* * *
“Good morning, Doctor O’Reilly,” Maggie Houston said as she opened her front door. It was an informal morning. She wasn’t wearing her teeth. Her hat, hanging on a hat stand, had fresh bluebells and yellow broom in the band.
The Houstons’ dogs could be heard barking from the kitchen.
“Morning, Maggie. This is Doctor Nelson. He’s working with me. Training to be a GP. Doctor Nelson, Mrs. Sonny Houston.”
Connor inclined his head.
“Pleased til meet you, sir,” Maggie said. “Come on on in.” She led the way.
O’Reilly let Connor go first into the sitting room.
“If youse have come til see about Sonny’s anaemia, he’s out. He ran Eileen’s chisslers til school and he’s doing some messages in Bangor.” She indicated a couple of armchairs.
O’Reilly and Connor sat. “I’m sorry we’ve missed him.” O’Reilly turned to Connor. “Sonny—Mister Houston—has controlled pernicious anaemia,” O’Reilly said. “Doctor Laverty made an astute diagnosis without needing to send Sonny to see a consultant.”
“Good for him,” Connor said. “It usually needs a bone marrow biopsy.”
“It does.” O’Reilly was pleased with Connor’s knowledge. “And no, Maggie. We’ve come to see Eileen.”
“She’s in the kitchen. Will I get her?”
“Please.”
Maggie headed off.
O’Reilly said, sotto voce, “I know you’ve a sweet tooth, but if Maggie offers you her plum cake, avoid it or you might break a tooth.”
Connor chuckled. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Here’s Eileen,” Maggie said.
O’Reilly and Connor both rose as was fitting when a woman entered a room. Pleasantries and introductions were exchanged.
“I’ll leave youse alone,” Maggie said. “I’ll make us a cup of tea in our hands for when youse is finished. I just poured a pot but it needs to stew a bit longer.”
O’Reilly’s head shake to Connor was nearly imperceptible. He said, “Take a pew, Eileen,” and waited until she sat down on a high-backed chair. He noticed that her brown hair was neatly brushed and her blue eyes were bright and full of life. He and Connor sat. “How are you feeling, Eileen?”
“Rightly,” she said. “I was already getting well mended when they discharged me from the Royal on the twenty-third, and I don’t think I could be much better than I am now. Mister and Mrs. Houston have been dead on. I don’t know how to thank them enough for looking after me and the weans.”
O’Reilly smiled. “I’ve known them both for a lot of years. The only thanks they’ll want is for you to get better.” He leant over and took her pulse. “Perfect,” he said. “Doctor Laverty really just wanted us to pop in to make sure you were all right and not having any more symptoms. And you’re not, are you?”
“Nary the one, thanks be.”
O’Reilly turned to Connor. “One thing about country folk like Eileen, she’d need to be at death’s door before she’d call us out. That’s why it’s part of the routine to pop in like this.”
“I understand. I suppose I’m more familiar with city folks.” Connor smiled. “I think, Doctor O’Reilly, a GP here could get much closer to his patients—”
“Here we are,” said Maggie, carrying a tea tray. She set it on a table. “Just let it stew a wee bit longer,” she said. “For when youse doctors is finished.”
“We’re pretty well done, Maggie,” O’Reilly said. “When are you due back at the Royal, Eileen?”
“Two weeks for blood and urine tests, but Doctor O’Reilly, sir, I need to get back to work—and me and the kiddies need to get back into our own home. The sick leave money Doctor Laverty got for me’s not bad, but…” She pursed her lips and shrugged.
“Eileen’s a shifter in a mill in Belfast,” O’Reilly explained. “Do you think we could let her start work again, Doctor Nelson?”
Connor rubbed his chin with the web of his hand. “There’s not much point examining you, Mrs.…?”
“Lindsay, sir.”
“Once the acute episode’s over, and clearly it is, there’s really nothing to find. Do you feel well enough, Mrs. Lindsay?”
She nodded. “Aye, sir, I do.”
“And you’re sure there’s no more abdominal pain, no confusion, no pain in your arms or legs.”
“No, sir.”
“And no heart palpitations, or vomiting.”
