Sold to the Surgeon (4 page)

“Thanks, Staff,” breathed Sue, “you're a brick.”

As Sue hurried on ahead, Abigail kept walking at a steady pace, keeping her fingers mentally crossed and hoping that Sister Collins and Greg Lincoln would pass by without comment.

“Oh, Staff,” Sister Collins' voice, always slightly shrill, sounded even shriller that morning to Abigail's apprehensive ears, “would you come with me to my office? There's a new admission, and I want to go through her notes with you.”

“Er…yes, Sister. I'll just pop along to the dirty utility room first, I promised a patient in room fourteen that I'd get a bedpan. I'd better do that first.”

Keeping the mangled bedpan clasped tightly behind her, Abigail adopted a crabwise walk and tried to edge past both of them; out of the corner of her eye she could see Greg Lincoln watching her with astonishment written all over his face.

“
Now,
Staff,” said Sister Collins irritably. “Student Nurse Parkins can do that.”

“But she…”Abigail stalled desperately as Sue dashed past with the bedpan for Mr. Jones, “is already dealing with another patient. I think I'd better do it myself, you know she can't be rushed.” Without waiting for a reply, she continued her crabwise scuttle and shot past at great speed, whipping the offending bedpan round to the front the moment she was past.

Once inside the utility room she flung the wretched article into the sluice and clamped down the heavy lid, sighing with relief as she did so; then she made her way back up the corridor towards Sister's desk. It hadn't been a particularly auspicious start to the day; she had been uncomfortably aware that Greg had been regarding her with puzzled amusement as she had made her excuses to Sister Collins. The notion that he probably thought her behaviour strange didn't please her at all; she'd wanted to appear coolly efficient. But so far all she had succeeded in doing was making herself look ridiculous; and all because Nurse Parkins was a walking disaster! It was like being on the edge of Krakotoa, working with that girl, she reflected ruefully. Life was completely unpredictable, one never knew when the next catastrophe was about to happen!

Sister Collins wasn't at her desk at the nurse's station, so Abigail went to her office and after briefly knocking, opened the door; promptly cannoning straight into the new consultant, who was on his way, and in a hurry.

“Oh dear, I'm sorry,” said Abigail politely, stepping to one side. “I should have knocked louder, I didn't realise you were right by the door.” She smiled in a friendly fashion, genuinely sorry she had crashed into him.

Her friendly smile was wasted, however, as he didn't reply, just paused momentarily to glower at her, every fibre of his being emanating hostility. Abigail stared back in surprise. She hadn't intentionally collided with him, and she had apologised, so surely there was no need for him to look quite so bad-tempered.

“Shut the door, Staff,” snapped Sister Collins in a voice rasping with anger.

Oh dear, it's going to be one of those awful days! thought Abigail dejectedly. Sister Collins will be looking for faults, and with Sue Parkins around she won't have much difficulty in finding them! As for Greg Lincoln, just a moment ago in the corridor he had looked quite approachable, but as he had walked out of the office it was quite obvious that his mood was as black as thunder.

“Fifteen minutes, that's all,” the sound of Sister Collins' voice interrupted Abigail's gloomy thoughts, and she dragged her wandering attention back to Sister Collins, who was looking at her expectantly, obviously anticipating a comment of some sort.

“Fifteen minutes?” queried Abigail, wishing she had been paying more attention.

“Fifteen minutes before Mr. Lincoln does his ward round.” Sister Collins' brown boot-button eyes gleamed brightly with anger. “I've told Mr. Lincoln that
none
of the other ENT consultants here do a formal ward round, our ward is not run in that way. But would he listen?” She slapped a pile of patients' notes angrily into Abigail's hands. “Of course not. He wants to do everything the way he did it in America. He'll be lenient today, he says, if the pathology reports aren't back, or the patients properly prepared, but tomorrow,” she waved an irate finger at Abigail, “everything has got to be
hunky-dory
.”

“
Hunky-dory
?” Abigail's voice rose in disbelief. It was hardly Sister Collins' usual turn of phrase!

