When May Follows. Бетти Нилс
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nurses unable to come because of measles at home. Katrina dealt with them all in a calm manner and turned her attention to Julie’s report again. Old Mr Crewe, who had been admitted as an emergency hernia four days ago and not quite himself after the operation, had been making both day and night hideous with his noisy demands for beer. Julie had reported that she had allowed him one with his lunch and been told, for her pains, that he had three or four pints at midday and the same again in the evening. Katrina chuckled and then frowned; she would have to think of something. She twitched her cap straight and got up to do a round.
It was one of the quietest times of the day; dinners were over and visitors wouldn’t be coming just yet, the men were dozing or reading their papers or carrying on desultory conversations. Katrina went from bed to bed, stopping to chat with their occupants, filling in a pools coupon for a young man who had his right arm heavily bandaged, listening with patience and every appearance of interest while someone read her a long account of startling goings-on as reported in one of the more sensational newspapers; some of the patients were sleeping and two were still not quite round from anaesthetics. She checked their conditions carefully, gave soft-voiced instructions to one of the student nurses, and went on her way unhurriedly. She never appeared to hurry, and yet, as one nurse had observed to another, she was always there when she was needed.
Her round almost over, she tackled Mr Crewe, eyeing her belligerently from his bed. ‘And what’s all this about beer?’ she asked composedly.
She let the old man have his say and then said reasonably: ‘Well, you know if you have eight or nine pints of beer each day, we simply can’t afford to keep you here. Have you anyone at home to look after you?’
‘Me wife.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘I’ve got a daughter lives close by. Sensible she is, not like the old girl.’
Katrina thought for a bit. ‘Look, let’s make a bargain; you can have a pint at dinner time and another with your supper and I’ll see if we can get you home a couple of days earlier. Mind you, you’ll have to behave yourself.’
His promise was of the piecrust variety, she knew that, but at least it meant temporary peace.
A peace they needed during the next few days; it seemed as though everyone in the vicinity of the hospital was bent on falling off ladders, tripping over pavements or being nudged by buses. Usually there were broken bones involved, but for some reason this week it was cuts and bruises and concussion, so that none of the victims went to the orthopaedic block but arrived with monotonous regularity in the surgical ward.
It was on the last day on take-in, with the cheering prospect of Mr Crewe going home very shortly and a hard week’s work behind them all, when things began to go wrong. Julie went off sick for a start, which meant that Katrina wouldn’t be able to have her days off and Moira Adams, taking advantage of Julie’s absence and Katrina’s preoccupation with her patients, began chivvying the junior nurses. Katrina, coming upon a tearful girl behind the sluice door, had to take Moira into her office and rake her down, pointing out as she did so that she was having to waste time which could have been spent to much greater advantage on the patients. Moira pouted and argued until Katrina said sharply, ‘That’s enough, Staff, you should know better, and you’ll never get anyone to work for you if you bully them.’ She glanced at her watch and saw with relief that it was after five o’clock and Moira was due off duty—better still, she had days off as well. Katrina felt relief flood through her, but none of it showed; she said with quiet authority: ‘Go off duty, Staff.’
It was lucky that she had two second-year student nurses on duty, both good hard-working girls, as well as the tearful little creature who was still apparently in the sluice. Katrina swept through the ward, her eyes everywhere; nothing seemed amiss. She reached the sluice and found Nurse James, washing a red, puffy face under the cold water tap. ‘The thing is,’ began Katrina without preamble, ‘you have to learn not to mind, Nurse James. There’ll always be someone you can’t see eye to eye with, someone who’ll try and upset you. Well, don’t let them—you’re a very junior nurse at present, but if you work hard you’ll be a good one one day and these upsets will have been worth while. Now come into the ward with me; we’re going to do the medicine round together.’
The evening went swiftly after that, there was so much to do: cases from the morning’s list needing to be settled; dressed in their own pyjamas again, given drinks, gently washed and when they could be, sat up. The four of them had to work hard but by first supper, Katrina was able to send the two senior girls to their meal; there was only one case which bothered her and she had already sent a message to the registrar to come and see the man the moment that he was free. The man had been admitted that morning after an accident in which he had had an arm crushed so badly that it had been amputated. He had come round nicely from the an-aesthetic and the surgeon had seen him and pronounced himself satisfied, and although Katrina could see nothing wrong she thought that the man looked far more poorly than he should. It was no joke, losing an arm, but he was a powerfully built young man and healthy. They had settled him nicely against his pillows and he had had a cup of tea and the drip was running well. All the same she was uneasy. Leaving Nurse James to trot round the ward, making sure that the men were comfortable, she went along to write the report in her office, only to go back again to the man’s bedside on the pretext of checking his chart. He looked worse, so much so that she drew the curtains around the bed and bent over him with a cheerful: ‘Sorry to disturb you, I just want to make sure that your dressing’s nice and firm, still.’
The dressing was all right, but there was an ominous red stain seeping through the bandage. There was a tray on the locker by the bed with everything needed for just such a happening. Katrina put on a pad and bandage, binding it firmly and pretended to adjust the drip while she watched. Something was very wrong; already the blood was oozing through the package she had only just put on.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked the man. ‘There’s a little bleeding and you may feel a bit faint, but it’s nothing to worry about.’ She smiled reassuringly at him and called softly: ‘Nurse James!’
She was busy re-packing yet again when she heard the girl behind her. ‘Go to the office, please, Nurse,’ she said in her usual unhurried manner, ‘and tell the porter to get Mr Reynolds at once. He must come here immediately. Tell them it’s urgent. If he’s not available then any house surgeon will do. Be quick and come back as fast as you can.’ She hadn’t turned round, she heard Nurse James say: ‘Yes, Sister,’ and added: ‘Is the ward OK?’
‘Quite OK,’ said Uncle Ben from behind her. ‘In trouble, Sister?’
She was applying pressure now and didn’t look up. Dear Uncle Ben, arriving just when she needed him most. ‘An amputation this morning; he recovered well, but his blood pressure has been dropping very slowly. Mr Reynolds came to see him this afternoon and found everything satisfactory. This has just started—five—six minutes ago.’
Uncle Ben gave a little cough. ‘Well, we’d better have a quick look—got some forceps handy?’
She turned back the towel covering the tray and was on the point of taking up the scissors when a large hand took them from her.
‘That’s right, Raf—let’s get this off and see the damage. Sister, send your nurse to theatre and tell them I want it ready in five minutes. I shall want four litres of blood too—get on to the Path Lab, will you?’
Nurse James had come back with the news that there was a major accident just in and there was no one available right away. ‘Never mind, Nurse—Sir Benjamin is here, so we’re all right. Now go to theatre, will you…’ She passed on Uncle Ben’s wishes and turned back to the patient. He was semi-conscious by now and the bandages and dressing were off. ‘Dear, dear,’ observed Uncle Ben in his mildest voice. ‘Apply pressure, Sister, will you? Raf, can you get at it with the forceps while I swab?’
Professor van Tellerinck, in waistcoat and shirt sleeves, somehow contrived to look elegant despite the messy job he was doing. He was very efficient too; Katrina’s head was almost fully occupied with what she was doing, but a tiny corner of it