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The Gentle Surgeon

Page 5

by Hilda Pressley


  “Not since my second year, Sister.”

  “I see. Well, fortunately I do have another staff nurse and a good third-year nurse,” she said acidly, making Christine feel like a raw, and rather useless, pro. “How many instruments do you know?”

  “Oh, quite a good many, I think, Sister.”

  “A theater staff nurse should know them all.”

  “Perhaps I do, Sister,” Christine said spiritedly. “I’ll go through them this afternoon and find out.”

  “It’s my half-day, Staff Nurse. I hope you realize that. You have to take your off-duty this morning.”

  “Yes, Sister, I know. I intend to spend it brushing up my theater technique. I have a good textbook.”

  A glimmer of respect showed in Sister Kelly’s eyes. “Whose is it? The Nurses’ Aids series?”

  “I have that. Also an Evelyn Pearce.”

  “Well, I’ll lend you mine. You can go to my room and get it from the bookshelf, if you like. It’s American. Operating Room Technique. St. Mary’s Hospital, Minnesota. You’ll take care of it, of course?”

  Christine tried not to show too much surprise at this unexpected volte-face.

  “Oh, yes, Sister. Thank you very much I’ll take great care of it.”

  “Right. That will be all for the moment. Sunday mornings all the trolley wheels are taken apart and cleaned. Make sure the nurses do them properly. I expect them to be done and walls and floor washed down by nine-thirty when you and Nurse Wilkins go off duty. Oh—and, Staff Nurse, I allow no slackness in my theater. Can’t afford to. And I clamp down heavily on nurses talking to the surgeons—particularly the housemen. I expect my staff to conduct their private affairs in their own time, not mine.”

  Christine left the theater office and went to the main body of the operating theater. This was her first real encounter with Sister Kelly, and it seemed to her that she was the sort of person who could be either enemy or friend, depending on whether or not one got on the right side of her.

  That she was something of a bully was already reputed, but apparently she was prepared to respect anyone who stood up to her. It was easy to see what made her a good theater sister, Christine thought. She was keen and efficient and expected the same of her staff. But would she also prove to be fair and just?

  Christine decided she would have to get to know Sister Kelly a little better before she could assess her character fairly or even say whether she liked her. She was not a woman who smiled very easily and would probably be difficult to get to know, but maybe those nurses who condemned her scarcely did her justice.

  The smell of ether as Christine opened the theater door did not surprise her. Evidently this was still used to clean the wheels of the instrument tables, the lotion bowl stands and the various trolleys. The leftovers from the drip bottles were saved in an old bottle during the week, and soaked pieces of old rag steadily dissolved any accumulation of dirt and grease so that the wheels ran smoothly at a touch.

  “I think Townsend’s a fool. It stands to reason, if you’re not prepared to give a man what he wants you stand a chance of losing him.” Christine halted as if she had been struck. The two nurses had their backs to the door. The trolleys upended, one was removing the wheels while the other applied the ether.

  “Well, if that’s all a man wants—”

  Christine closed the door. “That job would be done a little quicker if you nurses didn’t talk quite so much,” she said coldly.

  The two wheeled around, startled. Christine looked at them for a moment. Nurse Swenwick, the first one who had spoken, was a small fair girl, incredibly slender. Was that really her outlook? Keep a man’s love by allowing him whatever sexual pleasure he might want?

  The other, Nurse Adcock, an attractive brunette, had a much more sound philosophy. Christine wondered whether to ignore Nurse Swenwick’s remark. That would be more dignified, perhaps, and save embarrassment. On the other hand, things were better brought out into the open.

  “Nurse Swenwick,” she said severely, “you have a very nasty mind. Fortunately, not everyone shares your view, and you should think twice before voicing an opinion like that about other people. Certainly before you start bandying names about.”

