More From A Nurse's Life: More drama, love and laughter from a 1950s nurse (Nurse Jane Grant Book 2)

by Jane Grant

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake tell me what all this is about?’ I cried.

  ‘Well, I told you she flaps and she’s flapping good and strong. Of course,’ added Jo with satisfaction, ‘it didn’t occur to her that Tommy could be brought over in an incubator, which fact I told her in my haughtiest tones.’

  ‘Jo,’ I exploded, stopping her peroration with a well-directed pillow, ‘will you kindly tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘In words of one syllable, kiddo,’ she said obligingly. ‘The Maternity Block is over the kids’ theatre. Right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, if the babes want something done they go to Mark Theatre. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I repeated.

  ‘Well, Mark Theatre is closed, so they’re going to bring the babe – one little Tommy to be exact – over here to have an exchange transfusion.’

  ‘Whassat?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you know it’s one of these Rhesus negative babes who collect antibodies and bump their own blood off with them. Or something,’ she concluded vaguely. ‘Come on, anyway. Let’s get the joint ready.’

  Putting on our nun-like caps, we went into the theatre and prepared it, laying out aprons and gloves, preparing a sterile trolley with dressings and towels, and adjusting the air conditioning.

  ‘They’ll bring their own instruments,’ said Jo. ‘Do you think seventy degrees is too low for little Tommy?’

  ‘I think little T. might like it a little hotter,’ I suggested.

  ‘Now eighty degrees F. I should think should suit little T. down to the ground,’ said Jo.

  For all her bantering, I could see that every point in the operation was being gone over in her mind, so that every emergency that might arise would be covered.

  We looked round the theatre to see if there was any point of preparation we had missed; as we were doing this we heard a rather high-pitched voice call, ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ There was further muttering of ‘Where are those nurses?’ and we went into the passage just in time to stop Sister Potter, carrying two drums, from charging into the theatre.

  Jo said firmly: ‘I’m sorry, Sister, would you mind changing before you come in. The theatre is sterile now.’

  This point had obviously been overlooked by Sister, because she looked a bit sheepish. Sister Potter was a white-haired, red-faced woman, rather burly and the same size all the way down. She now tried to cover her confusion by fussing.

  ‘Have you got the theatre warmed?’ she asked. ‘Have you got any sterile gloves? I’ve brought my drums up.’

  ‘Yes, Sister. Yes, Sister,’ we went on saying, till to our relief she went away to change.

  ‘What does she think this place is – a holiday camp?’ asked Jo. ‘Still, we’ll use her gloves, save us cleaning ours and repacking them.’

  Sister returned in her theatre dress and cap to fuss about the position of the lights, the number of stools, and the number of nurses. Jo scored one point by asking her if she had brought the crucifix; this is the padded splint the baby is put on to keep him still in the correct position. Sister had forgotten this, but she announced that she would tell Nurse to bring it with the other essentials when she went back for the baby.

  While she was gone we arranged stools round the table for two doctors, Sister, one nurse to count the blood, one to hold the baby. There would also be another nurse to act as a runner.

  The nurse from Mark Ward now arrived with the crucifix, the blood, and a tray of restoratives for the baby.

  ‘How long is this going to take?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Anything up to three hours. All night if the child’s bad.’

  ‘Those stools are going to get a bit hard,’ I remarked.

  Sister Potter now returned with the incubator, and having changed her shoes, pushed it into the theatre.

  ‘Everything ready, Nurse?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Jo snappily.

  ‘Doctor’s just coming.’ She hung over the incubator. ‘I unplugged this’ – she consulted her watch – ‘four and a half minutes ago. It will be losing heat.’

  We looked at the thermometer lying by the child’s head, and saw that it registered just under eighty degrees Fahrenheit. The child lay still under the perspex lid of the incubator; it was quite, quite yellow.

  Sister followed our gaze.

  ‘His serum bilirubin was much too high this morning,’ she said, ‘and Dr Foot decided he must do an exchange. When we had another report this evening it was almost over the danger level.’

  ‘Serum what, Sister?’ I asked.