“Not at all, sir.”
Connor rummaged in his bag and fished out a sphygmomanometer. “Just to be on the safe said,” he said, taking her blood pressure. “Perfectly normal.”
O’Reilly approved of the young man’s thoroughness.
Connor asked, “And you’d let us know at once if you started feeling sick again?”
“I would, sir. Cross my heart.”
“Doctor O’Reilly,” Connor said, “I don’t see why not.”
“I agree.” It seemed Eileen, who might have become a candidate for some of Kinky and Archie’s Grand National winnings, would not be in need once she was back at work.
“Honest to God?” Eileen’s smile was vast.
“Now, excuse me interrupting,” said Maggie, “but you and yours is welcome til stay here for as long as yiz like, you know.”
“Oh, Maggie, you and Sonny have been so sweet, but I’d like til get home.”
“Never you worry,” Maggie said. “I’ll help you get your stuff redd up and Sonny’ll run you home after he gets back. And he’ll bring the kiddies to you after school’s out. He’s a few things he was getting for Hester Doran. Her husband’s going across til Scotland, to Stranraer on the Larne ferry, to some big agricultural show, and Sonny offered to do some shopping for her while he was out.” She started to pour tea. “Poor oul Hester’s still getting over them bruises, but she’s nearly back on her feet.”
O’Reilly turned to Connor. “Hester Doran is a bit accident-prone, I’m afraid. Has been since she was a little girl. She fell off a stool in the kitchen two weeks ago and broke her wrist and blacked her eye. The cast made her a little off-balance and a week later she had another wobble and a few more bruises. But Sonny and Maggie have been keeping an eye on her and I’m glad to hear she’s getting better, just like you, Eileen. And as to you getting back to work, today’s Monday. Give yourself a day or two to get back into your home routine. You’ll likely need to buy groceries, things like that, then off you trot. Say on Thursday?”
Eileen’s smile was vast. “That’ll be great, sir, so it will.”
“And to celebrate,” said Maggie, “we’ll all have a cup of tea and some of my plum cake.”
O’Reilly was at a loss for an excuse. He inhaled deeply and was about to accept a cup when the front door opened. Moments later Sonny appeared, helping Hester Doran into the room and onto the sofa. Not waiting for any introductions, Sonny said, “Doctor O’Reilly, I don’t know why you are here, but your presence is most fortuitous. Hester’s had another accident.”
26
Be Bruised in a New Place
O’Reilly stopped reaching for the offered cup of tea. He moved to the couch where Hester Doran, wearing a calf-length floral smock with buttons the whole length of the front, sat propped up on cushions that Sonny had arranged for her. Sonny had stepped back, putting his arm protectively round his wife’s shoulder. Eileen sat silently watching.
“In the wars again, Hester?” said O’Reilly. Barry had splinted her broken wrist the day she had fallen off a stepladder and then he’d sent her to the Royal for treatment. He had told O’Reilly about her at dinner that evening.
She nodded but said nothing.
The bruise of two weeks ago beneath her right eye had faded. O’Reilly glanced at the cast on her left forearm. What would have been pure white when the surgeon at the Royal had applied it was a muddy grey now. Working on a farm was not the cleanest of pursuits, and O’Reilly knew that Hester was a hard worker. He knelt beside the couch and looked int
o her eyes. He spoke softly. “You’ve not had a good two weeks, Hester, you poor thing. You fell and broke your wrist and blacked your eye, then a week later you came to see Sonny and Maggie because you’d taken another tumble, isn’t that right?” This recapping of her recent history was for Connor’s benefit.
She whispered, “Yes, sir.”
“And what happened today?”
She nodded, pointed to her left breast, and stared at the floor as she spoke. “I was in the byre. Someone had left a hay rake on the floor. It was half hidden by straw. I stood on the tines and the handle flew up and hit me a right dunder, so it did.”
“But you didn’t fall down?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Certain? It’s important.”
“Yes, sir. Honest til God.”
O’Reilly was satisfied that she’d not lost consciousness, but for Connor’s benefit he asked her the requisite questions to establish that she was fully orientated in space and time, then asked, “Are you sore anywhere else?”