  Nurse Swenwick went a dull, sulky red and bent to her task of screwing on the runners that had been cleaned. She made no effort to apologize. Christine hardly expected it. She only hoped that what she had said had made an impression. It just wasn’t true that Rob had grown tired of her because she had wanted to wait until their marriage before carrying love-making to its ultimate conclusion. At least, she hoped not. There had been times, of course, when she knew instinctively that he felt the desire to, but he had wanted to wait for more ideal conditions just as much as she had.

  Didn’t the Nurse Swenwicks of the world realize that sex was so powerful an emotional instinct that some control was essential for happiness? And the best kind of control was a love deep enough to put the wellbeing of the other person before the gratification of one’s desire. And this applied both inside of marriage and out.

  Sunday was usually a quiet day in theater, the day when glove repairs were done, dressings prepared, drums filled and all equipment examined. Often, if all remained quiet and there were no emergencies, the nurses would practise tray and trolley setting or try out their bandaging on each other. Christine thought she herself might have a little time in which to look at a textbook. She had found Sister Kelly’s book extremely good, and when she had returned it on going back on duty Sister had said she could keep it for a little while longer. Christine left the book on the desk in the office, hoping for a quiet half-hour later on in the evening.

  She was in the operating theater looking over some practice trolleys, when the door opened and John Taylor came in.

  His surprise and pleasure on seeing Christine was obvious. “Hello, Nurse Townsend. I didn’t know you were in theater.” Christine was thankful he hadn’t forgotten himself and called her Christine.

  “I just started this morning, Dr. Taylor.”

  He smiled. “Is it a permanent arrangement, or will you be popping off somewhere else in a week or two?”

  “Matron didn’t say for how long, Dr. Taylor.”

  “Oh. Well, I hope it’s for a nice long period,”

  Out of the corner of her eye Christine could see the eyes of the two student nurses fairly boggling.

  “I’m in charge of theater for the moment, Dr. Taylor,” she said quickly. “Was there something you wanted to see me about?”

  John turned back to the door. “Er—yes, Nurse. I’ll have a word with you in the office.”

  Christine told the nurses to carry on with anything they wanted to do and went along to the office with the surgeon. “I just want to check up on tomorrow’s list,” he said. “It’s pretty full, but I’d like to fit in a closure of colostomy if possible. Perhaps at the end of the list after Mr. Cook has gone.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that, Nurse. Add it to the bottom of the list. I’ll see that Simpson One is notified.” He turned to smile at her and took a few steps in the direction of the door. “I’m glad you’re in theater, Christine. I shall see more of you. I enjoyed our conversation the other day—and meeting your mother. I was wondering if you’d come to the theater with me one evening—and maybe have a meal first.”

  She knew a small thrill of pleasure. “That’s awfully nice of you, Dr. Taylor. I’d love to.”

  “Good. When shall it be, then?”

  They fixed it for Friday, Christine’s next day off, and as she would be at home, he said he would call for her.

  “If you can find your way again,” she said smiling.

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  He put his hand lightly on her shoulder, then dropped it again quickly as Nurse Swenwick appeared in the doorway.

  For the first time in her nursing career, Christine deplored the custom of nurses wearing rubber-soled shoes as she saw the calculating look in Nurse Swenwick’s eyes.

 
; With a mind and a tongue like hers, who knew what conclusions she would draw—and broadcast?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Christine gathered together her professional composure, “Yes, Nurse? What is it?”

  “A telephone message for Dr. Taylor—from Receiving Ward Sister. There’s an emergency admission.”

  Theater telephone was situated in the sterilizing annex next to the operating room so that it could be heard when operations were in progress.

  “Thank you, Nurse,” Christine said in a tone of dismissal that brought a hostile stare from Nurse Swenwick. She turned and went back into the theater.

  Obviously the girl was still feeling resentful as a result of the morning’s encounter.

  “I’d better get along,” John said. “It’ll probably be a case for theater. If it is, I’ll give you a call just as soon as I can.” Christine set about at once making tentative preparations, switching on sterilizers, taking the catches off the drums and warning the nurses to tidy their own things away.

