Yankee Surgeon (5 page)

Sally went tense again. This was always the trickiest part of the whole operation—to get the graft bed dry before putting in the slender bridge of bone that would strengthen the diseased spine and enable their patient to walk once more. This was the moment when a transfusion already set up could help so much.

Dr. Ross had obviously been asked that same question many times. “Just the usual gas and oxygen plus the good old muscle relaxants,” he said patiently.

He watched without comment their continued efforts to stop that welling pool and glanced at the clock. “Like me to start a blood drip going?” He made the suggestion casually as if it didn
’
t matter in the slightest whether he did it or not.

“Why? Are you worried about the patient?” The American
’
s voice was sharp.

“I
’
m
not ... yet ...
but we like to boast here at St. Bride
’
s that our patients leave the operating theater in even better condition than when they came through those doors, and—it won
’
t cost them or you a single red cent.”

It was so quietly done that Sally held her breath. But their American surgeon surprised them all by laughing and the whole theater relaxed visibly.

“Say, that was smart of you. I keep forgetting that everything over here is on the house. Sure, give him some of the good old red stuff and then we
’
ll all be happy. I guess Nurse has got the necessary for you tucked up her sleeve.”

Sally couldn
’
t bring herself to meet his eyes, because at that moment the junior came through the far door carrying very carefully the precious bottle from the fridge.

He chuckled again. “See what I mean?”

The rest of the list went smoothly and Sally could sense the tempo of the theater running down as they reached the final case. George had gone back to Casualty to deal with what the night might have brought him. It wasn
’
t really his evening on call, but with his usual good-heartedness he was standing in for someone else until midnight. Out of the corner of her eye Sally saw that the nurse from Mary Ward had taken over from her junior who was standing by the door waiting to be dismissed. The clock hands pointed mutely to eleven-thirty and Sally felt guilty.

“Off you go, Nurse, and thank you for your help,” Sally said softly.

Nurse Jones should be off too, but she was tucked away in the “dirty” room scrubbing instruments to put into the waiting sterilizer and couldn
’
t be reached for the moment.

John B. Tremayne
’
s hands smoothed the last plaster bandage into place with a final pat. “That
’
s it, Nurse.” He straightened his back wearily. “I guess I got up too early this morning. Got anything nice to drink in that fridge of yours?”

Sally
’
s lips twitched behind her mask. “I suppose you mean a coke, sir?”

“I suppose I did. I guess I
’
m a bit behind in my Hollywood movies. What do the best British surgeons have after their sessions?”

“Coffee, sir.”

He pulled off his cap and mask and tossed them toward a bucket. “You mean what you call coffee.” He made a face. “If I have mine black I might stay awake and I couldn
’
t bear that right now. And if I have it with some of your fancy hot milk I couldn
’
t bear that either. Got any plain milk that
’
s ice-cold?”

Sally gave a mock shiver. “Your poor ulcers! Sorry, I mean yes, sir.”

She became uncomfortably aware of the house surgeon hovering in the background and reminded herself nastily that it was most unusual for house surgeons to hang around after a session. They usually made themselves scarce.

“One coffee and one cold milk for the surgeons
’
room, Nurse Jones, and then off you go, and thank you very much indeed for staying.”

Sally smiled at the little nurse scrubbing dirty instruments so industriously at the sink. She was quick to notice that already the laundry had been sorted and that there were trays of instruments stacked on top of the sterilizers drying after their boiling. “Good girl. You haven
’
t left much for us to do.”

Nurse Jones pushed back a damp lock of hair. “I could finish these for you.” She sounded reluctant to leave.

Sally shook her head. “Mary Ward will do them. You
’
ve done more than your share. Drinks for the surgeons and then away you go.”

She went back into the main theater to find her chief carefully washing the last bit of plaster off his gloves.

He grinned at her. “One mess of plaster you won
’
t have to remove.” He searched the ceiling thoughtfully. “Not a single blob,
I declare ...
Not like my first plaster. I smothered not only myself but the big white chief as well. Reckon he wasn
’
t too pleased!”

