Cherry Ames Boxed Set 13-16

by Helen Wells

  Cherry thanked her. She righted her starched cap on her dark curls, and hurried off to the brand-new Hospitality Lounge, a room especially prepared for the juniors.

  A bright paper banner, lettered WELCOME JUNIORS, stretched across one wall of the Hospitality Lounge. Some fifty young people waited here. Because they were in a hospital, they were unaccustomedly quiet. Cherry noticed that the girls outnumbered the boys three or four to one. Up at the front of the room, chatting with the youngsters, were Mrs. Streeter, the Superintendent of Nurses, with Dr. Joe Fortune, and one or two white-clad nurses. Apparently Mr. Howe, the Hospital Administrator, and Dr. Keller, the Medical Superintendent, were too busy to attend, but they had given their permission for a Jayvee program, along with the high school and junior high school principals, and that was the main thing. Cherry started toward the front of the room but was quickly surrounded by boys and girls.

  “Remember me, Miss Cherry? I’m Dorothy Ware—Dodo.” A bouncy, giggly, plump girl pumped Cherry’s hand. “Can I please work with you on Orthopedics, please? Midge thinks maybe I can.”

  “We’ll see, Dodo,” Cherry said.

  Midge was acting very important and proud because, except for two other girls, she was the only experienced Jayvee here. Cherry waved to the other two. One was lanky, droll Emma Weaver who loved to cook. The other was Carol Nichols, who seemed older than fifteen; she had a knack for drawing and she was dependable. Cherry had heard that the other few former Jayvees had gone away on vacations with their families.

  A quiet, dark, studiouslooking boy of about fourteen or fifteen said to Cherry, “I’m Myron Stern. This is my friend, Dave McNeil.” Dave was tall, strapping, rosy, about fifteen.

  Cherry shook hands with both boys. “I’m sure the hospital will be glad to have you.”

  Myron Stern looked embarrassed. “You know, at school they gave physical examinations to those of us who want to be volunteers. Seems I have a slight heart murmur, I never knew about it before. That won’t rule me out, will it? I’m perfectly well and strong, otherwise.”

  His friend Dave McNeil said, “You’re good at lab work. Maybe they’ll let you help out in one of the hospital labs. How about that, Miss Ames?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Cherry said. “We wouldn’t allow Myron to be a messenger, but the labs could use a clerk.” She explained that supervisors decided which assignments went to volunteers. “But don’t worry, the supervisors will try to honor your request if they possibly can.”

  “Thanks, Miss Ames,” both boys said. Dave called after her, laughing, “I’d like a nice cool job in the Pharmacy’s refrigerator this summer.”

  Cherry grinned and then her grin faded as a tall, beautiful, overdressed blond girl seized her hand.

  “Oh, I’m so happy to meet you, Miss Cherry! I’m Lillian Jones. I do so hope the hospital will accept me! I think it would be just wonderful to serve here.” Her mascaraed eyes held a faraway gleam.

  The girl was a born actress, Cherry thought in amusement, who saw herself in the role of ministering angel. Still, Lillian might just turn out to be serious about volunteer work. Cherry said something encouraging and moved on.

  One person she was glad to see here was Bud Johnson. She knew this freckled, sturdily built boy from the Orthopedic wards where he had worked last summer as an orderly, and she knew Bud to be solidly dependable, like a rock. He said “Hi!” to Cherry, as one professional to another, and went on talking confidently to three girls who looked uncertain but impressed. Cherry answered “Hi,” and pushed her way ahead, past the taller, quieter seventeen- and eighteen-year-old girls, to the staff persons in white.

  Cherry said good morning to Mrs. Streeter and to Midge’s father, Dr. Fortune. He was having an argument—as far as anyone so gentle would argue—with a skinny, eyeglassed woman in white who seemed to bristle. She was Mrs. Jenkins, Head Nurse of the Women’s Medical Ward, and she was asserting:

  “Suppose a junior volunteer makes a mistake? I say, keep them in the linen room. Kids have no place on the wards.”

  “And did an adult never make a mistake, Mrs. Jenkins?” Dr. Fortune answered. “I know some youngsters who are more reliable than some adults. All these young persons here today have good scholastic and character records. They have the idealism to want to help others.”