  ‘Serum bilirubin, Nurse,’ said Sister brightly, at last on home ground. ‘That’s how they measure the amount of jaundice, by the breakdown of the red corpuscles. When it reaches a certain level, sometimes, it is thought, permanent brain damage is caused.’

  A diversion was now caused by the entry of Dr Foot, followed by his young houseman, and when they went to scrub up, Sister began fussing again.

  ‘Now, Nurse Fagin,’ she said to the nurse from Mark Ward, ‘you are to hold Baby. Nurse Redding, you stand there to help Doctor gown up. Nurse Grant, you sit down and be ready to write when Doctor wants you to.’

  I settled down comfortably – too comfortably, for on the entry of Dr Foot, Sister felt that now that everything was settled and everyone in position, it was time to unsettle it all again.

  ‘No, Nurse Grant, you had better help Doctor gown up. Nurse Fagin – is your pen ready?’

  I stood by Dr Foot pointlessly as Jo had already started to tie the tapes, while poor Nurse Fagin stood up, sat down, stood up again, and fiddled with her pen. The next moment however we were all in an ‘as you were’ position, as Sister handed the baby to Nurse Fagin and said sharply to me: ‘Now, Nurse, why aren’t you sitting? You won’t be ready to write when Doctor needs you.’

  Sister took the slightly sedated baby, and placed him in position, then she gave him a dummy to suck stuffed with cotton wool soaked in water.

  I reflected that Doctor would be at least half an hour before he needed me, but who was I to refuse the chance of sitting down on duty?

  ‘Nurse Redding, I want you to stay here in case Doctor wants anything.’ This meant that Jo was established as ‘runner’.

  Fortunately, as the operation was now about to start, there was no time to make any more changes as Sister was fully occupied. She held the baby while Dr Foot cleaned the small area round the groin, and put in position the sterile towels. A tiny nick in the baby’s groin was made under a local anaesthetic, and the femoral vein was exposed. The thin polythene tubing was inserted and tied gently round the vein. A syringe was attached and ten cc’s of blood withdrawn. This was put aside in various bottles for the pathological laboratory.

  ‘Ten out,’ said Dr Foot ponderously.

  I proudly wrote ‘10’ under my Out column. Somehow this did not seem to be contributing enough to the evening’s proceedings, so I tried to improve the figures by thickening them, and wrote ‘cc’s’ after them. Next I drew a rather wobbly line between the Out and the In Column.

  By this time I was ready for the ‘In’ call.

  ‘Ten In!’

  The operation proceeded. Just as I was getting rather bored and sleepy and was beginning to draw twiddly bits round the edge of the chart, I got asked for a count. With considerable effort I added ten and ten and ten and ten and ten, and made it fifty.

  Fifty cc’s of blood full of the mother’s antibodies had now been withdrawn, and fifty cc’s of new blood had replaced it.

  ‘We’d better send another specimen,’ said the doctor.

  More blood was squirted into bottles, and Jo, relieved to get out of the hot atmosphere, set off on her journey to the emergency Path Lab.

  I glanced at the baby. He was sleeping soundly, occasionally sucking automatically. He was quite the most disinterested party in the place. His yellow wrinkled face bore an expression of the utmost disdain for the proceedings.

  The operation continued for a
nother hour or so. It was difficult to believe that an affair so boring and tiresome for everyone could be so vital for the baby. Even Sister began to get a slightly glazed look at the end of the fourth hour. The two doctors were complaining bitterly of stiff limbs and aching heads, from having to maintain the same awkward leaning positions.

  At long, long last the final count was taken, and the final specimen sent off. The tube was withdrawn, a stitch put in the groin, and a dressing laid on. The doctor took one quick look at the baby, then seemed to lose all interest in him. Yawning and stretching, he announced, ‘I’m going to bed,’ and went out followed by his houseman.

  Sister was left to pick up the tiny living thing and place him in his incubator, which had been plugged in in his absence, and was now nice and warm again, with the oxygen and air cylinder giving him the breath of life. Wrapping him up tenderly, smiling and murmuring, ‘Good boy, Tommy,’ she wheeled him quietly out of the theatre.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After what seemed a long time on nights I came off duty one morning to see a gloomy Jackie O’Connor coming towards me as I crossed the courtyard to the Nurses’ Home.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘Heard the good news?’ Her face indicated that it was anything but good news.