“No, sir.”
“Sonny, can you add anything?”
“Not really, Doctor. I let myself into the house with the things she’d asked me to get in Bangor. Hester was sitting at the kitchen drying her eyes.”
O’Reilly could imagine the initial pain of such a wallop.
“I brought her here first so I could let Maggie know what was going on, and then I was going to bring Hester to see you in the surgery.”
“Thank you,” O’Reilly said. “Now, Doctor Nelson and I will need to have a look…”
“Come on, Maggie,” Sonny said. “We’ll leave the doctors to their work.” They and Eileen left.
“Can I see your arm, please?”
Hester offered it. O’Reilly examined it and repeated his findings to Connor. “Cast is tight, but not too tight. Hand is warm. Fingers are not swollen. Can you wiggle them, Hester?”
She did.
“So the wrist seems to be coming along. Time to take a look at the sore spot. Can I help you with the buttons?” O’Reilly asked.
“Please,” she said. “It’s tricky with this here cast.”
Soon Hester was uncovered from her neck to her waist.
“I see,” said O’Reilly, peering at an angry-looking purple bruise right in the centre of her left breast. It was larger than he’d have expected, but bruises could spread quickly, and this one had. “See that, Doctor Nelson,” he said, and grimaced. “That must have hurt, wouldn’t you agree?”
Connor Nelson nodded his head once but said nothing.
“I’m just going to squeeze your chest, Hester.” And putting one hand behind her back and one beneath her left breast, O’Reilly pushed them toward each other. “Did that hurt?”
“No, Doctor.”
“Then you’re not likely to have a broken rib.”
“I’m very glad about that. This bruise and a bust wrist are enough to be getting on with.”
“Indeed they are. On the bright side, bruises usually heal pretty quickly and you’ll be out of the cast in another four weeks. So just to be certain, Hester, are you sore anywhere else? Anywhere at all?”
She shook her head.
“Doctor Nelson, is there anything you’d like to ask Mrs. Doran?”
Connor said, “Mrs. Houston mentioned that Mister Doran was going to Stranraer? He wasn’t at home when you got hurt?”
Her eyes were downcast, but her voice was emphatic. “No, I was all alone in the byre, so I was. He left first thing this morning. He’ll not be back ’til Saturday. He’s booked on the noon ferry from Stranraer.”
“Thank you,” Connor said. “That’s all I wondered about.”
O’Reilly nodded. “Now let’s get you dressed.” He helped her, then opened his bag and fished out a free sample that had been left by a pharmaceutical company’s representative. “Here’s some Panadol. It won’t cure your bruise, but one every six hours’ll make the pain less.”
“Thank you very much, Doctor O’Reilly,” she said.
“And,” he said, glancing at the tray with its teapot, cups and saucers, milk and sugar, and a crockery plate of Maggie’s armour-plated plum cake, “I’m sure the tea’s cold by now, but I know Maggie will be happy to make another pot after we’ve gone. I want you to rest up here for a few hours.”
Maggie stuck her head round the door. “Did someone say more tea?”
O’Reilly wondered if Maggie had been listening in. He’d not put it past her.
“I’ll see til that, so I will,” said Maggie, “and you can stay til the cows come home, Hester dear.”
“Thank you, Maggie. I’m feeling a bit peely-wally.”
O’Reilly was not surprised that she felt out-of-sorts. “Doctor Nelson and I have to be running along.” He looked at Connor and inclined his head toward the door. “If the pain doesn’t get any better in a few days and the bruise doesn’t start to fade, give us a call. Otherwise, pop into the surgery in about a week and one of us will see you.”
“I will, Doctor,” she said. She cast her eyes down. “And then,” she said with a deep sigh, “and then after a wee cuppa and a rest, I suppose I’d better be running along home. I’ve chores to attend to. The eggs won’t collect themselves, so they won’t.”
* * *
When they got to the car, Kenny was standing on the backseat of the Rover, paws against the window, nose pressed to the glass. Arthur Guinness was asleep on the backseat. Kenny gave a delighted “yip” as the two men approached.
