Steady Now Doctor (9 page)

So, as usual, Andy was on the run from the orthopaedics to the plastics, to the ENTs, only occasionally getting into eyes, hardly ever getting into the skins, and fortunately leaving the venereal diseases alone.

He was the oldest resident now. It was always important to him to be thought well of by everybody, and he went out of his way to be a sort of father figure to people starting their first jobs. He was at everybody's beck and call, showing people for the first time how to cross-match blood. He had been strictly told, by Mr Farrant, that he must not go into Casualty, but it didn't stop him going in occasionally with a mask on his face to help when they were very pressed.

The hospital was beginning to look in rather better shape now. They were spending money on decorating and doing up wards and theatres, and there was some talk of it being added as a sort of secondary teaching place to St Jane's Hospital where Andy had trained, but it needed a huge facelift before that would be possible. Andy thought, ‘My God, fancy Mr Gotter lecturing to medical students.'

His job really was just too much for him. He had an Army medical pending before doing his National Service, and although it would be deferred to the end of this job, he wondered whether the Army might say they wanted him straight away. He hoped so. He fancied himself in a Sam Browne belt and an officer's uniform. He might be sent abroad, or all sorts of exciting things could happen.

He duly received a call-up notice for his medical and went off to it cheerfully. He did the usual things, coughed at the right time and had a physician listen to his chest. He listened a bit too long Andy thought, had a chest X-ray, urine test and blood tests. Andy came back from his medical, cheered. It did mean there was an end in sight to this present tremendous grind, where he was rushing from pillar to post, getting patients ready for theatre, pre-medication, then seeing them post-operatively. He even toyed with the idea of becoming a permanent Army Medical Officer and making the Army his career. Anyway he was really looking forward to his two years.

To his huge disappointment a brown official looking letter written on Her Majesty's Service arrived. On opening it he read, not believing what he saw that following the medical examination at, and then it went on to list the building and address, ‘We are sorry to report that Dr Andrew Howard has not passed as being medically fit to take up service in Her Majesty's Forces.'

He went to David Hudson and showed him the letter. “Right,” said David, “we'll give you the complete works.” David went over him from toenails to eyebrows, with blood test, chest X-rays, everything. They sat down together when the results came in. “Andy,” said David, “you're absolutely 100% fit, you have a slight systolic murmur, but it is purely physiological and of no significance.” With a letter from David he went to see a Harley Street Consultant who confirmed everything that David said. He then wrote to the Army with a letter from David and from the Harley Street specialist, but the Army wouldn't budge. There was to be no military service for Andy.

“I just don't understand it,” said Andy to David, “I'm probably the fittest Houseman in London.”

“Yes,” said David, “and I know how good a doctor you are, and I know qualifications don't really mean a thing, but to date you only have LMSSA and to some, stupidly, that matters.”

Fortunately Andy's work kept him so busy that whatever disappointment he had was soon replaced by exhaustion. Everybody else was talking about what they were going to do in their military service, and where they hoped to go. He just kept quiet. Once again he was going to be an outsider. He wanted to get into general practice, but he still had months of this terrible job to do and he would have to do an obstetric job somewhere before he could even start thinking of applying for a job in general practice.

David Hudson tried to comfort him. He said, “It's strange, Andy, half the people here would give their eye teeth not to have to go in the Army and you're fretting because you can't.”

“I,” he said, “believe that somehow there is an overall pattern to our lives, and remember, this, my boy, could be part of your pattern. Perhaps something good will turn up you'd have missed if you'd gone into the Army.”

“Well, if something good does turn up,” said Andy, “it'll have to be very good.”

He then shot off once more on to the treadmill of work that this strange mixed job demanded.

Chapter 8

Fully Engaged

Andy was on the children's ward examining little Amy aged four years who had a bone tumour on her leg. A biopsy had shown it to be malignant, but it was a low grade malignancy and there was a chance that it could be operated on successfully, but she had to have some chemotherapy and radiotherapy first.