  ‘What’s that?’ I replied yawning.

  ‘You’re coming off night duty.’

  ‘What?’ I exclaimed, temporarily waking up. You’re sure it’s me? Jo’s been on longer than I have.’

  ‘Oh, rumour has it that Jo is coming up for a blue dress, so they’ll be keeping her on for a bit.’

  ‘Jo a Sister? Oh, good.’

  ‘But all I know is I’m coming on next Monday instead of you.’

  ‘Well, no one’s said anything to me,’ I said indignantly.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, kiddo,’ was the comforting reply. ‘You’ll be the last one they tell. But the grapevine says you’re going down to Gynie next week.’

  Cheered up by this news, I went upstairs, and when Mary came off for her morning’s off duty I was waiting impatiently in her room for her.

  ‘Jane, have you heard?’ she exclaimed on seeing me. ‘You’re coming off night duty next week.’

  Forestalled again by the grapevine, I asked crossly who had told her.

  ‘Oh, Bob Black. He got it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘Which horse?’

  ‘Oh, somewhere on main theatres,’ she replied vaguely. ‘By the way did you hear Kendall’s latest?’

  ‘No, what?’ I asked pricking up my ears. Kendall’s exploits were usually material for a good story.

  ‘Well,’ continued Mary, ‘you know the bomb site the other side of the Home?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said impatiently. The bombed site, a large area, had been turned into a garden, but it was still generally known as the Bomb Site.

  ‘Well,’ continued Mary, ‘Kendall reported to Home Sister that she saw a man exposing himself there, and Brown said, well, she didn’t quite know whether to report it or not. Was Kendall sure? She said, “Oh yes, Sister, quite sure. You see, I got my field-glasses out”!’

  We giggled for some time, but when I asked, ‘How’s Mike?’ all giggling stopped abruptly.

  ‘All right,’ said Mary.

  ‘What does “all right” mean?’

  Mary got up to look out of the window. There was a pregnant silence, then she said quietly over her shoulder: ‘He’s going down to see Phyllis this weekend.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To tell her he wants to finish with her. He realises he’s made a fool of himself and wants to do something definite now.’

  ‘About time,’ I said unsympathetically.

  Mary gave me a reproachful look, but I did not feel in the mood to offer sympathy; besides I was very sleepy.

  ‘I’m off to bed, love,’ I said, turning to go.

  ‘Jane – just a minute,’ said Mary.

  ‘Well?’ I said, stopping in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t – don’t think too badly of him – or me. Please.’

  ‘Ducky,’ I said, ‘it’s your life. I just don’t want to see you hurt. How do you know it won’t happen to you next time?’

  ‘Oh, it’s quite different,’ said Mary impatiently. ‘Don’t you see that? Phyllis is so cute. You could understand him falling for her, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but what about the next cute girl that comes along?’

  ‘He’ll know, Jane. He’ll know. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough?’

  ‘Well, I hope so, Mary,’ I said. ‘Really and truly I do hope so.’ Then, giving a gigantic yawn, and feeling completely indifferent to all my friend’s feelings but wishing only for sleep, I left her and went to bed.

  ‘Well, Nurse,’ said Sister Blythe that evening, ‘you have nearly completed your spell of night duty. Nurse O’Connor will relieve you on Monday.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister,’ I said, trying to appear as if this was news to me.

  ‘You will be due for four nights off now, and that will take you up to the weekend.’

  I nodded. Funny, I thought, how she always made me want to nod.

  ‘I believe,’ continued Sister, a slight smile playing round her mouth, ‘I believe you missed your weekend coming on to night duty, so you can take it then, and report to Sister Judgeson of Gynaecological Theatres on Monday.’

  ‘Oh, Sister,’ I gasped. ‘How lovely! Thank you very much indeed. Thank you!’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Sister primly. ‘Now would you be kind enough to prepare some many-tailed bandages tonight? We used the last today. I like to have,’ she concluded stiffly, ‘a stock of at least three.’