Sally looked toward the scrubbing-up room.

“I
’
ve sent little sugarstick to write up the notes. I don
’
t think she cared for the idea much. If she
’
s a sample of what you inflict on your defenseless surgeons I fancy Hollywood is safer.”

“She
’
s new.” Sally tried to be fair. “It may brush off.”

He made a face. “The glamor, you mean? It
’
s more than skin deep, I guess. How
’
s a poor guy like me expected to cope?” He made a gesture of helplessness.

Sally hesitated. She wasn
’
t quite sure how to deal with all this democracy at this hour of night.

“The usual technique is to overload them with
work ...
let them finish off your lists and so on,” she said dryly.

He looked horrified. “That
’
s rough on the patients, isn
’
t it? Or is that what you call utility surgery?”

“It
’
s not! Let me tell you that I
’
ve never seen any utility surgery in all the time I
’
ve been at St. Bride
’
s!” Sally was furious.

He grinned at her suddenly. “And that
’
s been years and years!” he drawled.

Sally swallowed the insult with difficulty. She had made so many wrong remarks where this tall newcomer was concerned that she didn
’
t want to dig herself in any deeper.

“Two years
’
theater staffing plus my training, of course,” she said quietly.

Unexpectedly he reached over and ruffled his fingers slowly through her hair.
“Heck ...
not a single gray
hair...”

Sally sprang back out of reach and her face was scarlet. “I think you
’
re insufferable!”

Then her hand went to her mouth in horror ... she had done it again. The silence seemed to be ticking away alarmingly before he started to speak.

“Am I?” His fair skin seemed to have paled and there was a taut look about his mouth.

“I
’
m sure he
’
s in here. I haven
’
t seen him come out of the theater,” a high-pitched voice was saying.

Then the theater doors swung open and George Brown came in with Claris Stornoway babbling in his wake.

Sally knew that George was taking in every nuance of the situation in his own quiet way ... her angry expression ... the way she was
standing ...
her theater cap pushed aside most untidily ... and Dr. Tremayne looking so tall and
so bleak...

George looked straight at the surgeon. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but there
’
s a case in Casualty that you might like to see. It
’
ll save getting one of the consultants in.”

John B. Tremayne nodded. “Okay. I
’
ll be right with you as soon as I get out of this fancy get-up.” He glanced briefly in Claris Stornoway
’
s direction. “If you
’
ve got those notes done, you might as well toddle off to bed.”

Sally had never seen a neater squelch and was sure that Claris hadn
’
t either. Then he was looking at her.

“Thank you, Staff Nurse. Thanks
for everything...”

It didn
’
t take George
’
s outrageous wink to make Sally realize that she was being handed gratitude, apology and forgiveness all in one bundle. She had a feeling that George would be back later for the post-mortem of what had happened.

Sally was very glad to have the theater to herself. The nurse from Mary Ward had been sent to supper and with any luck she could go when the other girl came back. She was really too tired and keyed up to be hungry, but breakfast time was still a long time off and her heart sank as she contemplated all that remained to be done. Was it only last night that she had been telling herself that the best thing about night duty was that there was time and peace to do everything properly?
A
trifle sadly she reminded herself that that was before John B. Tremayne had swung into her orbit.

She was smiling to herself at the very thought of comparing the tall and handsome surgeon with one of his country
’
s rockets. Perhaps he would be one of those that fizzled out before it reached its destination. Sally didn
’
t think so. She had glimpsed a little of the steely determination that lurked behind his quiet manner. She looked up as footsteps approached and George Brown came through the swinging doors.

Sally groaned softly. “You haven
’
t come to tell me that you have a real live casualty for surgery, have you?”

He lowered his body heavily on to one of the stools and echoed her groan. “No, I
’
ve not, and for once I don
’
t mind. Do you know something?” He glared at her as if daring her to dispute his next remark. “I
’
m tired ... dead tired ... whacked to the wide.”

