Cherry Ames Boxed Set 17-20

by Helen Wells

  “You’re in plenty of time. It’s just that I’m early—the first one to come in the mornings, the last one to leave at night.”

  Her words had a disturbing ring—was she boasting? or scared? or on the defensive? A graduate nurse out-ranked all others on a physician’s office staff. Cherry realized the woman might be worried about having to get along with a new, unknown nurse—someone much younger than herself.

  Cherry tried to reassure her. “You’re very conscientious,” she said. “Dr. Fairall told me you’re expert at managing his office. You’ll have to break me in, I’m afraid.”

  The medical secretary relaxed. “Of course. I’ll be happy to help you get started. By the way, it’s Mrs. Wick.”

  She motioned Cherry to come into her work area, which was simply an open end of the reception room, with a huge desk holding telephones and appointment books, and a typewriter. Two small chairs and file cabinets were placed against the wall. Beyond was a closed door that, Mrs. Wick murmured, led into Dr. Fairall’s office.

  She pressed a button on the intercom and said, “Dottie, our new nurse is here. I’d like to take her on the grand tour. Can you come meet Miss Ames and pinch-hit for me?”

  Both telephones rang. Mrs. Wick answered and quickly made appointments for patients. The laboratory technician came in, a tall rugged girl wearing an unbuttoned long white lab coat flapping over her dress, and an elaborate hairdo. Though she appeared at first glance to be sophisticated, Cherry looked beyond the hairdo and saw an ill-at-ease, uncertain young woman. She seemed a little intimidated by Irene Wick, who said crisply:

  “Miss Ames, this is Dottie Nash, our lab technician.” The medical secretary opened the door into Dr. Fairall’s handsome office, leaving the door ajar, and motioned the other two to come in. Here they could talk privately for a minute. “With three physicians here,” Irene Wick said to Cherry, “we run a great many lab tests, too many to send out daily to a commercial lab. Whenever Dottie isn’t busy in her lab, she answers phones, makes appointments, acts as receptionist, and—and—”

  “Take patients’ payments and run errands for our doctors,” Dottie interrupted, then looked self-conscious.

  Mrs. Wick laughed softly, adding, “And dusts the reception room when I haven’t time, or when Win nie our cleaner has skipped over some dust—and Dottie helps me with typing the patients’ histories. Miss Ames, there’s a great deal to do here, and such a rush, usually! We all pitch in and do a little of everything. Whoever is around when a phone rings, answers it. Whenever a patient is ready to pay for his visit or treatment, whoever is around accepts the payments. We don’t intend for our jobs to overlap, but—” Irene Wick shrugged, and, for all her cool dignity, a laugh bubbled out of her. “Honestly, we run! Even when our part-time R.N. is here—Mrs. Jackson won’t be in today, incidentally.”

  Cherry smiled. “Dr. Fairall told me his staff works as a team, and I do want to cooperate. The only thing is, I must be sure to take care of the nursing duties first. First and adequately.”

  “Of course,” Irene Wick said, and Dottie Nash nodded, examining a fingernail.

  A telephone rang, a buzzer sounded—apparently from one of the doctors’ offices—and a baby cried in the reception room. Dottie Nash muttered, “S’cuse me,” and hurried off.

  “We’ll make our tour as quickly as possible,” Irene Wick said to Cherry. She led her through Dr. Fairall’s office to a side door and into a hall.

  “Do any of the doctors here treat infants?” Cherry asked curiously. In a city of any size, doctors specialized; pediatricians treated infants and young children. A baby here? Cherry knew that Dr. Fairall was a general practitioner, that Dr. Earl Lamb treated older persons (she’d heard he was elderly himself), and that Dr. Grey Russell was an internist, that is primarily a diagnostician. The youngest doctor made house calls, and handled night and weekend emergencies for the other two physicians. The faint sound of the baby crying made Cherry wonder if Dr. Fairall’s practice included infants. She asked Mrs. Wick.

  “No, Dr. Fairall doesn’t accept any patients under the age of thirteen,” the medical secretary said. “Of course he or Dr. Russell would take care of anyone in an emergency. The baby’s mother is our patient. Dr. Fairall is watching her for a tendency to diabetes. Now, along this hall, Miss Ames—”

  CHAPTER II

  Getting Acquainted

  CHERRY AND MRS. WICK STARTED OFF ON THE GET-acquainted tour.

