wrists and knees feel? Is the heat helping?” Hot-water bags and heating pads were applied, gently, to her inflamed joints. Heat increased the blood supply to relieve pain and relax muscles.

  “Yes, the heat helps some,” Peggy said. “Please, no more food, Miss Cherry. I’m not hungry.”

  She was still in too much pain to want to eat, Cherry realized. She coaxed a few more spoonfuls of custard into her, let Peggy rest a few minutes, then very gently altered her position in the bed. This was to avoid bed sores and stiffness. Then Cherry gently removed Peggy’s splints and washed her red wrists and knees, then reapplied the splints, and tied them on loosely with elastic bandages.

  “You won’t have to wear these splints for long,” Cherry told her. “Soon it’ll be for only a few hours a day, and when you’re asleep.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get better,” Peggy said dejectedly. “Not ever really well and active again. I have an older cousin who’s had arthritis for years, and she’s—well, she lives in a wheelchair! How will I ever keep house, alone?”

  “Peggy, will you please listen to me?” Cherry looked into her unhappy brown eyes. “Chances are good that you will get well. You’ll be just as lively as ever. People who have arthritis almost always feel unreasonably pessimistic. It’s another sign that you’re sick.”

  Peggy absorbed this information while Cherry glanced at her chart. Dr. Watson had ordered drugs for her, in her present acute stage: more aspirin or other simple salicylates, and cortisone, in substantial amounts. These would help right away.

  “Miss Cherry?” Peggy Wilmot said, and Cherry put aside the chart. “I’d like to believe you, but how can I? It hurts every time I move. What will happen to me next?” Her gaze clung to Cherry’s. “I thought when my husband died that I knew then what it was to be unhappy—poor Art—”

  All in a rush she was telling Cherry about her brief, happy marriage. Her husband had traveled a great deal for the company he worked for. They had moved to Hilton and bought a house here, just a short time before he made his last business trip. As usual, he flew in one of the company’s private planes. The plane crashed. Only its burning wreckage was ever found.