  “If it is a case for us, I want you to towel-up, Nurse Swenwick, then tie gowns and stand by lotions and so on. Nurse Adcock, you set the anesthetic trolley, then stand by swab stand.”

  Ten minutes later John called. “It’s a miner, Nurse Townsend. Not an accident case, but he was brought up from the pit. He’s for appendectomy, and in a pretty collapsed condition. Prep him in theater, will you? Receiving Ward Sister has given him his premedication. I’ll get the M.O. on duty to give the anesthetic.”

  “Spinal, Dr. Taylor?”

  “Yes.”

  Christine gave her instructions to the two nurses and began scrubbing up while Nurse Swenwick laid out sterile towels on the instrument trolleys. As a great many emergency operations were abdominal, Christine had already put the general set of instruments in the sterilizer, and had also included two deep retractors, four Moynihan’s gall-bladder forceps and straight and curved Doyen’s intestinal clamps. Suction nozzles and connections were in ready-sterile packs.

  Nurse Swenwick was tying Christine’s gown when the door opened and Robert came in.

  “Patient in yet, Nurse?” he asked, not recognizing her at first in her theater cap and mask.

  He went to one of the sinks and started to wield a scrubbing brush.

  “Yes, Dr. Marston. The patient is ready.”

  He turned his head around sharply. “Chris! Good lord! I didn’t know you were in theater.”

  “I only started this morning.”

  Christine went to the nurses’ glove box and took out a sterile packet containing gloves and powder. She dusted her hands lightly, then being careful not to touch the outer, sterile part she put on one glove, leaving the cuff turned back. Next she put on the second glove, the gloved hand touching only the outside of the other. This procedure was important.

  “How is Sandra?” she found herself asking Robert as she pulled the cuffs of the gloves over the sleeves of her sterile gown.

  She almost dreaded his answer; hoped he would say, “Don’t know, haven’t heard since I took her home.” But instead he replied, “She’s coming back to her job next week.”

  So he’d heard from her. Christine wasn’t really surprised, of course. She’d just been guilty of wishful thinking.

  “I’m glad,” she said and began to prepare the sutures. Robert clumped through to the anesthetic room, his hands wrapped in a sterile towel. Christine compressed her lips and concentrated fiercely. This would happen all the time—meeting Robert, making ordinary conversation with him. She would just have to get used to it.

  As she was setting out the instruments she heard John come in and begin scrubbing up, and a few minutes later Jones wheeled in the patient and helped to put him in position on the table.

  Christine picked up a pair of dressing forceps and cleaned the area of incision with ether soap, then followed with ether meth, or, as the textbooks called it, methylated ether. It was not usual for a surgeon to have an assistant just for an appendix operation, so she put on the large sterile sheet with its cut-out area herself and had the towels clipped on by the time John took his place at the table.

  “Good work, Nurse Townsend,” he said quietly.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She handed him a knife and from the corner of her eye caught Robert’s eyes on her. What was he thinking? she wondered. What would he say if he knew John had asked her out? Would he be jealous?

  As the great majority of appendixes are reached satisfactorily through the right lower muscle-splitting incision, this was the one John used. Christine forgot about Robert and gave all she had to assisting John with the operation, taking care of artery forceps and swabs, following the operation step by step, anticipating his needs. As soon as the peritoneum was opened its edges were clamped to the moist gauze sponges already surrounding the wound, and cultures were taken of the peritoneal fluid. The caecum presented itself almost immediately. John pulled it into the wound and, holding it in a piece of moist gauze, delivered the appendix.

  Christine handed him the two Doyen’s curved clamps. “Transfixion sutures, sir?”

  He nodded. “Looks as though we were only just in time. Pus was already forming.”

  With the vessels of the mesentery tied off, the stump of the appendix was crushed and the appendix ligated. A purse-string suture was laid in the wall of the caecum at the base of the appendix, John taking care not to perforate the blood vessels where the mesentery of the appendix was attached. Christine held the appendix upward and walled off the caecum with moist gauze to prevent contamination. The appendix was then removed by diathermy.

  “Suction, please, Nurse.”

  Christine handed him the sterile nozzle and rubber tubing, nodding to Nurse Swenwick to attach the other end of the suction bottles. Then, with the closing of the peritoneum and layers of muscle, and Michel’s clips used for the skin wound, the operation was finished.

  “Thank you, Nurse Townsend,” said John, peeling off his gloves. Christine responded, and supervised the lifting of the patient on to the stretcher trolley to be taken to Simpson One.

  “Would you like some tea, Dr. Taylor?” she asked before he left. He said he would and made his way to the surgeon’s change room. Robert came and stood idly by as Christine tipped the instruments into the sink ready for washing and cleaning.

  “Thank you, Nurse Townsend,” he said mockingly. “Good work, Nurse Townsend. Would you like some tea, Dr. Taylor?”

  Christine flicked him a reproving glance. “It’s high time there was a little common courtesy around here.”

  Robert snorted. “Common courtesy? Is that what you call it?”

  Christine felt afraid and mistrustful of the faint hope he was stirring up inside her. She forced herself to smile. She must take it all as a huge joke.

  “I suppose you couldn’t be jealous, Dr. Marston?”

  Naturally, he denied the accusation. “Who—me?” he echoed on a high note. “That’s a laugh!”

  She dried her hands and took off her theater gown. “Well if you’ll excuse me, Dr. Marston, I must go and put the kettle on.”

  “And doesn’t the poor anesthetist get a cup of tea?”

  She laughed. “Poor Rob! You are feeling neglected, aren’t you? I’ll bring it into the office. You’ll have to sign the operation book, anyway.”

  But instead of going into the office and waiting until she took it in, he hovered around her as she made it in the kitchen. “How’re your mother and father?”

  “Quite well, thanks.”

  “When are you going home again?”

  “Tonight.” She turned the flame on under the kettle. What was the object of this sort of conversation? Was he expecting to be invited to her home as he had been when they were engaged? “I’m living at home now,” she told him, busying herself with cups and saucers.

  If he regretted having broken off their engagement why didn’t he just say so, she thought, instead of behaving like some lovesick, shy youth?

  As
quickly as she could she took the tray of tea into the office where John was waiting. The two men eyed each other carefully, but made efforts at conversation as Christine poured out the tea and handed it around. She had a cup herself and filled the patient’s name and other details in the operation book ready for them to sign. Presently, she became aware of short silences in the conversation, then at last John said he must go. Robert seemed determined to hang on, but Christine followed John out.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Marston, I must go and get on, too,” she said.

  He mumbled something and drew the operation book toward him. John and Christine walked to the end of the short corridor together.

  Just before they separated, he asked, “Christine, would you like me to drive you home tonight when you’ve finished?”

  She protested that she didn’t want to put him to any trouble. But he smiled. “It’s no trouble, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you. I’ll wait for you outside the main gates. All right?”

  Robert loomed up again as John went on his way. “Some people don’t know when to go,” he grumbled. “I wanted to get you on your own to say I’d take you home.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth curved in amusement. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

  “Dr. Taylor has just offered to drive me home.”

  He looked anything but pleased. “So that’s the way it is?”

  “Jealous, Rob?” she suggested softly.

  He glared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. It’s just that that fellow is beginning to get my goat.”

  He strode off, and with a sick feeling inside her, Christine returned to theater. She supposed Rob was merely being “friendly” as he had suggested. But surely he knew one couldn’t be merely friendly with the person one was in love with.

  As she opened the theater door the two nurses, chatting as they cleared up, stopped abruptly. With an inward sigh, Christine guessed she had been the subject of their gossip once more.

  “There’s a cup of tea in the pot, Nurses,” she told them. “Go and get it while it’s hot, and finish clearing up afterward.”

 

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