  The doctors’ house was long and narrow, and so was the hall. Doors lined all of one side of it. But first, before starting down the hall, Mrs. Wick showed Cherry two facilities. Opposite the side door of Dr. Fairall’s office, tucked under the staircase, was a small lavatory. Next to it was a walk-in closet with a sterilizer, clean linens, supplies of cotton, gauze, wooden swabs. Medicines were kept in a locked cabinet.

  “Here is the nurse’s key.” Mrs. Wick reached into her uniform pocket for a key ring. She removed two keys. “And here is the key to the house—to the front door, Miss Ames. Each of us has these door keys, in case someone is out sick or delayed, or if there’s an emergency.”

  “Thank you.” Cherry put the two keys in her purse. Irene Wick certainly seemed to be in charge here. “Have you been with Dr. Fairall long?”

  “About two years. Dottie Nash has been here a year. I—No, I won’t say I hired her, but I did find her for the doctor. I sifted out the other applicants’ letters telling their qualifications.”

  Cherry wondered if the three physicians left absolutely everything in her charge. Apparently they did rely on Mrs. Wick. Well, she must have proved herself capable and worthy of her position of trust.

  “Now, here is our big examining room.” Mrs. Wick led Cherry down the hall to a room next door to Dr. Fairall’s office. Mrs. Wick opened the door to show Cherry. “Electrocardiograph, P.BI., and fluoroscope in here.” P.B.I. stood for Protein Bound Iodine; it was used to estimate the thyroid protein in the blood—the thyroid having control over many body functions. P.B.I. was used more than the basal metabolism machine, because it was considered more accurate.

  “Who left the small sterilizer plugged in?” the medical secretary grumbled. She unplugged it. “Doctors can be so forgetful—so preoccupied with their work.” She tested an empty syringe to make sure it was working. “I must re -member to order a syringe Dr. Lamb asked for. And more cotton. Will you need any special supplies, Miss Ames?”

  “Thanks. But let’s wait until Dr. Fairall talks to me today, and gives me some direction.”

  Irene Wick looked at her so coldly that Cherry felt disturbed. Had she said something that offended the medical secretary? Cherry wondered. What a contradictory woman Mrs. Wick was! Obliging at one moment, hostile the next.

  They continued down the hall to two small examining rooms, each equipped with a scale, a table with a thermometer, stethoscope, and a few simple instruments, and a high examining table.

  At the very end of the hall was the laboratory, with the usual tables full of test tubes in racks, Bunsen burners, Petri dishes containing test cultures, charts and notes, a small refrigerator, and tall stools and a supply closet.

  “I could shake Dottie Nash sometimes,” the medical secretary said, “for some of her careless ways—her mind is on clothes and dances when she’s doing any task except her lab work. The lab seems to fascinate her. Our three doctors say she’s a first-rate technician.”

  “Good for her,” Cherry said. “It’s key work.”

  A laboratory technician, or medical technologist, performs biochemical tests of the patients’ blood and other body fluids. With the help of these results, the physicians can recognize and accurately diagnose an illness—and so can prescribe the right medication and treatment.

  The lab was sunny and pleasant. This room, originally the kitchen, looked out on a backyard with tall grass, a leafy fruit tree, and some feasting sparrows. Cherry noticed the back door was open, and remarked on it.

  “Grey—Dr. Russell—may be out th
ere for a few minutes,” Irene Wick said. “I shouldn’t call him by his first name, should I? But he seems so young to me—just recently started to practice.” Mrs. Wick smiled at Cherry. “You’re young, too.” She stepped outdoors and motioned Cherry to follow.

  A sturdy young man in a white cotton coat was standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. He was thinking hard, and though he saw the two women, he took another few seconds to finish his thought and write down a note before looking directly at them. Then he said, “Hello.”

  Mrs. Wick said, “Are we interrupting you, Doctor?”

  “Not at all. Figuring a possible new angle on the Miller case. I’ll need the case record and lab report, please. And the Cox case history.”

  “Right away,” Mrs. Wick said. “Dr. Russell, this is Miss Cherry Ames, our new full-time nurse.”

  “Oh, yes, Dr. Fairall told me about you.” He shook hands cordially with Cherry. “Awfully glad you’re here.”

