Tender Nurse (6 page)

“Good night, my sweet,” laughed Virginia. “Pleasant dreams.”

THE next few months passed pleasantly for Andrea. After a brief two weeks, she had been put on one of the childrens’ wards, and after that, an adult medical ward. Here, life was less dramatic than on the surgical ward and theatre, but satisfying, none the less. On the medical ward, caring for patients suffering from rheumatism, heart disease and so on, much depended on nursing skill. Andrea was happy in her job, treating tenderly the painful joints of acute rheumatism until they became less painful and the patient was normal again; or giving every possible attention to a heart case, so that in rest and contentment, nature could work more speedily. Drugs and medicines played a great part, of course, but these were given by the more senior nurses, and Andrea was content to minister in the other ways.

The freshness of spring had given place to a humid summer and hospital dances to tennis tournaments which Andrea very much enjoyed. She had seen a good deal of George Howard on his daily round of the ward, and the more she saw of him, the better she liked him. Martin Graham, on the other hand, seemed to have passed almost out of her existence. She had seen little of him since the night of the dance. Her talk with him then and the scene in the theatre had faded almost into obscurity in the busy life. Virginia had been on night duty, so apart from the occasions when her night off coincided with Andrea’s day off, they too had not seen quite so much of each other.

“How is Godfrey these days?” Virginia asked one morning as, still in her uniform, she sat on Andrea’s bed.

It was Andrea’s day off, and Virginia under cover of her cloak had carried a pot of tea from the night nurses’ home. Both girls were somewhat sleepy; Andrea not yet quite awake from her night’s sleep, and Virginia ready for sleep after her long night on duty.

“Oh, Godfrey is fine!” Andrea replied. “We’re going to Cliftonville. Lunch, perhaps a sail, even a picnic on the beach, if weather permits, and the theatre in the evening.”

“Lucky you. Off duty never seems the same on nights.”

“Tonight should be your last. I wonder where we’ll all be tomorrow?”

“I wonder!” echoed Virginia. “The change list is late going up. We normally get at least three days notice. The suspense is terrible.”

They both started as the door was thrust open and Rita Wainwright burst in excitedly.

“The change list is up! I’m on surgical at last! Whoopee!”

“Rita, calm down, and tell us where we are.”

“Let me see now. Slater, you’re on womens’ surgical, I think. And Grey—er—nights or theatre, I can’t remember.”

“Nonsense. Andrea couldn’t be going on night duty. Come on, Andrea, let’s go and see for ourselves.”

Andrea bounded out of bed and flung on her dressing- gown, hastily thrusting her feet into slippers. They raced down the corridor and stood panting in front of the notice board.

“She’s right, Andrea. You’re in theatre!” gasped Virginia. “And I’m on women’s surgical.”

“Theatre——”

Andrea felt a thrill both of excitement and apprehension. Much as she had enjoyed her three months of the medical ward, she had been really gripped by the drama and tension of the theatre. Still vivid in her mind was the memory of that first morning on which she had entered the theatre. And now, also, came flooding uncomfortably back, her encounter with Martin Graham.

“Oh, Virginia,” she breathed, back in her room. “I’m absolutely thrilled at the idea of being on the theatre staff, but——”

Virginia smiled. “But not so thrilled at coming up against our Mr. Graham, eh? But I thought everything was put fight at the last dance? In fact, if I remember rightly, you were ready to worship at his feet.”

 Andrea colored. “I suppose it was in a way. But as for worshipping at his feet, I’m willing to admit that he’s a clever surgeon, but as for anything else——”

Virginia laughed. “Oh, Andrea, you are funny at times. What, then, is the ‘but’ about going into theatre?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. First, I hope he really has forgotten our little upset, and second, for some reason, I’d hate to do anything wrong while he’s operating, or even in the theatre at all. Pride, I suppose.”

Virginia’s face sobered. “It isn’t easy in the theatre, I’m sure, though I’ve never been on duty there myself. But you’ll soon get used to it. Sister Fisher is something of a tartar, I believe, but if you’re wise and do exactly as she tells you, you’ll get along all right. You’ll just be running around, fetching and carrying and cleaning at first, but between times you’ll learn a lot. As for Mr. Graham, whatever your private opinion of him as a man, you must remember that he’s king in the theatre. He’s a great surgeon and his responsibility is great too. There must be no hitches when he’s operating. Lives depend on perfect timing, on everybody knowing their own job, on absolute sterility—and his skill. In medical nursing, as you’ve probably realized yourself, a lot depends on the skill of the nurses, but in surgery, it’s the skill of the surgeon that counts—providing all the rules of asepsis are carried out—and they must be, of course. If you can understand all that, you will understand why Mr. Graham is such an important person in the hospital. He has, I should think, unbent more to you than he has ever done before to a probationer. Normally, there’s such a gap between him and a student nurse—socially—as to be almost unbridgeable.”

Andrea was silent. She understood what Virginia was trying to tell her. For her own sake, if she was to be happy in the hospital, she must mentally “toe the line” with regard to Martin Graham. She must think of him, not as a man, but as a surgeon of importance whose every whim must be carried out, every order obeyed. She must remember that he was far above her socially—she was probably not even a person to him. Why did she find it so difficult to accept? The rest of the nurses seemed to find it easy enough.