  Dismissed, I went off to tell the news to Jo. I was in such a good humour that I did not at first notice that she was rather silent.

  ‘A whole week!’ I chortled. ‘Gosh, I just don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Except eat and sleep, of course, and then a little more eating and sleeping.’

  Jo smiled faintly. ‘I shall miss you, Jane,’ she said sadly.

  ‘What’s wrong, honey?’

  ‘Well, my news wasn’t as good as yours this morning. I had a letter from home, my father’s not very well.’

  ‘Oh no – I am sorry,’ I cried, feeling for her being so far away from her people.

  ‘You know,’ she said, toying with her needle and cotton over the linen bandage, ‘you know my parents are separated. I came over here to train chiefly to get away from the bickering.’

  I wrinkled my brow sympathetically but said nothing.

  ‘Well, I got away from it all right. Five years, and all the time just pushing your feelings under the mat, not wanting to hurt them or to get hurt. Now they want me back. It seems as if they need me. So I’ll go.’

  ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ I said. ‘I think you’ll be happier away from here.’

  ‘You know something?’ she asked with a crooked smile. ‘I think you’re right.’

  Charles came to see me off from the station. I was travelling in my usual way with at least two suitcases too many.

  ‘I don’t know why,’ grumbled Charles, wrestling with an exceptionally heavy case, ‘you need three cases to go home for a week.’

  ‘I like to be covered for all emergencies.’

  ‘A true theatre nurse!’ he said bitterly.

  The guard whistled and the train began the usual subterranean mumblings which indicate it is getting ready to go.

  ‘Goodbye, dear Charles,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much for everything.’

  The old character that I knew so well came to the fore as he bowed in a stately fashion and doffed his imaginary cap.

  ‘Farewell, me fair damsel. You’ll come to court again I trust?’

  ‘Surely, sir,’ I replied curtsying at the window as the train pulled out.

  Sitting in the carriage alone, it was suddenly borne in on me that I wasn’t in love with Charles at all. It was just that when he reappeared in my life I was uncommon
ly lonely. With the realisation of this fact, I felt even more lonely.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ I said. ‘Night duty always makes you feel cast down.’ I leaned back in the corner, trying to cheer myself up with thoughts of a week’s leave and breakfast in bed every day.

  I must have dozed off, as the next thing I knew I was being washed thoroughly by Sally, Colin’s dog, who had leapt into the carriage to greet me, and was evidently under the impression that I needed cleaning up to get rid of the London taste.

  ‘Colin!’ I exclaimed in amazement, staggering out of the carriage on to the platform. ‘What’s brought you out so early in the morning?’

  I began to remove the first two layers of dog hair from my new coat.

  ‘Sally, you old rascal! She’s moulting,’ explained Colin.

  ‘Glimpses of the obvious!’ I said bitterly. ‘Honestly, Colin, I’ve never known you meet my train before.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t have anything better to do,’ was my brother’s ungallant reply. ‘Anyway, Jane, I’ve thought of what we can do all this week.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I said doubtfully. Colin’s ideas of amusement were usually unglamorous and exhausting, like swimming across the estuary, and tramping three miles to a Meet.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a smashing idea,’ said Colin, quite unperturbed by my discouraging tone. ‘I’ll teach you to drive.’

  ‘Colin! You need your head looking at! You can’t drive your frightful Hot Rod, let alone teach me.’

  ‘Rubbish. I’ve held a licence for two years. Oh, come on, Jane. It’s jolly nice of me to suggest it really. Honestly, your education isn’t complete if you don’t know how to drive.’

  ‘Well – I haven’t got a licence,’ I said becoming scared and hoping this would be an insuperable difficulty.

  ‘Oh, never mind about that,’ said Colin gaily. ‘I’ll give you a basic training on private property.’

  ‘Colin, I’m tired,’ I said with all the pathos I could summon up. ‘I’ve been up all night. Let me learn to be a Monarch of the Road some other time.’

  But Colin was fired with enthusiasm for his new scheme, and showed no sign of having heard this last remark.