She had been on the ward for about a month now, and he wished that it could be someone other than Mr Gotter who was eventually going to operate on her. He had to take some blood from her, which he hated. He played with her for a while, bopping her on the nose with a toy rabbit, then went into the pathology room of the ward to get the syringes and specimen bottles. He mused, and wondered if Dr Nuberg really meant it when he said unless Andy brought somebody to the hospital ball he wouldn't let him take out another tonsil. “You're all work and no play, Andy,” he said, “it makes for a dull boy.”

Since the departure of Diana, Andy had kept his head down and worked with only the occasional visit home. Having cut out both skins and venereal disease parts of his job, it was still an impossible one.

He had told the Ward Sister he would need a nurse to help with the blood. He nodded to the Sister as he walked back towards the screened-off Amy. At the same time he noticed the door opening and Matron and her entourage sweeping in.

As he went through the curtains Amy began to cry when she saw the bottles and syringes. “Oh, don't cry,” said Andy, “Dr Andy doesn't want to hurt you. I know, we'll take blood from teddy first,” then he went through an elaborate charade of pretending to take blood from teddy, wishing that a nurse would come and they could get it all finished.

No nurse came, but Andy could hear Matron in a loud booming voice slagging some nurse off and sounding like a sergeant major. Andy felt one of his energy surges coming on, he thought there must be some violent side to his nature, he could easily go and hit Matron with a lead pipe.

In a couple of minutes he was at boiling point.

He stormed out from Amy's curtained-off bed, then pointing his finger at Matron he said in a very loud voice, “Matron just shut up, this is a hospital, not a barrack room, and you, nurse,” pointing to the one who was getting slagged-off, “come and help me with this child.”

There was a deadly silence, the slim fair-haired nurse looked at Matron and Andy, not quite knowing what to do.

“Come on nurse,” said Andy, kindly, “we're running a hospital, and I need your help.”

As the nurse came to help him, Matron led her retinue out of the ward. The rather red-eyed nurse was a natural, she cuddled Amy, Andy took her blood with just one little yelp from Amy. “Was that teddy talking?” he asked, then he took his blood to the path room and set up some tests.

He had been in there about ten minutes when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” said Andy. In came the nurse who had been helping him. “Yes,” said Andy.

“I just wanted to thank you, sir,” said the nurse.

“Thank me,” said Andy, “what for?”

“For rescuing me from Matron,” said the nurse, “you are my knight in shining armour.”

“No, I'm not,” said Andy, “it's just the starch in these white coats. What dreadful crime did you commit, and will she get at you when I'm not here.”

“No,” said the nurse, “they're all slightly scared of you, didn't you once knock somebody about in Casualty or something? My crime was to drop and break a china bedpan, there aren't many of them about nowadays. Anyway, thanks. If there's anything I can ever do for you I would.”

Andy cut her short. “As a matter of fact you can come along as my partner to the hospital ball.”

“Why me?” said the girl.

“Well, you asked,” said Andy, “and I've been ordered to go.”

“Well, I haven't a long dress,” said the nurse, “I've never been to a ball before.”

“Never mind,” said Andy, “you have until ten to seven Friday week to make, beg, borrow or steal one.”

“I don't know,” said the nurse.

“Right,” said Andy, “I'll send for Matron.”

The nurse smiled, “All right, I'll do my best, sir.”

“By the way,” said Andy as she was leaving, “what's your name?”

“Mary Smith, sir,” said the girl.

“Well, that stands out in a crowd,” said Andy, “and I'm Andy, not sir.”

“Oh, I couldn't sir,” said the girl.

“Say Andy,” said Andy.

“Andy,” said the girl, and giggled.

“Ten to seven Friday week it will be,” said Andy.

She was a trim, neat, poised little nurse. ‘I could have done worse,' thought Andy.

He scrubbed up that afternoon with Dr Nuberg for the tonsil list. As they stood at adjoining sinks Andy said, “Mary Smith.”

“Who's Mary Smith?” said Dr Nuberg.

“My partner for the ball,” said Andy.