“Hop in, Connor,” O’Reilly said, then let himself in and started the engine. “Poor old Hester. She’s been clumsy since she was a wee girl. But she’ll be all right.”
O’Reilly took a sidelong glance at Connor, who seemed to be deep in thought. O’Reilly had hoped for a more sociable companion, but he had to remember it was only the lad’s first day. He drove down from the Houstons’ house toward the Bangor to Belfast Road. Ahead was Belfast Lough, shimmering in the May sunshine. Overhead, a few puffy clouds hung. Lapwing staggered across the cerulean. O’Reilly found himself enjoying the calm until Connor said, “I’m not so sure she will be.”
“Come on. It’s only a bruise. She’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Connor half turned in his seat. “Doctor O’Reilly, may I ask you a q-question or two?”
“First of all, it’s Fingal, and second, how the blazes do you expect to learn if you don’t?” He braked—hard—for a hare, its great hind legs pumping, who had made the wrong decision about when to cross the road. “Eejit rabbit,” he roared out the window. “You nearly got yourself killed.” He accelerated. “Go on, Connor.”
Connor Nelson inhaled, then said, “Where did you grow up, Fingal?”
O’Reilly frowned. “Holywood in County Down and later in Ballsbridge, Dublin. Lansdowne Road to be precise. Why?”
“I told you when I was wee my daddy was out of work for a b-brave while, and when he got a job and we left the country, our house was on Rydalmere Street in Belfast. Ballsbridge is where the toffs live in Dublin, and no harm to you, but that would include you, Fingal. Rydalmere Street wasn’t upper class.”
O’Reilly stopped at the junction with the main road and waited for a gap in the traffic. “I’m not sure I’m following.” What the divil had their differences in background to do with Hester Doran? He admired Connor and how he had got himself through medical school despite his poverty, but he hoped the youngster wasn’t going to make a song and dance out of it. “And if the implication is that I’ve no insight into how the other half lives, I spent a year as a GP in the Liberties in Dublin. It doesn’t get any rougher.”
“Aye,” said Connor, “but you didn’t live there. You may have been respected as a physician, but you were an outsider, a ‘blow-in’ as far as the people who did live there were concerned.”
He thought he had been respected and well liked, but O’Reilly was willing to concede the point. He nodded. “True. I’ll grant you that. But I still don’t se
e—”
“Y-you’ve just told me about your patient Hester Doran. Three accidents in two weeks? That’s a b-brave lot. How many women in the Liberties did you see with a history of frequent repeated trauma like that?”
“Trauma? That might be overstating things, don’t you think? It started because the poor woman fell off a stool trying to reach something on a top shelf.”
O’Reilly found a gap in the traffic and turned left, heading back toward Ballybucklebo. “But to answer your question, people were always having accidents, and what the natives there called ‘ruggy ups,’ street brawls, were ten a penny…” He slowed behind a Dale Farm Dairy lorry stacked high with aluminium churns heading to the facility so their contents could be pasteurised, bottled, and crated for delivery by milkmen like Archie Auchinleck. “But the locals didn’t run to the doctor, even if the dispensary doctor didn’t cost them anything, for bumps and bruises, so, honestly? I don’t believe I ever saw anyone like that. Not three times in two weeks.” Was Connor Nelson suggesting there might be some underlying causative medical condition that O’Reilly and Barry were missing? O’Reilly shook his head. He could think of nothing that would cause an adult to step on a half-concealed hay rake. He said, “Most of the cuts and bruises I patched up came from brawls.” He laughed. “And there were some pretty good women fighters too.” He smiled remembering Aungier Place and the surrounding roads like Peter Street and Francis Street. “I did a bit of boxing back then. There were one or two local members of the gentler sex I’d not like to have gone three rounds with.”
“I knew you were a rugby international…”
No doubt the young man had made enquiries about his potential mentor before applying for the job.
“… but I didn’t know you were a boxer, Fingal.”
O’Reilly laughed. “You thought I was born with my bent nose and cauliflower ears? It might surprise you to know that your highly respected teacher, Mister Charlie Greer, broke my schnozzle in 1935.” He grinned. “Made an awful crunching noise when it went.”
An Irish Country Practice Page 23