  “Humph!” Mrs. Jenkins said. “They like the uniform better than the job.” Then she had to keep quiet, because Mrs. Streeter was calling the meeting to order.

  The teenagers listened soberly as Dr. Fortune and then the Superintendent of Nurses each made a brief address. Dr. Fortune said: “Hospital work is hard work. It is literally life-and-death work. Your only reward will be the satisfaction of helping others. However, if you are planning a career in medicine or nursing—if you like people and want to learn more about them—or if you simply want to do something really needed and important, the hospital welcomes you.”

  Mrs. Streeter spoke of the shortage of nurses—so urgent that the ward nurses had barely enough time to give essential services to their patients. “Particularly,” she said, “we don’t have time to give a patient the extra attentions and individual interest he needs to encourage him to get well. Besides, there are dozens of other vital jobs—every bit as urgent as nursing—where we need your extra hands and tireless legs to keep this hospital functioning.”

  There were several rules to observe. Miss Ann Vesey, the attractive, friendly young Director of Volunteers, who did not look much older than a teenager herself, explained the rules. Junior volunteers would not participate in medication and treatment of patients. All volunteers of any age would be under close professional supervision. Any person who worked in the Food Services Department or in the Pediatrics Ward or playroom with children must have chest X-rays and frequent throat cultures taken. In some states the teenagers would have to obtain working papers, but this was not true in Illinois. The hospital would train the volunteers in a general class and then on the teenagers’ specific jobs.

  “Since there is so much to do, and so few of us to do it,” Miss Vesey said, “we recommend that most, if not all, of you serve in more than one department. Having two assignments will give you an interesting change of pace, and more experience, too.”

  After fifty hours of service, the juniors would receive award pins, at an evening party to which they and their parents would be invited. There was a little stir of pleasure at that.

  Bud Johnson raised his hand. “What hours do you want us here?”

  Miss Vesey said that juniors in other hospitals found that two or three full days a week worked out well for them and for the hospitals. “That’s a seven-hour day, or you can volunteer for half days if you’d rather,” she said. “No night work.”

  The Director of Volunteers announced, the teenagers would tour the hospital. They would see for themselves where and how they were needed. The tour would help them decide what assignments to volunteer for, or whether to volunteer at all.

  “Ask questions if you like, but very quietly, so the patients won’t hear you. Please don’t touch anything.”

  Miss Vesey, with Cherry and another R.N. to help with explanations, led the large group first to the Out-Patient Clinic, on the ground floor. In this big room, with booths, sat all kinds of patients; doctors and interviewers studied their records, talked to them. Jayvees—older ones—were very much needed here to take the patients’ laboratory reports to—or records from—the Records Room; to take the patients’ temperatures and to weigh them; to escort patients, some in wheelchairs, to X-ray or some special medical department.

  Cherry said to the juniors near her, “You’ll work with the clinic social worker, compile new charts, answer phones.” Some of the teenagers looked interested, others apprehensive.

  Everyone regained confidence when they came to the Medical Records Room. What could be so difficult about filing? But Miss Vesey said, “There are thousands of records in here. If you misfile one, good-bye record! When a report comes down from
a lab or X-ray, you must file it on the proper patient’s charts—imagine what a mistake could lead to!” Only carefully selected Jayvees were trusted to work in here.

  The group skipped Emergency, which, like Surgical, contagious wards, and the Maternity floor upstairs, was off limits to them. They had a look at the Admitting Office, where Jayvee’s escort service was needed. They went on to the Pharmacy, which was interesting with its supplies of medicine. Mr. Cox, registered graduate pharmacist, was in charge. Cherry overheard some boys in back of her say, “Pharmacy for us!” Cherry turned around and said, “Fair warning, fellows. Good jobs and dull jobs, all must he done. Everyone must do half and half, though we will try to meet your interests.”

  The girls, when the group went upstairs, all wanted to help on the children’s wards and in the playroom. Small patients, some kneeling in their cribs, some clumsily feeding themselves at tiny tables, shyly waved back to the teenagers. A small boy on miniature crutches came up to Dodo Ware and asked, “Play with me?”

