Tread Softly, Nurse

by Hilary Neal

  Tonight would be quiet, she told herself. She waved as she passed Bernard Parsley’s open door. Nurse Greatrex was in the kitchen, and she looked round from laying a trayful of cups for the female wards. “Oh, there you are, Staff. Sir David was looking for you.”

  “Then he didn’t look very far! I was only in Four.”

  “I know.”

  “What did he want me for, Nurse? And where is he now?”

  Nurse Greatrex spread her freckled, capable hands. “I’ve no idea, Staff. When I told him you had just gone into Four he looked at me as if I were halfwitted—you know how he does?—and went off again.” She took her tray over to the cooker and began pouring hot milk. “I shouldn’t worry, Staff. He’ll be back.”

  “Yes, I expect he will,” Fenella agreed. But she knew now that where David was concerned she could expect nothing; she could not admit the merest pinpoint light of hope, if she were to have peace of mind. She drew back consciously from caring whether he came or went, whether he was kind or cool, whether she pleased him or not. What was he to her, in quietness or in anger? But weren’t those things one and the same? What was it someone had written ... “So that to be fierce was to be gentle ... so that silence was a speaking without words.” She fought back the thought that hovered outside her will, tempting her to look at it for what it was.

  It was as though by some trick of stage lighting a mere flick of a switch had momentarily revealed an entirely different scene, so that nothing was any longer what it had seemed, in itself or in relation to anything else.

  She stared at the green teapot she was holding, and tried to remember how long it was since she had picked it up, and what she had been going to do with it. And Micky West, who had put his head in at the door and gone away again without speaking to her, told Mair Lewis in the children’s ward: “Fenny must be sleepwalking. She looked right through me just now. I felt like the man who wasn’t there. ”

  “Yes,” Mair smiled. “ ‘He wasn’t there again today; I wish, I wish he’d go away.’ And I wish you would, too. I’m busy.”

  “You make a most suitable picture, my love.” He leaned across the pyloric baby’s scrap of downy head as she nursed him and rubbed his nose against her cheek. “Highly domestic.”

  They heard the front door bell ring, and listened as Fenny raced past to answer it.

  “She’s awake now, anyhow.” Micky went over to look down the corridor. “And it’s the Chief.”

  Mair rolled the baby tightly in his little blanket, and carried him to his cot. “Good,” she said briskly. “He and I have a lot to say to one another.”

  She pulled up the cot side and hurried out, and Micky frowned after her, watching her tweak her cap into place and smooth her apron as she went.

  CHAPTER V

  FENELLA, recognizing David’s peremptory ring, was halfway to the front door before she realized that she was running. When she saw him standing outside the glass panel, watching her, she reminded herself that nurses never run, except in case of haemorrhage or fire. She slowed down to a sedate walk, and when she had turned the key she remembered to put her cuffless arms behind her back, in a properly respectful manner.

  It was the first time she had seen him in really informal clothes. He had walked across from his house beyond the trees without a jacket, and he was wearing a cherry-red crew-necked pullover that gave him an unfamiliar boyish air. He smiled down at her abstractly, and then said: “Oh, yes, Nurse Scott. I’ve got something...” He fished in his hip pocket. “Something for you...” But, before he could bring out whatever he had been going to give her, Mair came clicking towards them from the children’s ward, a purposeful gleam in her dark eyes.

  She flicked a mischievous wink at Fenella before she spoke. “Good evening, sir. You wanted to see me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did, Nurse. Are you free just now?”

  “Temporarily, sir.” She gave Fenella a surreptitious little shove. “Shall we go in the office?”

  Fenella fell back and watched her lead the way into their tiny office under the X-ray stairs. What had David been about to give her? She went slowly back to the kitchen and carried on with her private patients’ drinks, vaguely resentful of Mair’s too-prompt arrival.

  She left Mr. Parsley until last, as usual, so that he could go on reading as late as possible, and when she took his tray in, after she had settled Gilda and Stephen, she found him curled up on his side, groaning. She set the tray down sharply and went over to pull the sheet away from his perspiring face. “What is it, Mr. Parsley? Are you in pain? Why on earth didn’t you ring?” The pulse in front of his ear was fast and irregular. “I wouldn’t have come so late, if I’d known.”