“His expression, not mine,” snapped Sister Collins bad-temperedly. She shot a glare in Abigail's bemused direction; she was still standing holding the armful of notes. “Well, don't just stand there. Return the notes to the patients' clipboards, and get the ward ready for the inspection.”

“You remember we're one down today,” ventured Abigail, wondering if they should ask to temporarily borrow another nurse from the next ward. “Staff Nurse Orchard has a day's leave, and we haven't made arrangements to replace her.”

“All the more reason then for not wasting time,” came the rapped reply.

All the more reason for getting ourselves organised, thought Abigail rebelliously, knowing full well it would have been only too easy for the workload to be eased, if only Sister Collins would ask for a little help. But admitting that help was needed was not in Sister's makeup. She hated admitting, even to herself, that her ward might sometimes be anything less than perfect!

Abigail began to feel bad-tempered herself, as she sped around the ward on her various tasks; I wouldn't like to end up like Sister, she thought, an embittered old woman, who can't wait to leave the hospital, and who can't bear to have the comfortable routine she's built up disturbed in any way. Then just as quickly, her bad temper changed to pity. At least her own future was rosy, she was marrying Rupert.

To Abigail's intense relief, Sue managed the rest of the whole morning without one more catastrophe. Even the ward round had gone relatively smoothly, although the atmosphere between Greg Lincoln and Sister Collins had been so intense that Abigail felt it would have been possible to slice through it with a knife! As for herself, she had kept in the background as much as possible; they were both so prickly it seemed the most politic thing to do.

“I like ward rounds,” Sue Parkins had informed her when it was over. “It made me feel like a proper nurse, just like the ones you see in films or on television.”

Abigail chuckled. “Just try and be a ‘proper' nurse for an hour while I go down to the canteen for lunch. If you need a hand, Staff Nurse Bloom on section five will help, or there's always Sister Collins.”

“No, thanks, I'll stick with Staff Nurse Bloom,” said Sue, pulling a face. “Sister Collins is as prickly as a hedgehog today.”

“You can say that again.” echoed Abigail with feeling, as she hurried towards the nurses' staff room to get her handbag.

Once in the crowded canteen, she collected a salad and a glass of orange juice from the cold counter, then searched through the crowded tables, looking for a familiar face.

“Hey, Abigail,” it was Lynne, her friend from X-Ray Outpatients, “I'm glad I've seen you, it saves me a phone call. Come on, let's eat outside on the terrace, I can see a vacant table.”

Together they made their way outside, on to the large terrace attached to the side of the canteen. The County General was built on a hill, and a projecting terrace had been constructed outside the main canteen. On warm summer days, the huge glass windows were slid back, and tables and chairs, shaded by gaily coloured umbrellas, put outside. It gave the place quite a continental atmosphere, and was immensely appreciated by all the staff, making it a popular and relaxed meeting place at lunchtimes.

Abigail felt the tensions draining away as she basked in the pleasant warmth of the sun; there was a cooling breeze and the umbrellas provided soothing shade.

“Now,” said Lynne, coming straight to the point in her usual fashion, “are you coming to our barbecue next week? We're having it in the usual place, Beechwood at Hintersfield, and I could do with someone to help me with the cooking—at the moment it's only me. Is Rupert coming too?”

This speech was delivered in one breath, with Lynne demolishing her salad at the same time. It made Abigail feel quite breathless; Lynne always did.

She sipped her orange juice slowly. “Honestly, Lynne, I don't know how it is that you don't suffer from chronic indigestion!”

“I do,” grinned Lynne, devouring a lettuce leaf rapidly, “but come on, Abigail, I want an answer. Are you coming or not? We've got a good crowd coming as usual.”

“I'd forgotten about it,” confessed Abigail.

“Forgotten about it!” echoed Lynne feigning mock horror. “Abigail, how can you forget the social event of the year?”

Abigail laughed. “Sorry. The answer is yes, of course, and I'll probably bring Rupert. I'll let you know definitely by tomorrow.”