  Cherry thought he looked boyish with his fresh, fair coloring and easy way of moving. But his quiet manner and calm blue-gray eyes were serious. Cherry said, “I hope I can be of help here.” For though most of her work would be with Dr. Fairall, she would do some nursing work with the younger doctor and older doctor as needed.

  Dr. Grey Russell asked a little awkwardly whether his appointment had come in yet.

  “No, he’s not due yet,” the secretary said.

  “My first patient canceled at the last minute, Miss Ames,” young Dr. Russell said, “that’s how I happen to be out here. Out of the air conditioning. Built in, can’t turn it off, can’t open windows. It’s unnatural, I don’t like it. And I’ll be indoors here until four this afternoon. Then hospital rounds. Then house calls. Mrs. Wick understands, but I don’t want you to think that I see my patients under this tree.”

  They all exchanged smiles, and agreed that Dr. Russell would show Miss Ames the second floor, while Mrs. Wick returned to her work.

  Grey Russell was nice, Cherry thought. He was more comfortable and sympathetic to be with than Mrs. Wick. He led Cherry back along the hall and showed her the small self-service elevator at the front of the house. Usually he ran up and down the stairs, he said, rather than wait for the elevator. They rode up this time. On the second floor he showed Cherry another row of rooms along a long hall.

  First, facing the street, was a large treatment room. Here medications, injections, dressings were administered. Here, too, was equipment for allergy tests. Grey Russell and Cherry walked through to the next room. This main supply room held a tremendous, well-stocked closet, shelves of linen coats, towels, sheets, a sink, and another big sterilizer, with a tray of rubber gloves and disinfectants beside it.

  “Now we come to Dr. Lamb’s office—brace yourself,” the young doctor said with a grin. “He’s a little bit eccentric—won’t let the girls straighten up his office, and they have to dust it secretly. But he’s an excellent doctor.”

  Dr. Earl Lamb was not in yet—his hours were eleven to three—so they ventured to open his door. His office was chaos. Medications, papers, instruments were scattered all over the room.

  Cherry gasped. “How does he ever find anything?”

  “He does. And his patients are devoted to him. He calls his eighty-year-old patients ‘my little girls and boys.’” Grey Russell chuckled and closed the door. “He may or may not come in today; he’s too elderly to work every day. But when you meet him, you’ll see he’s extraordinarily gifted.”

  Next door was a small examining room. Then came a small treatment room containing an infrared lamp. Still farther down the hall was a dressing room for the feminine members of the staff. Grey Russell knocked, then invited Cherry to look in.

  “You’ll find a desk for your use in there,” he said.

  She saw a sketchily furnished room with a desk, a couch, a few wooden chairs, and a clothes rack. After glancing in at the second small examining room on this floor, they came to young Dr. Russell’s office. It was directly above the lab, with windows looking down on the green backyard.

  Grey Russell’s office was in meticulous order. On the bookshelves he had medical reference books. Noticing Cherry’s interest in his books, he said:

  “Some of those volumes are textbooks I used in medical school. Some are even newer works. Dr. Fairall gave me some of them. He certainly keeps abreast of medical discoveries.”

  “You sound happy, Dr. Russell, about being associated with Dr. Fairall,” Cherry said.

  “Yes, I am happy—and lucky, too. He’s giving me my start. He’s known me since I was an intern, and he lectured to us—and he liked my work. So when I was ready to start practice, he invited me to be his relief man.”

  Cherry said, “He must respect you, to be willing to entrust his patients to you.”

  Grey Russell looked faintly embarrassed. “He lets me have this office at a nominal rent, until my own practice grows, and I can afford my own place. Or maybe he’ll want me to stay on here, if he ever decides to stop working so hard. Bill Fairall does the work of three men—”

  “Speaking of work,” Cherry murmured, “I’m afraid I’m keeping you.”

  “Not at all. It helps to get acquainted, if we’re going to work together.” The young man walked over to his desk and picked up some case records. “The quick Mrs. Wick—never have to ask her twice for anything. By the way, Miss Cherry Ames, where have you done most of your nursing?”

  “Oh, various places. But mostly in my own Middle West. Illinois.”

  “I thought I heard a Midwest twang in your voice. And those rosy cheeks couldn’t belong to a city girl—unless it’s rouge.”