Sally laughed, but it was a sympathetic sound. “And weren
’
t you the man who was gloating over the fact that he had just had holidays, was so full of energy that he was taking all his friends
’
calls...?”

George reached across the theater table and ruffled Sally
’
s hair. “Don
’
t rub
it in ...
that was last night.”

Sally drew back crossly. “Don
’
t do that. I don
’
t like having my hair messed.”

He looked at his hand closely and then addressed it. “Five fingers, all the usual lines, flesh, blood, and nerves, sinews, the lot, but obviously you haven
’
t got that American flavor ... what do
y
ou know!”

Sally flushed. “So you did see, then?”

“Enough to guess the rest. What were you two up to anyway?”

“We were arguing, that
’
s all.”

“Since when does a mere staff nurse argue with a visiting surgeon?” It wasn
’
t all teasing behind George
’
s voice.

Sally put another dollop of oil on the forceps she was polishing. “It wasn
’
t quite like that. He was suggesting that surgeons in this country operated more quickly because there wasn
’
t money
involved...”

“Are you sure that
’
s what he said? How come you were talking" about it anyway?”

Sally thought back carefully. “We
weren’t ...
not really. Claris was getting in his hair and he was asking how a poor guy
coped...”
Her lips twitched at the memory.
“So I
told him ... oh, you
know ...
giving them all the dirty work and letting them finish off. So it was then he made the crack about utility surgery ... and—”

“—and you let him have both barrels,” George said slowly. “Well, if you take your Uncle George
’
s advice ... and I know you always treasure my judgment—”

Sally giggled. “Don
’
t be pompous, George. Let
’
s have it without the fancy wrappings.”

He pretended to be hurt. “Well, if that
’
s the way you feel about the golden wisdom of my extra years!”

“It
’
s only two years unless you
’
ve aged
overnight...
”
Sally was irrepressible.

“Twenty-eight is much, much more mature than twenty-
six...
”

“Oh, no, it
isn’t ...
not when there
’
s a difference of sex,” Sally began.

George stood up abruptly. “I see we
’
ll be arguing all night at this rate.” He became serious. “What I was trying to say when I was so rudely interrupted was, don
’
t be misled by this apparently informal democratic approach, this manner—call it what you want—of our new surgeon. It could suggest that you can take liberties. But you can
’
t. And when you happen to stray over the
line ...
wham! You wonder what
’
s hit you.”

He walked toward the door and then turned back. “Apart from fighting with our Dr. Tremayne, what do you think of him?”

Sally took an unusually long time to answer. “I
’
m not quite sure—one moment I think he
’
s all right, and the next he makes me so mad. Oh, I don
’
t know. I suppose it
’
s all a case of getting used to different techniques, other ways of thinking and so on.”

“I suppose you could regard it as an apprenticeship .course toward your trip to America.”

But Sally didn
’
t rise to the bait.
“Perhaps...”
she said quietly and picked up her tray of instruments and went toward the cupboard.

George didn
’
t accept his dismissal. “Sally?”

“Yes?” She didn
’
t look up from what she was doing.

“You wouldn
’
t be going soft over this chap, by any chance?”

Sally took a deep breath and then let it out reluctantly. “Twice before I
’
ve answered that remark in no uncertain terms and he
’
s walked in. So this time the answer will be ... no comment. And you needn
’
t go making anything of that, either.”

“Thanks, Sally. I only wanted to know.”

George had gone before Sally could retort to his unexpected meekness. She sighed a little. Perhaps there was something in what the rest of her set kept insisting ... perhaps George was in love with her. She didn
’
t know and at the moment it was the last thing she wanted. She had to be free
...
free to try her wings ... free to follow her star to America or wherever else her ambition might take her. It wasn
’
t that she didn
’
t like George. She was very fond of him, but not in terms of settling down. He was someone she
could share her troubles with, laugh with over muddles
—

T
he nurse from Mary Ward came back and Sally went off to supper. She was even more reluctant than last night. The other staff nurses would be eagerly awaiting her comments on tonight
’
s session and she didn
’
t feel like making them ... not the kind of comments they would be expecting.