Lynne nodded. “That will be fine, time for me to get the food sorted out. Luckily for me I won't have anything else to do this year—our new senior registrar, Derek Thompson, is a great organiser; he's hiring a portable generator and some fairy lights, and he's doing the music.” She suddenly smiled, “He's awful nice, Abigail, and so go-ahead.”

Abigail opened her grey eyes wide and grinned at Lynne's expression. “Don't tell me my career girl friend has finally succumbed?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” said Lynne, pulling a mischievous face, “but as soon as he gives me the opportunity I shall succumb immediately!”

“Lynne!” Abigail tried to look severe, but only succeeded in giggling. “You are the absolute limit.”

“Now don't forget,” said Lynne, leaning confidentially across the table, “when you come to the barbecue, please take every opportunity you get to make sure that you tell Derek Thompson how nice I am. Clever, sexy—you know the sort of thing. Say something that will make him notice me.”

“Don't tell me he hasn't noticed you yet,” said Abigail disbelievingly, “I should have thought, working in the same department, he would have found it impossible not to!”

“Oh yes, he's noticed, but not in the right way, if you know what I mean…” Lynne broke off, suddenly grabbing her friend's arm. “There he is now—come on!” She leaped up from the table, dragging Abigail with her. “We'll take our trays back, he's making for the dirty crocks hatch too, if I time it right we can have coffee together.”

She left Abigail no alternative but to follow, although she would have preferred a slightly more leisurely lunch; but at the same time she was curious to find out what it was about the new senior registrar that Lynne found so fascinating.

She noticed that Lynne manoeuvred herself beautifully, so that she put her tray down on the moving belt at exactly the right moment, just in front of the senior registrar. “Oh, sorry, Derek,” Lynne laughed gaily, sounding surprised, “didn't see you there.”

Abigail hid an amused smile. She hadn't realised her friend was such an accomplished actress.

“Oh, by the way, Derek, this is a friend of mine, Abigail Pointer. She's a staff nurse on the ENT ward at the moment.”

Derek Thompson turned, and Abigail was astonished to find herself looking into the friendly face of a shortish, dark-haired young man, with a round face and glasses. From Lynne's ecstatic description, she had been expecting a Gregory Peck lookalike, at the very least!

“Hi,” he said, giving Abigail a shy smile.

As she nodded back a friendly acknowledgement, Abigail suddenly became aware of Greg Lincoln looming from nowhere to stand at Derek's side. His dark, lean face, with its stern expression, was a complete contrast to Derek's round, cheerful one. His expression didn't look much friendlier than it had done on the morning's ward round, she noticed, feeling inexplicably disgruntled.

“Will you join us for coffee?” she heard Derek asking them both.

Lynne nodded enthusiastically. That
had
, after all, been the whole object of the exercise, as far as she was concerned.

“Please count me out,” said Abigail politely. It was obvious Greg and Derek were together, and she didn't feel inclined to sit and have coffee with a man whose black mood of the morning was evidently still lingering.

“Why not?” asked Lynne with embarrassing directness.

“Oh, I…I've got to take some books back to the library, now's my only chance,” lied Abigail hastily.

“What a pity,” cut in Greg silkily. “I could do with some cheering up. It's been a bad morning.”

“I
know
,” answered Abigail pointedly, “We've all had a bad morning!” She was tempted to add, thanks to you, but restrained herself. She also ignored the friendly expression that had flitted across his face as he had spoken.

If you think, Mr. Lincoln, she thought grimly, that I'm an impressionable young thing, who's going to leap joyously whenever you feel like turning on the charm, you can think again!

“I'll ring you tomorrow about the barbecue,” she said in an undertone to Lynne, then she left the trio, studiously avoiding the quizzical stare of the new surgeon. Plenty of time to see you again when you're stalking around the ward on your high horse, she thought crossly, firmly suppressing the annoying little voice at the back of her mind urging her to stay, to find out more about the American surgeon. Why should I want to find out anything more? she answered herself back. I know quite enough already!