  “Pain—” he grunted, “all—day.”

  She reached for the hot water bottle she had brought with his drink, and gave it to him to hold. “See what that will do. I’ll be back in a second.” She flew along to the office, and finding the door closed threw it open without thinking. Inside David and Mair were standing close together, talking. He had his hand on her shoulder and she was smiling up at him radiantly.

  “I’m ... I’m sorry. I wanted to...”

  They both turned to her blankly, as though they had forgotten all about her existence. David’s hand dropped to his side. As she reached past him for the report book she had time to wonder whether the color darkening his jawline was reflected from the cherry sweater or not.

  “Something wrong?” Mair asked lightly. She fell back from David’s side, and looked at the book over Fenella’s arm.

  “Parsley. He’s in pain. I wondered if there was anything—Yes.” She pointed. “ ‘Pain in left iliac fossa, abdomen rigid and tender. Seen by Dr. West six p.m.’ Why on earth didn’t I have the sense to look at the report before I began?”

  Mair frowned. “Oh, no! Not another abscess, just as we’d got him into shape?” She looked up at David. “Have you seen him this evening, sir?”

  “No, I haven’t. West didn’t say anything to me about him. I’ll go along and look at him now, shall I? Is his T.P.R. raised, Nurse Scott?”

  “His pulse is up. I haven’t taken his temperature yet. I wanted to look at the report first. According to this,” she looked down at the book, “it was up to ninety-nine six at tea time,” She slapped the book shut and led the way back to Ward 5, angry with Mair for not calling her attention to the report earlier, so that she could have attended to Mr. Parsley first of all.

  He was still curled up over his hot bottle, and she and Mair rolled him gently on to his back, and restrained his feverish hands while David examined him.

  “Does that hurt, there?” David pressed his finger tips gently into the abdominal muscles, and Mr. Parsley winced and gasped. David nodded, and said: “All right, old chap. Soon fix you up.” He exchanged glances with Mair, and put the jacketed hot bottle back on the tender place before he pulled up the bedclothes again. He jerked his head for the two girls to follow him outside.

  Out in the corridor he said: “Flared up quickly, hasn’t he? But that’s how they are. He wasn’t complaining last night, was he?”

  Fenella thought back. “No, sir. He was off to sleep early, though. But he was bright enough this morning, I thought.”

  “Hm. Well, obviously there’s a bit of obstruction this time. I’d better have him in the theatre, anyway. Is Sister in?”

  Mair shook her head. “Not yet, sir. Will you wait until she is?”

  “I don’t want to. I’m half expecting a call from a patient in Edgbaston. Better get him in right away. If we leave it we may get a roaring peritonitis.” He quirked one eyebrow. “All right?”

  “All right, sir.” Mair turned on her heel and made for the theatre, and David prodded Fenella’s forearm with one finger.

  “Don’t bother him with any lavage or prepping. Give him my usual pre-med.—I’ll write it up afterwards. And is West here?”

  “Yes, sir. I think so. I’ll tell him.”

  “Right. And we’ll have him in the
theatre as soon as you like.”

  “Very well, sir.” She called Nurse Dennis out of the medical ward, where she was just dimming the lights. “Come and give me a hand, will you? First of all get the drug keys from Nurse Lewis in the theatre, and bring me the atropine and the hypo in Ward Five, will you?”

  “Why—is Mr. Parsley for the theatre again, Staff? That’s the third time.”

  “Afraid so, Nurse. Sir David wants him in right away.”

  “He would. Honestly, Staff, he’s the most impatient man I ever met.”

  “I can’t say I blame him, in this case. The sooner the better. Go along, get me the atropine.” She found wooly theatre socks in the linen cupboard, and went to pull them on Bernard Parsley’s small feet. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “But Sir David thinks he’d better take a look at that pain of yours right away. But don’t worry.”

  He nodded. “Didn’t think of this happening...” He grunted, doubled over the hot bottle. “Bad aspects today. Pluto square to...”