  “It’s not rouge, Doctor; it’s the result of fresh air and a hearty appetite,” Cherry said, laughing a little. “Are you a country boy?”

  “Upstate New York.” He named one of the smaller cities. “Vineyards, lakes, farms—and steel plants. Speaking of a hearty appetite, I’ll challenge you to an eating contest sometime after a hard day’s work. We’ll—”

  A voice announced from an intercom box: “Dr. Russell, your appointment is here.”

  He pressed a button and answered, “Please send Mr. Wilson up.” Then to Cherry, “If Dr. Fairall doesn’t need you immediately, I could use your help in changing a dressing. Broken hand, transplanted tendon—it’s pretty painful for the patient. The poor man fell, and tried to break his fall with his outstretched hand. Let me know on the intercom how soon you can be back here, please.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Cherry said, and left his office thinking about this patient. Goodbye for the time being to an eating contest. It didn’t sound at all romantic, but it might be fun! Cherry sped down the hall and—just as Dr. Grey Russell had predicted—ran down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

  She found that Dr. Fairall was in, and would let her know when he needed her. Cherry changed quickly into her white uniform. She worked with Grey Russell on Mr. Wilson’s artfully reconstructed hand—worked with admiration for Dr. Fairall who had done the surgery and for the silent, concentrating young doctor.

  That first day at Dr. Fairall’s Cherry mostly just got acquainted. She had a whirlwind interview with Dr. Fairall, assisted him in examining and testing a variety of patients, read some patients’ medical histories at his request, and in general learned how the office was run. Dr. Earl Lamb did not come in; neither did the part-time nurse. Everyone—Dr. Fairall, Dr. Grey Russell, Mrs. Wick, Dottie Nash—did his best to help their new R.N.

  By the end of the day Cherry was thoroughly interested in her new job. The Spencer Club wanted to hear all about it, and Cherry told them at supper that evening.

  Even so, interested as the nurses were, Cherry saw their attention wander to the letter on the mantel. Josie Franklin, in particular, kept eyeing it, until Cherry exclaimed:

  “Oh, I can’t wait any longer, either! Gwen, won’t you give up your iron restraint and read it?”

  Gwen silently read a page of her aunt’s letter
. Meanwhile, she handed the girls several color snapshots. These showed a rambling, roomy cottage, surrounded by shady lawns and flower gardens.

  “How can Gwen’s aunt and uncle bear not to use this place themselves?” Bertha exclaimed. And Josie said, “Are we ever lucky!”

  “Ahem!” said Gwen. “Listen to this!” She read aloud from the letter:

  “‘This is the place where you used to visit us, Gwen. You remember, it is near a beach with surf swimming. In another direction is that protected bay for sailing.’” Gwen stopped reading to say that the house was in a pretty Long Island village, with a few stores, and a fascinating swap shop that was run for the benefit of the local church. She read again from the letter:

  “‘Your uncle and I haven’t been able to come East to use the house for several summers, and according to a letter from a village neighbor—unfortunately—’”

  Gwen groaned, then scowled, as she scanned the rest of the letter. Pained cries arose from her three curious listeners.

  “All right, all right, I’ll read you the awful part of it,” Gwen quieted them. “And I quote: ‘The house had been sublet, partially furnished, then stood vacant. We don’t want to sell it because your uncle was born in this house, and he is sentimental about it. Maybe someday we will use it for a retirement place. Our neighbors report that the place is in sad disrepair, and will need a lot of work to make it livable again. The grounds are overgrown. The barn—’”

  “So there’s a barn, too!” said Bertha.

  “‘—needs a coat of paint. The old well should be cleaned out. Anyway—’” Here Gwen fell silent again, to the exasperation of Cherry, Josie, and Bertha.

  “Anyway, what?” they demanded.

  “‘Anyway,’” Gwen read aloud, uncertainty in her freckled face, “‘if you and your nurse friends feel ambitious enough to put some hard work into the house and grounds, the place is yours to use for many years to come. Should you decide to go ahead, your uncle says just to send him the bills for all repairs and expenses like new window glass, paint, grass seed, plumbing, and so on.’” Murmurs of relief and appreciation greeted this fiscal news. Gwen broke into giggles, and read further: