Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  “What is her name?” Tabitha asked.

  “Sister McDonald. C’mon, then. Let’s get the bin to the laundry. I’ll show you the way.”

  Tabitha worked hard that day and took pains to catalog the differences between the manner in which her hospital in Denver did things and how Sister McDonald ran her ward. Tabitha observed a process closely before attempting a duty. The other VADs on the ward, two of them, said nothing to her, but they watched Tabitha with growing approval, as she mastered one duty after another.

  Shortly after the VADs had served lunch to the patients, a grizzled older doctor whisked into the ward. “Where is Sister McDonald?” he demanded. “I have post-surgery wounds to examine.”

  Tabitha could see how frazzled the doctor was. I can’t imagine how overworked this poor man must be, she thought.

  “She is at her lunch, Dr. Furler,” Darby answered. “I am certain she did not expect you. You are usually here an hour from now.”

  He cursed under his breath and growled, “I have an amputation in an hour and cannot be late. One of you will have to assist me in my examinations here.”

  The other two VADs skittered to the end of the ward and busied themselves there. That left Darby and Tabitha staring at each other—and Darby shot Tabitha a plea for help.

  Tabitha shrugged. “I would be happy to assist, doctor,” she offered.

  The doctor grunted and moved to his first patient. “Hurry up, then.”

  “Darby, where are the wound care trays?” Tabitha hissed.

  Darby jumped to show Tabitha where the supplies were kept. Tabitha, armed with the appropriate dressings and instruments, moved alongside the doctor and wordlessly anticipated and supplied what he needed as he removed dressings and examined or treated wounds.

  In America, the status of a doctor was far above that of a nurse and, Tabitha saw, it was no different here. She was silent as she worked with the doctor, but she was trained to foresee a physician’s needs. If Dr. Furler scowled at what she presented to him, she had a second option already in hand.

  They reached the last of the five patients he had come to examine. Private Pierce, perhaps age eighteen, had lost his leg below the knee. Tabitha smiled at the boy, hoping to reassure him.

  The doctor began to gently work the sticky bandage free from the boy’s stump. Just as he pulled it away, blood spurted from the wound. Great pulsing jets of it shot across the end of the bed and onto the floor.

  The doctor swore and clamped the soiled bandage onto the wound. “Hemorrhage!” he snarled.

  “Here, doctor.” Tabitha slapped a sterile cloth on the bed and dropped a scalpel and a clamp followed by a thick pad of bandages onto the clean surface. She wrapped her hands about the soiled bandage and took over the task of keeping pressure on it. As soon as the doctor released the pressure for her to maintain, he grabbed the clamp and pad. Moments later, he had sliced open the stitches on one side of the stump’s flap, located the bleeding vessel and clamped it.

  Blood was everywhere—staining the floor, spattered on the bed, covering Tabitha’s gloved hands. Tabitha called to Darby, “We need sutures and needles. Several sizes. And clean gloves. Right away!”

  Darby jumped to gather what was needed and delivered them to her. Tabitha stripped off her soiled gloves. Darby awkwardly helped her don fresh ones. While Darby regloved the doctor, Tabitha sorted through the needles and sutures and presented her estimate of the best size to him.

  “Very good, nurse,” he muttered. Within moments he had tied off the ruptured blood vessel and removed the clamp.

  “I do not like the looks of this stump,” he muttered aloud.

  Tabitha leaned closer, sniffing and noting the puffiness. “Something in the wound is suppurating.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Furler agreed. “I need to open the flap all the way and look for the source of infection. Can you prepare for that?”

  “Yes, doctor,” Tabitha answered. She rattled off a short list of instruments to Darby who now stood by to fetch anything they needed. The other VADs hovered nearby, watching with interest.

  Tabitha spoke to their patient. “Private Pierce, the doctor must open your stump to clean it. It may pain you, but you must keep entirely still. We do not want to cause more bleeding. Can you do that?”

  She gestured with her chin at one of the VADs. “Bollard, please stand by Private Pierce’s head to calm him. The girl moved to obey Tabitha.

  The doctor clipped the remaining stitches around the stump’s flap and laid it open. Before Tabitha could stop herself, she pointed. “There.”

  “Indeed,” Dr. Furler muttered. “The tissue here has necrotized. Scalpel.”

  Tabitha had the sharp instrument at the ready. As the doctor cut through and removed the dead tissue, Tabitha offered sterile water for him to rinse the wound.

  He frowned. “How does this look, nurse? I am afraid my sight is not all it used to be.”

  Tabitha leaned in again. “Is that a tiny bone fragment, doctor?”

  He looked where she pointed and took a pair of tweezers from her hand to probe it. “Yes, it is. You have good eyes,” he mumbled.

  Fifteen minutes later, the doctor had finished redressing the stump and Tabitha was gathering the bloodied instruments and soiled bandages.

  “Darby,” she said, “Let’s change Private Pierce’s bed again, shall we?”

  That was when she noticed Sister McDonald. The nursing sister, hands clasped behind her back, was observing and nodding. “You did well, Hale.”

  “Yes, she did. What is she doing in a VAD uniform?” the doctor complained with a scowl. “Obviously she is a skilled nurse.”

  “Yes, doctor. We are aware. However, this is only Nurse Hale’s first day with us.”

  He rounded on Tabitha and she stepped back, a bit startled.

  “Do you have surgical experience?”

  “I-I am trained in all aspects of nursing, doctor, but have not worked surgery since school. However, I took a specialty course in traumatic wound care, and I worked the emergency services ward at my last hospital.”

  “And where was that?” he demanded.

  “Denver, Colorado, doctor.” The other VADs were ogling Tabitha with wide eyes now. Darby stared at her with something close to awe.

  “American. Right! I heard we had an American volunteer. A unique situation.” He turned to Sister McDonald. “Well, she is wasted as a VAD, do you not think?”

  “We have plans for her, Doctor. We hope to utilize her better as soon as she has settled in.”

  Tabitha, startled again, wondered, What does that mean?

  The doctor harrumphed and checked his watch. “Late. I’ll be back this evening to see this patient.”

  Sister McDonald looked at Tabitha, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “A fine first day, Nurse Hale. Carry on.”

  “Wot? She called you Nurse Hale,” Darby whispered.

  Tabitha laughed. “I guess she did.”

  When their twelve-hour shift ended, Tabitha was exhausted but elated. Thank you, Lord! Thank you for helping me, for strengthening me today.

  She fell into bed after dinner and slept until six the following morning, when Darby shook her awake.

  “I say, Nurse Hale, you sleep like th’ dead. Get up now or we’ll be late.”

  Tabitha groaned but rolled out of her cot. Her first sight of the day was Darby’s grinning face and the curious eyes of her fellow dorm mates.

  “Don’t think we’ve been prop’ly introduced,” Darby smiled, holding out her hand. “Ellen Darby, VAD.”

  “Tabitha Hale, quite out of my league, I fear,” Tabitha returned with a yawn.

  “Cor, and I doubt that.” Darby grabbed Tabitha’s arm. “Come on, now. You mustn’t be late, Nurse Hale.”

  The other girls in the dorm giggled, but they were good-natured giggles.

  Thank you, Lord! Tabitha prayed. It is going to be all right.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 22

  All but
two of the VADs in Tabitha’s dormitory had Sunday off, and Tabitha finally had the time and energy to write letters—one home to Palmer House, one to Claire, and one to Mason Carpenter. She took her time on the letter to Carpenter, knowing that its contents would astonish him, but she could not stop smiling as she wrote it.

  My dear Mr. Carpenter,

  I pray that, by God’s grace, you are well and fruitful in your walk with him!

  I have something to tell you, dear friend. Your letters speaking of the overflow of wounded in British hospitals spoke deeply to my heart.

  After much prayer, the Lord led me to volunteer with the American Red Cross to nurse the wounded. Unfortunately, at this time, they have a presence in the war zone only on their hospital ship, the SS Red Cross. They did, however, suggest that I volunteer with Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service, via the British Red Cross, to serve in a Voluntary Aid Detachment.

  This I did and was accepted. I arrived in England a week back and was posted to Colchester Military Hospital in Essex. The administration does not yet know quite what to do with me as I have been trained as a nurse and most VADs have not; however, I am content to serve where the Lord places me.

  For the past week I have worked in a ward of amputees. I cannot tell you how these young men touch my heart. I often sit by their bedsides to talk with them or write letters for them. Only two days past, I was honored to pray with a young soldier to receive Jesus as his Savior and Lord. Although he is racked with what is called “phantom pain,” I see the peace of Christ now resting on his brow, and he smiles with a joy that makes every difficulty bearable.

  My dear Mr. Carpenter, please do write to me at the address below? I hope and pray that Colchester is not too far from Catterick and that, someday soon, I will have earned a two- or three-day pass and can come to visit you.

  Yours always,

  Tabitha

  The Monday after Tabitha had worked on the ward for two weeks, Sister McDonald called her into the little closet the ward used as an office.

  “Nurse Hale, you will please report to Matron.”

  “Yes, Sister.” But Tabitha felt frozen and could not move.

  “Nurse Hale, you are adapting to our ways. Obviously you are a fine nurse.” Sister McDonald’s eyes crinkled in a friendly fashion. “Go on, now. Matron Stiles wishes to speak to you.”

  When Tabitha appeared before Matron Stiles, Tabitha was amazed to see Sister Alistair with her. The nurse nodded at Tabitha. “Good morning, Miss Hale.”

  “Good morning, Sister.”

  Matron Stiles did not beat about the bush.

  “Nurse Hale, we have a proposition for you, one that will utilize your skills and experience even though we cannot muster you into the QAIMNS. Would you be interested?”

  “Yes, I believe so, Matron. Um, what do you have in mind?”

  “We would like to appoint you head of Colchester’s nursing VADs.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nurse Hale, we wish you to manage our VADs. Oh, not all of them; I am speaking of those who are medical aides. We wish you to manage their training, discipline, keep them in order, that sort of thing.”

  “Me?” But Tabitha felt herself growing a little excited.

  “Yes. We nursing sisters quite flinch when new VADs arrive. Some are minimally prepared; most are not. A few are entirely unsuitable.” The matron leaned toward Tabitha, her smile growing. “I think you would agree that the VAD ranks are quite a mashup. However, we are so short on nursing sisters, that we must find ways to improvise, to stretch and better manage our resources.

  “Mind you, what we are proposing is novel. Some would—and I dare say, will—call our idea unorthodox or revolutionary. Nevertheless, Matron-in-Chief wishes us to proceed. My nurses cannot leave their posts to train these volunteers, but you can.”

  Sister Alistair spoke for the first time. “Sister McDonald has reported on your performance and your willingness to work hard to her exacting standards. We have also received a good report from Dr. Furler who, it seems, is outraged that we are underutilizing you.”

  “Quite so, Sister.” Matron Stiles bent her gaze on Tabitha. “We would like you to take charge of the hospital’s VADs and bring them up to our standards. In a limited capacity, of course. What do you say?”

  Suddenly Tabitha grinned. “I say yes, Matron. It would be my pleasure to serve in this way.”

  “Excellent. We shall reassign you to different lodging and—”

  “Um, no, thank you, Matron. I should like to remain where I am, if that is acceptable.”

  The two older nurses studied her. “Very well,” the matron conceded. “If you think it wise.”

  “Do I understand correctly that I will remain a VAD?” Tabitha asked.

  “Yes,” Matron Stiles admitted. “That is true.”

  “Then I should prefer to lead by example, wherever possible,” Tabitha explained. “My presence in the dormitory will help.”

  Sister Alistair queried the matron. “American egalitarianism?”

  Matron Stiles said nothing, but she finally nodded. “Very well. We shall see how you get on.”

  Word of Tabitha’s appointment spread through the hospital ranks. Her fellow VADs did not know how to react. They stepped back from Tabitha and waited to see what would happen.

  Tabitha, relieved of her nursing duties, began visiting every ward in the hospital to evaluate the working VADs. She studied the expectations of the nursing sisters, made notes of areas of incomplete (or utterly lacking) VAD training and, with Matron Stiles’ permission, instituted mandatory hour-long classes each evening directly after the day shift ended and each morning as the VADs came off night shift.

  The timing of the classes was hugely unpopular with the VADs, but they had no choice in the matter. Each shift had nearly one hundred VADs: The sullen volunteers gathered in the basement classroom Tabitha had appropriated, and the enormity of the task before Tabitha became clearer.

  Tabitha studied her students and saw the widest array of backgrounds and aptitude she could imagine. She discovered that not all the VADs assigned to the hospital were young girls either. Some were middle-aged spinsters or widows, some older than she.

  Tabitha huffed. Lord, this will be like chasing chickens around my father’s barnyard!

  “Our goals,” Tabitha began, “are to become exemplary volunteers and to disprove the notion that VADs cannot assume and adequately perform many daily nursing duties. If you have a desire to make nursing your permanent vocation, I can help you. I can help you if you work hard.”

  She noted the women whose interest she had aroused. “If you set your mind to learn and you acquit yourself satisfactorily, I will note your progress in your record. When opportunities for advancement arise, your training will be your friend.”

  Tabitha focused an entire week’s classes on a single, specific set of nursing duties or skills. “Each week, once you perform well on the week’s tasks, you may be excused from the remainder of the classes for that week,” she informed the surly volunteers. “However, if you are sloppy, slow, or incorrigible, you will train extra hours until you are proficient. And you will become proficient. Those who do not become proficient will receive a poor report. Two such reports and you will be removed as a nursing aide.”

  The VADs looked at each other. A few straightened.

  At the end of the first week’s classes, Tabitha took each shift and broke it into two cohorts. She appointed the two most competent VADs from the shift to be cohort proctors. One of the appointed proctors was Ellen Darby.

  “I will address you,” Tabitha announced, pointing to the group on her left, “as Colchester Green. You,” she pointed to the cohort on her right, “Will be Colchester Blue. Night shift cohorts are Colchester Red and Gold.”

  Curious and excited rumblings ran through her class.

  Then Tabitha called the proctors to her side and gave the two women narrow armbands the color of their cohort’s name
to wear above their Red Cross armbands. Tabitha herself wore a wide red armband designating her as Head VAD.

  Tabitha addressed the two proctors. “Please wear your armbands whenever you are in uniform. Wear the symbols of your leadership proudly and acquit your cohort well, but understand that only the best VADs may wear these armbands—they are not permanent appointments.”

  Tabitha observed as the other VADs began to comprehend the armbands’ honor and significance.

  “You can see how large our cohorts are,” Tabitha added, keeping her voice casual. “If others of you demonstrate your competence to my satisfaction and show an eager willingness to improve the performance of your entire group, I may be inclined to break the two cohorts into four and appoint additional proctors.”

  The two proctors considered each other, and speculative eyes followed Tabitha.

  The following Monday, as the classes focused on a new set of skills, Tabitha noted a shift in morale. The VADs began to willingly assist their fellows, and a sliver of competition grew between the cohorts—a competition that spurred overall class progress.

  Very good, Tabitha breathed.

  Tabitha’s days were long. She arose early to instruct the outgoing night shift and stayed late to teach the day shift. From the start of the first class she established high standards, and she allowed no VAD to fall below her expectations.

  Tabitha coached the VADs in proper etiquette when interacting with doctors and nursing sisters: She drilled the women on the correct manner in which to answer a physician’s or nurse’s questions, how to respond to their instructions, how to ask clarifying questions, and how to properly report on a patient’s condition.

  She evaluated every VAD’s posture and deportment. She demanded that each woman stand tall with hands at her sides or clasped in front of her.

  “No nurse or aide stands, sits, walks, or works in a sloppy, lackadaisical manner. Every movement is to have purpose; every task is to be done well. Our very presence, wherever we go, should inspire confidence in our abilities and professionalism.”

  Tabitha reprimanded any VAD who slouched or slumped. She corrected posture so often in the first weeks that merely her entrance into classroom or ward produced a general “snapping to attention.”