  “Don’t talk, Mr. Parsley. I’m going to give you an injection in a moment, and I want you to take it quietly. Then we’ll soon have you feeling more comfortable.”

  When Nurse Dennis brought the tray she picked the 2 c.c. syringe out of the spirit and rinsed it in sterile water before she drew up the drug from the rubber-capped phial. She squirted it upwards to get rid of the air. “Check, Nurse. A sixtieth, right?”

  “Right, Staff. Oh—it isn’t written up yet, is it?”

  “No. Never mind—you can write it up and initial it, and Sir David can sign it later.” She rubbed Mr. Parsley’s forearm with a spirit-soaked swab and slid in the needle neatly. She pushed the plunger home. “There you are.” She massaged the spot gently. “Now try to keep still and quiet while I get the trolley ready. Stay with him, Nurse. I shan’t be long.”

  When she had blanketed the trolley she went to find Micky West. He was leaning moodily on the Casualty doorpost. “I’ve made some tea,” he told her.

  “Have you indeed? Then I’m afraid it will have to get cold. You’ve an anaesthetic to give.”

  “I have? Since when?”

  “Sir David’s having Parsley in the theatre. You saw him this evening, didn’t you?”

  Micky’s jaw dropped. “Oh, lord! I meant to ask him to look at the old boy. He seemed to be cooking something up. What does he think?”

  “I don’t know, really. He’s going to do a laparatomy, and see. Now. Mair’s scrubbing up—Sister isn’t in yet.” She watched him hurry over to the theatre, pulling off his jacket as he went, and then took the trolley back to Ward 5. Nurse Greatrex bounded across from the female wards.

  “Any chance of going to the theatre? There’s nothing here that Minner can’t finish.”

  Fenella hesitated. “Yes, I should think so. I was going myself, but I’d just as soon you did. Ask Nurse Lewis.”

  While Greatrex, beaming with expectation, went off to see Mair in the theatre, she and Nurse Dennis got Mr. Parsley, quieter now, on to the trolley, and tucked the blankets round him.

  “Shall I take him, Staff, or will you?”

  “I will. You make up his bed, and put a couple more bottles in. I’ll be back. Nurse Greatrex will probably be pro’ing. She wants to, so she may as well. I want to have another look at Miss Seymour.”

  Down in the theatre Nurse Greatrex, already in a green gown and all-over mask, met them in the annex. She nodded happily. “She said I could stay.”

  “Good. Now, Mr. Parsley, I’ll leave you with Nurse Greatrex. You’ll be in good hands. Dr. West will be with you in a moment.”

  He rolled up his eyes and tried to smile. “Thanks”.

  Then the double theatre doors stood open briefly as Micky came out, and over his shoulder Fenella could see Mair and David facing one another across the table under the big lamp. David’s deep voice was distinct enough for her to hear him say: “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll drive you over.” And there was no doubt that Micky had heard, too, because his boyish face lengthened and his mouth puckered momentarily as he glanced back over his shoulder before he let the doors swing together. He and Fenella looked at one another behind Nurse Greatrex’s broad back, and he shrugged. “See what I mean?” he murmured. “Just a stooge, that’s me.”

  Fenella shook her head at him. “Don’t be silly. And here’s your patient. Can I go now?”

  “You’d better. No place for you, this isn’t. You’re the girl who kicks buckets about, remember?” He pushed her towards the door and dragged his anaesthetic trolley over to Mr. Parsley.

  She looked in at Ward 5 to make sure that Nurse Dennis was finishing the bed, and then went across to Ward 2 again. Gilda was still awake. She waved a small hand when she saw Fenella peeping round the screen.

  “I’m not asleep.”

  “Then you should be, shouldn’t you?” Fenella went round the screen to stand by the bed. “Aren’t you comfortable?”

  “My leg feels funny.”

  “How do you mean—funny?” She began to peel off the bedclothes.

  “Warm. Wet. Could it be bleeding?”

  Taking the cradle out, Fenella tried not to look as though she were hurrying. Her hands were cold. If Gilda threw a secondary haemorrhage now, it would be just too bad. David was in the theatre and ... She sighed with relief, and choked on a little laugh.

  “Oh, what a shame! I’ll have to change the sheet.”

  “What is it?” Gilda craned to look.

  “Only the hot bottle. It’s leaked. I should think you did feel warm and wet!” She pulled the offending bottle out. “The stopped isn’t screwed in properly. Surely I didn’t put it in?”

  “No. Nurse Minner brought it. She said you’d given me the wrong one.”

  “Then if I did you’d had the wrong one all day, too. It was the same one, I can assure you. Just let me roll you over. I shall have to redress your leg, too, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s all right. It isn’t nearly as painful as it was. Has—Sir David been in tonight? He hasn’t been to say good night to me yet.”

  Fenella took a fresh sheet from the radiator. “He’s operating at the moment, so I don’t suppose he will be in to see you tonight.”

  Gilda pouted like a child. “I won’t go to sleep until he does.”

  “Then you’ll be awake for some time, I’m afraid. He won’t be out of the theatre just yet. I should go to sleep and forget it, if I were you.” Fenella bundled up the wet sheet impatiently, and her elbow caught something in the dim light. There was a crash of splintering glass and the sound of dripping water.

  “Oh—my roses!”

  “I’m sorry.” She turned up the light, and began to pick up the scattered blooms. “In any case,” she said sharply, “they shouldn’t have been there. They were taken out earlier, weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Gilda said in a small voice. “But I asked Nurse Minner to bring them back. I—I wanted them with me.”

  Fenella laid them on the bed-table while she gathered up the broken glass on Gilda’s discarded evening paper. She could not trust herself to speak. What did Gilda want? She treated Stephen’s roses as though she really cared for him—and then lay awake because David had not been in to see her. And could Nurse Minner really have been so careless with the hot bottle? And David, what was he doing? He had admitted Gilda’s attraction for him—and now he was arranging, quite obviously, to see Mair Lewis tomorrow. But this morning ... She took a deep breath and said, “All right. I’ll put them in a fresh vase.”

  When she had redressed Gilda’s leg and tidied the room again, she turned the light down. “Good night,” she said. “Don’t stay awake. Sir David is very busy.” And then she shut the door firmly, instead of leaving it ajar.

  She made a quick round of the quiet wards and went along the corridor to peep through the porthole windows of the theatre. David was just tying something off—it looked like a red rubber drainage tube. His hands and Mair’s were working close together between the s
terile towels clipped around the incision site. Nurse Greatrex was counting swabs from the bucket, hanging them one at a time on the numbered hooks on the wall. Mair was watching her over her mask in between glancing down at David’s gloved hands, passing him needle holders, and clipping the stitches off with her scissors.

  Micky looked up from the head of the table and caught Fenella’s eye, holding up a thumb. Evidently Mr. Parsley’s condition was satisfactory. She turned back to the blankets on the trolley standing ready in the anaesthetic room, and went across to the kitchen to lay a tray. David would be glad of tea when he had finished. She got out Sister Barclay’s flowered china, and put two cups and saucers on the tray. Micky would probably join him in the surgeon’s room.

  Then she heard the rattle of the trolley as Nurse Greatrex rolled it into the theatre, and was on her way to Ward 5 to receive her patient when Nurse Dennis came running.

  “Staff—can you come? That new gastrectomy’s blood’s gone wrong. There’s an airlock, I think.”

  She snatched up the Casualty hypo tray and ran down the surgical ward at once, to the end bed with the transfusion stand beside it. By the time she had coaxed the air bubble up to the glass connection, and withdrawn it with a syringe so that the blood dripped evenly again, Bernard Parsley was back in bed. She returned the tray to Casualty, and hurried back along the corridor to the wards. Micky West and David were just coming out of Ward 5, and Nurse Greatrex was standing by the bed in her green gown, holding Mr. Parsley’s chin forward.

  David nodded to her. “He should be all right. I’ve drained an abscess in the colon. Didn’t need to do a colostomy, after all. But I’ve left a rubber wick in. He can have a quarter of morphia s.o.s.”

  “Thank you, sir. Did you write up the atropine, too?”

  “Naturally.” He raised his eyebrows in reproof. “Did you think I should forget?”