“I don't believe you,” said Dr Nuberg, “and you could have thought of a more original name.”

“Mary Smith is a nurse on the children's ward who I saved from Matron's wrath today.”

“OK, a bargain's a bargain,” said Dr Nuberg, and he carefully supervised while Andy took out four lots of tonsils.

The next few days after his tonsillectomies Andy's time was fully occupied by the plastic surgeons, who were for once proving their mettle. It was the second stage in the rebuilding of Edna Clarence's larynx, and for the first time Andy was able to see what patient and skilled men they were. It meant that for the following two days his time was taken up purely looking after her, and both the ear, nose and throat, orthopaedic and eye areas of his work had to suffer. In the past all the consultants had taken this for norm, they weren't used to having anybody around, but having had Andy for six months, there were a few grumbles, but you just can't please all the people all the time, and Andy has to select his priorities.

The following week on the orthopaedic list Mr Gotter was almost lynched by the surgery staff. He was doing a halux vulgus toe operation on a retired nurse. He'd done one foot, made the incision on another then said, “I haven't time to finish it today, I've got another patient to go and see,” and to the fury of the theatre staff, stitched the foot up and sent the patient back to the ward.

“Come on Andy,” he said, “I need your help.”

Andy climbed into his Rolls-Royce with him, and they shot off to some private nursing home where the theatre staff were all geared up waiting for him.

The anaesthetist had the patient on a trolley lying face downwards and they wheeled her into theatre.

“What are we doing?” said Andy.

“Oh,” said Mr Gotter, “we're chopping a bit of her sacrum out.”

“Why are we doing that?” said Andy.

“Well,” said Mr Gotter, “this poor woman's husband died of a coronary in the middle of the marital act. She's had a back pain ever since and a little operation will take her mind off it.”

Andy said nothing, no wonder his colleagues called Mr Gotter “a refugee from a Cronin novel”.

He had to slip home one night and pick up his father's dinner jacket, he knew it fitted him as he'd borrowed it before, but not for a year or two. This sent Auntie Rob into squeals of excitement. “Have you got a young lady, Andy,” she said.

“No,” said Andy, “I just have to take somebody to the ball.” They found a proper shirt for him with a black tie and he rushed back to the hospital fully equipped.

The rest of the week was fairly mundane, ward rounds, outpatients, nothing dramatic and not too much disturbed sleep. He was called down to Casualty late Friday afternoon to give a hand with a patient, and it was a bit of a rush getting dressed for the evening ball. He noticed as he left his room it was five to seven. ‘Oh God,' he thought, ‘five minutes late already.'

Happily, when he got to the Nurses' Home, the only person waiting outside was a slim, elegant, fair-haired girl dressed in a red taffeta dress and a white stole. He looked around for Mary, wondering whether he would recognize her. The girl in the taffeta dress was making questioning eyes at him. This went on for a minute or two as Andy paced up and down. Suddenly the girl walked towards him and said, “You were serious about tonight, sir?”

“Are you Mary Smith?” said Andy incredulously, “you're just gorgeous.”

“Oh don't say that, sir,” said Mary, “I'm all of a twitter.”

“On one condition,” said Andy.

“Any condition,” said Mary.

“That you call me Andy, and not sir.”

“Oh dear,” said Mary, “all right, Andy.”

“Take my arm,” said Andy, “and off we go.”

The ball was very pleasant and Mary was a good, unobtrusive companion. Andy had to desert her from time to time and she sat demurely in the background. He noticed that one or two people asked her to dance, but she politely refused. Mr Nuberg insisted on being introduced to her. “Are you really Mary Smith?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Well,” he said, “you're dancing with the chap who could take your tonsils out if you wanted.”

“What does all that mean?” asked Mary.

“Oh, it's a long story,” said Andy, “only a bit of fun.”

He did find it difficult to take his eyes off her. She was pretty, short, fair haired, freckled - lovely freckled arms - with a slim figure, elegance and poise, a real credit to him. God, how lucky he'd been with his choice. As they danced past Matron and her cronies they saw them nodding with knowing looks, as much as to say ‘So that's why he came out shouting down the ward.'