Chapter Three

The rest of the day passed by fairly uneventfully, or as uneventfully as any day could with Student Nurse Parkins on the ward. But even she, apart from tipping, luckily a lukewarm, cup of tea into the bed of one unfortunate patient, managed to do everything more or less correctly.

Greg Lincoln didn't put in an appearance again, and Abigail could see from Sister Collins' smug smile that she felt she had scored a personal victory. She obviously thought that she put him off, the way she did all the other consultants.

“I don't think we shall be inconvenienced by a ward round again, Staff,” she said starchily to Abigail, who was helping her update the Kardex system. “I think Mr. Lincoln now knows where I stand on
that
matter. There's no need to do things the American way here.”

And I think I know exactly where Mr. Lincoln stands on the matter, thought Abigail, with a feeling of foreboding. She could foresee the power struggle that was inevitable; Sister Collins had bullied all the other consultants into accepting her ways, which personally Abigail had never thought particularly good, although she'd never been in a position to voice her thoughts.

Sister Collins' main aim in life was to get by with the minimum of trouble, and Abigail had always put it down to the fact that she was near to retirement, and just couldn't be bothered. Although that was no excuse for the medical staff, who Abigail had always felt should have put up more of a fight. But they'd always opted for the easy way out.

Greg Lincoln, however, was a completely different kettle of fish; there was no chance of him taking the easy option! Abigail mentally prepared herself for the forthcoming fireworks, resolving to come in a little earlier the next day, just to make sure that everything on the ward was shipshape and spotlessly in order. She might as well do what she could to smooth what was obviously going to be a stormy passage in all their lives.

“Don't you agree, my dear?” asked Sister Collins again.

“What?” asked Abigail hastily, as she was caught daydreaming again. “Agree with what?”

“That we won't be seeing Mr. Lincoln on one of his regimental ward rounds again.”

“Well…er I…” muttered Abigail, frantically searching for something tactful to say, knowing instinctively that Sister Collins was not ready to swallow the bitter pill of reality.

“Oh, Mr. Lincoln's going to do a ward round every day he's here.” interrupted Sue Parkins blithely. She'd been standing to one side listening to the conversation.

Abigail looked up quickly, trying to give her a warning glance that would tell her to shut up. But in vain. Sue carried on, blissfully unaware of the storm clouds gathering on Sister's brow.

“I know”, she said in a confidential tone, “because I asked him. And he said that in all the hospitals he's worked in, consultants
always
did a ward round, and he's going to do one here. He's going to haul us all up by our bootstraps!”

Oh goodness, thought Abigail in exasperation, why can't that girl keep her mouth closed! Bad enough telling Sister that he's going to do a round every day, but then to imply that the ward is so badly run that it needs hauling up by its bootstraps!

“
Haul us up by our bootstraps
!” Sister Collins' voice, always high, spiralled practically an octave until it squeaked.

“Yes, he…” Suddenly the import of her words sank in, and Sue's mouth dropped open with dismay.

“I think I heard the buzzer from room number three,” Abigail fibbed quickly. “The light can't be working. You'd better go and see what Mrs. Smith wants, Nurse Parkins.”

“Yes, Staff, right away, Staff,” said Sue breathlessly, taking the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. She flashed Abigail a grateful look as she disappeared, realising that she'd been extricated from yet another difficult situation.

“Oh, Sister, this Kardex seems to be in a awful mess, shall I re-do it?” asked Abigail. The Kardex in question didn't warrant re-doing, but she quickly waved it vaguely under Sister's nose, hoping she wouldn't inspect it too closely. “I'll go and get the patients' notes, and start to do it now before I go off duty.” Without waiting for a response, Abigail also made good her escape.

The very last thing she wanted was to take sides. She didn't want to hurt Sister's feelings, but in her heart she knew Greg was quite justified in his remarks. It was with a sigh of relief that she saw the night girl come on duty; time to go, and she hadn't needed to speak to Sister again. She was already in her office, packing her bags ready for departure.