  Into several convalescent wards, Medical and Surgical, past rows of beds, went the teenagers. Cherry made it a point to notice which juniors smiled at the patients, and which ones simply stared.

  The group went to the X-ray Department, with its many records to take care of, then on to the big Pathology Laboratory where the white-coated technologist in charge said, “We certainly need helpers to wash test tubes and run errands.” Next, they went to Central Sterile Supply where Emma Weaver remarked, “The sterilizers look like giant pressure cookers.”

  In here, juniors were needed to wash and pack sterilized rubber gloves, sponges, wooden tongue depressors. Green packages went to Surgical, yellow to Maternity, white for general use.

  “What boring work!” Lillian Jones sighed.

  The woman in charge heard her and turned around. “Young lady, sterile or not is a matter of life or death. Infection will be spread if this job isn’t done properly.”

  That sobered everybody. Some of the teenagers looked still more shaken when, out in the hall, they came smack up against an iron lung, to be sent upstairs to a polio patient, and oxygen tents waiting for calls for them.

  Cherry said, “I was scared to pieces, too, when I was just starting out as a student nurse. You get over it with training.”

  Some of the teenagers murmured, “Thanks.” Some of them limped a little, after the long tour, on their way back to the Hospitality Lounge. There everyone stood about uncertainly. Cherry glanced at her wristwatch. She was growing impatient to go back to her ward and the new patient.

  The Director of Volunteers said, “If any of you want to volunteer right now, you may do so. Some of you may prefer to go home and talk over with your parents whether being a hospital aide is for you. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet here again at ten. Then after you take a pledge of service, you can volunteer for assignments of your choice. Be prepared to stay tomorrow—we have a big program ahead for you. Thank you all for coming today. Good morning.”

  A few of the young people slipped away. Several stayed to ask questions. Cherry was sorry she could not stay on, but her patients were waiting for her. She waved to Midge and Bud and several others, and went back upstairs.

  The head nurse met her hurrying into the ward. Cherry said, “I think I’ll skip lunch hour, Miss Greer, and catch up on my work. How is the new patient?”

  “Better have some lunch, Miss Ames,” said Miss Greer. “Miss Corsi and I doubled up on the few morning chores you didn’t have time to finish. No, don’t say thank you! Your new patient is resting a little more comfortably. She seems anxious about one thing—she asked for her mail. Someone will have to bring it from her house.”

  “Asked for her mail? As sick as she is!” Cherry said. “Must be mighty important mail.”

  “Well, I don’t want her upset,” the head nurse said, “by mail or anything else.” Cherry knew that with arthritics, emotional stress could cause a physical setback or bring on an attack. “Her mail can wait until tomorrow,” Miss Greer said.

  “By tomorrow I’ll have a junior volunteer who’ll go pick it up,” Cherry said, and thought of sending Midge.

  Cherry obediently ate some lunch, quickly, leaving a few minutes’ free time to go see her new patient. Peggy Wilmot was half asleep but murmured something. Cherry bent over her.

  “In my wallet—a check—please cash it for me—” Peggy got out. “I’ve had it in my wallet since last week. I—I felt so sick I didn’t go to the bank.”

  “You needn’t worry about money just yet, or about anything—”

  But Peggy insisted, and her face screwed up in anxiety and pain. Cherry did not argue. She promised to ask the woman in the Admitting Office, which kept patients’ belongings under lock and key, to bring Peggy her wallet. Peggy would then endorse the check, as best she could, and Cherry would cash it for her. It was a small favor, if it would quiet the patient.

  Peggy Wilmot looked so relieved, so grateful, that Cherry wondered why all this strong feeling about her mail and a check.

  CHAPTER II

  Off to a Good Start

  TUESDAY WAS PLEDGE DAY. AT A LITTLE BEFORE TEN, Cherry finished up two hours’ work on her ward; she had just carefully changed Peggy Wilmot’s position and applied dry heat, both as comfort measures. That was as much nursing as she could do for Peggy, until later today. So Cherry went downstairs and gave her attention to the junior volunteers.