There was the usual drop in tone as she came in and she knew that it wasn
’
t only because Night Sister came in at the same time. “Come on, Sally ... give!”

“Have a heart, girls, I
’
m starved and dead-beat into the bargain.” She sank into her chair with exaggerated weariness.

“That
’
s cheating
...
but you can have the first course. Say, Johnson, did you have that new house surgeon down on your ward tonight? Not the female one—I mean the tall, handsome...?”

“He
’
s only a holiday
‘
locum
’
so you
’
re wasting your time. Hasn
’
t even taken his finals
yet ...
wet behind the ears and as soft as a baby. You should have seen his hand trembling when he had to do that cut-down! You
’
d think he was doing it without a local.”

“Well, wouldn
’
t you if you had a hard-bitten staff nurse almost willing you to make a muck-up of your first cut-down intravenous?”

Sally listened to the lively chatter of her friends and wondered why she didn
’
t feel like joining in. Perhaps she really was tired ... the nervous strain of taking a new surgeon or ... something. She pushed away her plate of macaroni and cheese and helped herself to stewed plums.

The others pounced on her. “Come on ... first course finished! Give us the low-down.”

Sally was almost grateful for the warning glance from Night Sister
’
s table, but it only gave her a momentary reprieve.

“Well, of course his methods are a bit different and he sometimes asks for things by another name. He
’
s a bit slower than Weymouth-Smythe, but does good careful
surgery...” H
ow absurdly tame it all sounded and gave no hint of the man
he was...

Her classmates seemed to be of the same opinion. “Sounds rather
dull...”

“Wasn
’
t there a flap about a transfusion?”

Sally found herself defending. “Was there? I didn
’
t notice. I had a trolley laid and the blood was in the
fridge...”

There was visible disappointment on their faces.

“Oh ... it wasn
’
t how we heard
it ... b
ut I suppose it got exaggerated as it
went around...”

To her relief they lost interest and she was left to drink her cup of tea in peace until Night Sister made her customary remark. “Nurses, isn
’
t it time—”

They were on their feet and filing out of the dining room before she could complete her sentence. There was not any item of hot news tonight to keep them enthralled ... and Sally could hug her thoughts to herself.

Sally went up the stairs slowly, wondering why the idea of no special session this evening should bother her. There was no extra bustle going on ... no clinking of instruments ... no coming and going of gowned and masked figures with that faraway intent look in their eyes which seemed to hint at such drama and merely indicated that they were wondering whether they had left something off the trolley they had laid up. It was only weariness tonight that was reflected on their faces ... sighs of relief that they could go off duty beyond the sound of the theater super
’
s voice ... away from the constant lash of things not done ... not remembered ... not finished.

Sally greeted them cheerfully as she hung up her cloak in the nurses
’
room. “Anything on the way in? Had a good day?” There was a little silence and then Smithers spoke up.

“I suppose it
was
the same as usual but you wouldn
’
t know it! No one could do a thing right even though it had been done the same way for simply ages. I don
’
t
know ...
sometimes I wonder whatever made me take up nursing.”

She sighed and her sigh seemed to be taken up by everyone else in that small room.

“But
what
happened? Something must have started it off!” Sally insisted.

Smithers picked up the last gown out of the laundry basket, saw that it was torn and added it to the pile for the sewing room.

“I suppose you could say that the theater super
’
s got her knife into the new house surgeon—that
’
s the nearest diagnosis I can give you. This Dr. Stornoway started flaunting her little airs about the theater just as the early list was beginning. You know the sort of thing—why weren
’
t there any size four wellingtons put out for her
...
she
couldn
’
t be expected to wear sixes. And this went on until the theater super came down on her like a ton of bricks. Most house surgeons wouldn
’
t have raised a peep after that, but this one isn
’
t squashable. Then of course she had to go and help herself to some instruments from Sister
’
s trolley
...
talk about live voltage sizzling around a theater! Static electricity wouldn
’
t have stood
a chance...”