“Had a good day?” asked the staff nurse coming to take over for the evening.

“Could have been better,” said Abigail briefly, not stopping to elaborate. “Has Sister already briefed you on the patients?”

“Yes, thanks,” the night nurse grinned. “I was briefed in two shakes of a lamb's tail, to coin a phrase! I might be mistaken, but it seemed to me she couldn't get out of here quickly enough.”

“Well, there's not much happening,” said Abigail, feeling she had to explain Sister's behaviour. “No patients back from theatre today, as they were day cases.”

The staff nurse, whose name was Joan, laughed and sounded relieved. “Good perhaps I'll be able to put my feet up for a bit; I've been up to London for a couple of days, and I'm absolutely shattered.”

“You shouldn't lead such a hectic life,” said Abigail, grinning. “I've no sympathy for you. Don't work too hard,” she threw the remark over her shoulder as she too scooted down the corridor, towards freedom and fresh air. She didn't usually look forward to the end of her working day, but it seemed that ever since the new consultant had arrived, by the end of the day there was nothing she wanted more than to escape.

She rang Rupert that evening and reminded him about the barbecue the following week. They made arrangements to meet at the site, as Rupert would have to drive straight there from London.

“Oh, I'd forgotten about your London trip,” exclaimed Abigail when he'd told her. Suddenly the weekend stretched ahead, lonely and empty. “I'll miss you,” she said truthfully.

To her disappointment Rupert didn't say anything about missing her, his head was much too full of the plans he had for all the people he had to meet. As he told Abigail, he was at a crucial point in his career, and meeting the right people now made the difference between being moderately successful, and very successful.

All he said as he rang off was, “Be good this weekend.”

To which Abigail replied a trifle disconsolately, “The chance to be anything else would be a fine thing!”

The prospect of the weekend stretching ahead didn't exactly fill her with delight, and she acknowledged with a feeling of slight surprise that since her father's death, she had come to depend on Rupert for companionship far more than she realised. I really ought to have more friends outside of hospital, she thought, but that was easier said than done. Working in a busy hospital, didn't leave much time for meeting people outside the world of medicine, and she was lucky to have met Rupert. Most of her friends were from the hospital, but conflicting duties often made it difficult to meet up outside the confines of the hospital; Lynne for example, she knew, was on duty for the whole weekend.

Suddenly she found herself wondering what the new consultant would be doing on his first weekend, although whatever it was he was very welcome to do it alone, or with Penelope Orchard, she reflected, pulling a face. Yes, almost certainly Penelope would invite him to meet her famous daddy!

As she prepared her supper in the kitchen she reprimanded herself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts, telling herself that if she wasn't careful she'd end up as a cross between Penelope and Sister Collins, a horrifying prospect! I shall do the garden she told herself firmly. That will stop me moping about; there's plenty to be done, the roses are running riot all over the place.

So when Friday afternoon came and the forecasters promised fine weather for the weekend, Abigail was pleased. Hard work would drive any thoughts of loneliness from her mind.

Mr. Lincoln had been operating all that day, so they had been spared the rigours of a ward round, which by now had been established as a regular feature of most days. Although Abigail privately doubted whether Sister Collins would ever come to regard it as a regular feature of
her
day; it still seemed to take her by surprise every time it occurred.

After waiting until Sister had gone off for tea, Abigail sneaked a quick phone call to Lynne, to confirm that both she and Rupert would be at the barbecue.

“Good,” said Lynne, then when she heard Abigail would be arriving alone, “I'll pick you up, and you can help me get things started. OK?”

“As if I had any choice,” remarked Abigail wryly.

She glanced at her watch. Sister Collins' figure appeared at the end of the corridor and there was only about half an hour to go before off duty; but Abigail frowned anxiously. The last patient on the operating list hadn't yet returned to the ward. It was a child, having laser surgery for recurring laryngeal polyps. Normally the children went back to section five, but as this particular boy was one of Greg Lincoln's special laser cases, he was going to be nursed post-operatively on section four, where most of his beds were situated.