Mary was a good dancer, very light on her feet and the evening rushed by all too quickly. For some reason at the end they sang
Auld Lang Syne
, although New Year was a good six weeks off and Andy took Mary back to the Nurses' Home. “Thank you so much, sir.”

“It's Andy,” he said.

“I can go back to calling you sir now,” she said, “I feel like Cinderella and I have so enjoyed myself, you'll never know how much.” She leaned forward and pecked Andy on the cheek and fled into the Nurses' Home. He was vaguely aware of about eight other faces pressed to various windows watching their goodbye.

This evening off from work had in some way unsettled Andy and although he worked as hard as ever, he did feel that perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to do something social occasionally, but how and who to go with and what? He had just got out of the habit.

A month after the ball, walking along the main corridor, he bumped into Mary and impulsively said, “Do you fancy tea and the flicks?”

“I'd love to,” she said, “Andy,” and smiled.

“When are you next off?”

“Saturday,” said Mary.

“Fine,” said Andy, “I know a place in Chelsea where we can see foreign films and a café across the road where they do either fish teas or fish suppers.”

They were good easy companions, not really intruding into each other's lives, and once a fortnight it became a habit to go to the pictures and have something to eat in Chelsea. Andy always insisted on paying, but Mary was always trying to pay her whack.

Christmas came and went, and with all the hullabaloo there is on wards at Christmas Andy did not see much of Mary.

He felt awful when, on Christmas Day, he found a little parcel outside his room. He unwrapped it and found a nice tie and a note, ‘Love from Mary', and he hadn't got her anything!

Soon after Christmas, every other Saturday, they started their pictures and tea or supper again, until, one Saturday, Mary apologized and said she wouldn't be able to go with him as she had another commitment.

Andy felt completely mortified. She gave no reason for this. ‘Bloody women,' he thought, but then, back in his room, he mulled it over and wondered whether she was trying it on. Was she trying to make me jealous? but of course not, theirs was just a sort of brother/sister relationship. Just companionship, she had every reason to go out. He'd forget her. He always had work to fall back on and he blotted her out and worked even harder than usual.

One Friday night there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find Mary - she was blushing.

“Forward of me,” she said, “but I would love to go to the pictures tomorrow.”

“Come in you idiot,” he said, “and have a cup of cocoa.”

“We are not allowed in the doctors' rooms, sir.”

“Well, we'll risk it,” said Andy.

They went to the pictures first this time, and then went to their little restaurant for their plaice, chips and salad supper. Neither of them had much money. Andy was curious as to where she had been. “You never say anything about your family,” he said, “I often speak of mine.”

There was a pause. Mary said, “I have no family, I'm a genuine orphan.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Andy, and for the first time since he'd known her he saw her really tighten up.

“There's absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” she said, “I had the happiest childhood imaginable and I missed the other weekend because it was the Silver Wedding of the Master and the Mother of my Home, I couldn't have had a happier time there, I haven't a normal family, but I have a much much bigger one outside.” As she said this her eyes became moist. This took the whole edge off the evening, and conversation was a bit stilted.

Andy thought, ‘You stupid jealous fool, you've ruined everything.'

They caught the bus back to the stop near the hospital. As they were walking to the hospital, for the first time Mary slipped her hand in his and squeezed it. Holding hands, both clasping tightly, meant much more than either of them could have said with words. He saw her to the door and pecked her on the cheek.

Three days later was the eventful day of little Amy's operation. The radiotherapy and chemotherapy had not gone as well as expected, but there was still hope with this operation. Mary had come with her from the ward, and smiled at Andy in the anaesthetic room. She stayed in theatre, robed, while the operation was performed. Mr Gotter, was his usual loud flamboyant self, flinging instruments about. It was a difficult operation, sometimes he could do things well, but when the leg was fully opened, things did look a bit dicey. They had been operating for about two hours when the anaesthetist said, “Hold on, there is something going wrong, we're losing her.”