  At the front of the Hospitality Lounge, several staff people waited. Cherry said good morning and joined them. She felt rather anxious to see how many young volunteers would actually come. Several teenagers were already here: Midge and freckled Bud Johnson, sitting together—the quiet steady ones; Claire Alison, Carol Nichols with the sketchbook she always carried, Dave McNeil and Myron Stern—two or three young persons whom Cherry did not know by name—and tall, theatrical-looking Lillian Jones, somewhat to Cherry’s surprise. Not very many. Cherry would not have blamed any youngster who would rather go swimming in the county fairgrounds pool, this hot July morning. Still, more teenagers came in, self-conscious, determined. Dodo Ware practically bounced in, round eyes shining. By the time Mrs. Streeter rose to speak, she had twenty recruits to greet—fourteen girls and six boys.

  “I am glad to see such a good turnout,” said the Superintendent of Nurses. “On behalf of the Administrator of this hospital, its doctors and nurses and entire staff, I congratulate you on your high purpose. We are happy to have you join us as part of our team.”

  Mrs. Streeter said they would not spend much time on ceremonies; there was too much urgent work to be done. She asked the young volunteers to stand, and in chorus they repeated after her this pledge:

  “I will be punctual … immaculately clean … conscientious … accept supervision … not seek information regarding a patient … make my work professional … uphold the standards of this hospital and interpret them to the community.” Then, and most important, “I will consider as confidential all information which I may hear in this hospital.”

  The juniors were asked to pledge at least fifty hours’ work over this summer. Now they could volunteer for whatever assignments they had their hearts set on. They had been interviewed yesterday afternoon by Miss Vesey, the young Director of Volunteers, and were realistic about what they could and could not ask for. Carol Nichols, who was fifteen, put her hand up first.

  “I’d hoped to work in the blood bank and in clinic registration, please,” Carol said.

  Midge waved her hand enthusiastically. Being sixteen made her eligible to work in the patient areas. “I’d like to volunteer for Women’s Orthopedics”—she shot a loyal look at Cherry—“and the X-ray Department.” Cherry knew Midge had little interest in doing clerical work in the X-ray Department, but the staff there needed help.

  “Me, too!” said Dodo Ware, and looked questioningly toward Cherry.

  “I’m delighted to have you both,” Cherry said.

  Bud Johnson elected to work as an orderly, wherever the
hospital needed him. Miss Vesey replied he would be a floater on the various wards. “And how would you like to help out, Bud, with adult and children’s recreation? You know, occasional shows and ward parties.”

  “I’d like that just fine!” Bud said.

  Myron Stern realized his wish: he would work in the Pathology Laboratory. Dave McNeil asked for and got assigned to the coveted Pharmacy, with its room-size refrigerator; he would also work in the Records Room. The youngest juniors were assigned to Central Sterile Supply—and also to the children’s playroom and to the patients’ flower service. Lillian Jones asked for the Reception Desk, and cheerfully accepted a job in the Dietary Kitchen as well.

  Others requested special jobs “and wherever else I’m needed.” Soon Mrs. Streeter said, “Now you will please go for your uniforms.”

  Cherry led the fourteen girls to the nurses’ locker room where they put on they white cotton, short-sleeved dresses that Hilton Hospital had lent them. The girls themselves had purchased red-and-white candy-striped cotton pinafores with ruffled bibs to wear over the dresses. Getting into the uniform was a big occasion. Cherry wondered how the boys were making out with their white cotton lab coats or tunics and white duck trousers.

  When all the girls were in uniform, Cherry said, “You look very nice, except for your feet.” All looked down at their feet. “After today,” Cherry said, “everyone is to wear flat shoes—white or whatever you own, rubber soles if possible—and white bobby socks. No rings or other jewelry, please, only your wristwatch.”

  “Aren’t we going to wear caps, like the nurses?” Midge asked disappointedly. “Most Jayvees do.”

  Cherry explained that Hilton Hospital wanted only its nurses to wear caps. “Patients think anyone who wears a cap is a nurse, and we don’t want any confusion. Come along, now.”

  The girls assembled in Room 110 where the boys were already waiting, looking proud but uneasy in their whites. Cherry asked everyone to take seats. She went to the head of the improvised classroom. A hospital bed, table, supply chest, bandages, charts, and some other demonstration articles had been brought in.