Abigail looked at her watch again. Should she remind Sister Collins, who was busily preparing to leave for the weekend? Eventually deciding she'd better mention it, in case it had slipped her mind that they were missing one patient, she walked over to the desk.

“Steven Brown isn't back from theatre yet,” she said. “He went down at half past two, scheduled for theatre at three o'clock. Shall I ring Recovery and find out when he'll be returning to the ward?”

Sister Collins snorted with annoyance. “I thought all the patients were back,” she said crossly. “I particularly wanted to get off on time today, I'm due to catch the six o'clock train to London.” She shut the drawer of the wooden desk noisily. “That's the trouble with all this new-fangled laser surgery, the machinery's always going wrong and causing hold-ups.”

Abigail said nothing, although she did think Sister Collins was being a little unfair. After all, they didn't know the reason for the delay, it could be nothing whatsoever to do with the laser machine.

She started to dial the number for Theatre Recovery, but halfway through put down the phone. Through the clear glass of the firedoors at the far end of the corridor she could see a trolley being wheeled along by the two theatre porters. The anaesthetist was there too, wheeling a drip stand, followed by Greg Lincoln; they were all still wearing their theatre greens.

“They're coming,” she said quickly.

Sister Collins looked up, and seeing the entourage clicked her tongue derisively. “There, what did I say—problems! That child wouldn't be needing a drip unless there'd been problems.” She bustled forward, heaving a sigh. “This means I'll have to miss my train. I can't possibly leave until he's settled.”

“I'll stay,” volunteered Abigail. “It's probably something I can handle, and then you needn't miss your train.”

She went forward with Sister to meet the retinue of people coming down the corridor. “The bed opposite the nursing station is ready,” she said, walking beside the surgeon and anaesthetist. “Sister and I were wondering what had happened to you.”

“Well you might wonder,” said Bryn Hill, the anaesthetist, grimly. He looked pale, and still had on his theatre cap with his face mask pulled down so that it hung loosely around his neck. Abigail noticed with concern that beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead—obviously all had not gone smoothly.

It was with gentle care that the team manoeuvred the small boy from the trolley on to the bed. The anaesthetist checked him over again, pulse, blood pressure, response to verbal commands. He left nothing to chance, and finally turned back to Greg standing at his side.

“I'm happy to leave him now, Greg,” he said, ripping off his theatre cap in a tired gesture, “but a nurse must stay with him for the next two hours at the very least; his level of consciousness must be monitored very closely until he's back to normal.”

“That's a problem,” interrupted Sister Collins. “We don't have enough night staff to warrant the use of one nurse exclusively to one patient. If he needs that kind of attention, he should really be looked after in the intensive care unit, where there's a ratio of one to one.”

“I know, Sister,” muttered the anaesthetist apologetically. “But unfortunately the intensive care unit is full, and anyway I'm quite certain this boy will be perfectly all right now. It's just that I'd be happier if someone could keep a close eye on him for a couple of hours.”

“I'll stay,” said Abigail quickly. “I've nothing special planned for this evening, so it's not a problem.”

“I'd be very grateful to you,” said Greg, speaking for the first time. “I'm sure Dr. Hill is right; there's nothing to worry about, but we don't want to take any chances with the little fellow.”

So Abigail stayed on behind when the rest of the day nurses and Sister Collins went off for the weekend; it transpired that the small boy had developed a severe tachycardia during the operation, so severe in fact that the operation had been halted. However, eventually the laryngeal polyps had been successfully lasered away, thus ensuring that his respiratory problems were resolved.

Abigail looked at Steven, lying so still in the bed, his breathing regular and peaceful now. She felt his pulse—quite normal. The parents had been in to see him briefly, and Greg had explained what had happened and then sent them away for a meal in the hospital canteen. He had promised them he would come back and meet them in an hour, so that they could see their son, and then go away reassured for the night.