She felt Virginia’s hand on her arm. “Don’t look so down-hearted, old dear. You’ll be all right. Actually, you’re lucky. Nurses used not to go into theatre until their second year.”

“Oh? Then why has it changed now?”

“It’s the new idea of Mr. Graham’s. Matron seems to be backing him up anyhow.” She got up. “Well, I must be off to bed. One more night—then back to normal living.”

“And I must get dressed,” said Andrea. “I’m meeting Godfrey at eleven.”

“Has he the day off?”

“Yes. It’s a slack time at the office and he has a day owing to him.”

“Well, enjoy yourselves.”

Slowly, Andrea began to dress, an inexplicable thrill welling up within her.

“Godfrey,” she said breathlessly when they met, “what do you think—I’m going into theatre tomorrow for three months!”

He glanced at her excited face. “Are you looking forward to it as much as that? I should have thought you preferred the actual nursing rather than just watching operations.”

“Oh, but Godfrey, it’s not just that. You don’t understand. It—it’s wonderful in the theatre, so—so dramatic, so——”

“But won’t it bring you more into contact with the surgeon you disliked so much?”

“That’s a long time ago. I told you that he apologized to me. Besides, it’s the work that matters, not personal relationships.”

“I suppose so.”

Andrea looked at him. “Cheer up, darling. Anyone would think I had just given you some bad news.”

He smiled wryly. “To tell you the truth, sweetheart, I’m missing you more than I can say, especially these summer evenings. The evening tennis we used to have, the picnic parties with the gang, our walks home in the summer twilight, just you and I.”

Andrea gave a worried frown. “Godfrey, I wish you wouldn’t talk that way. It’s inevitable that we don’t see quite so much of each other whilst I’m doing my training. I must have some time for study. You’re bound to miss me for a while, we spent so much of our time together. But you’ll get used to it”

“It isn’t just that. I love you so, my darling, and I’m not finding waiting easy.”

“I know, my dear. I know. But you must be patient. I’ll tell you what. On the very next opportunity, we’ll arrange a tennis party and supper afterwards at the flat. It will be like old times. What do you say?”

“That would be fine, darling, but don’t arrange it merely to please and pacify me. I love you and I miss you, but I want you to see me because you want to— because you miss me too.”

How could he explain the awful sense of depression that had settled upon him since she left the office to take up nursing. It wasn’t just not seeing so much of her, though heaven knew that was bad enough, it was the feeling that she was inexorably slipping away from him. Try as he might, he could not shake off the feeling, or rid himself of the foreboding. Yet he must for her sake. Every time they met, he seemed to be worrying her without meaning to.

Her soft brown eyes were turned on him now.

“Dear Godfrey. Of course I want to see you—as often as I can, and I do miss you. But you do understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t worry about it any more, darling. I’ve booked a table for lunch at the Windmill, so let’s walk in that direction and on the way there you can tell me what you’d like to do this afternoon.”

She tucked her arm in his and together they walked along the flower-decked promenade enjoying the wonderful perfume of the roses, which wafted on the warm sum-mer breeze. The shaped flower beds planned on the seaward tide of the walk were a glorious riot of color at this, as at all seasons of the year.

The sun came out warm and pleasant and after lunch they swam and stretched lazily on the beach. It was when they were on their way to the theatre in the evening that Godfrey suddenly said:

“Look, Andrea, isn’t that your surgeon?”

Her eyes followed the direction in which he was looking. Martin Graham was driving into the theatre car park and at his side sat Sister Fisher. So it was true what the nurses said or intimated. There was good reason for their names being linked together.

“Who’s the lady?” asked Godfrey.

“She—she’s the theatre sister.”

“Oh. I thought that sort of thing wasn’t allowed?”

“What ‘sort of thing?’ “ Andrea was conscious of the edge in her voice. Though she was actually unaware of it, she was irritated slightly by the significance that Godfrey was giving to the incident, and was unwilling to accept that there was any special relationship between Martin and Julia Fisher.

Godfrey glanced at her. “Why — the staff having affairs.”

“How do you know they’re having an affair?”

“Well, going out together, then.’’

“Good gracious, Godfrey, the hospital isn’t exactly a monastery. ‘Affairs,’ as you call them
are
frowned upon between the probationers and the doctors, but it’s different for people in their position. They’re not children. Anyway it’s no business of ours. Let’s change the subject.’’

“All right darling.”

Godfrey sighed inwardly. He had never known Andrea so touchy. She must be over-tired. Nursing was such exacting work.

For Andrea, a cloud had been cast over the day. Virginia had said that Martin Graham had never been known to take a nurse out and in this she must have included the sisters as she had made no special mention of them.

It was all the more significant therefore that he should be out with Sister Fisher. She obviously meant something special to him. She tried to tell herself that it did not matter to her. How could it. Yet she felt an unreasoning dislike for the sister and irritated toward Martin. Most of all she was irritable with herself for feeling like this and for snapping at Godfrey the way she had.

“I’m sorry Godfrey,” she said contritely, taking his arm. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me these days.”

He smiled and pressed her hand.

NERVOUS and excited, Andrea dressed for duty the next morning. She had seen the operation list and the day promised to be a busy and exciting one. This, and the fact that both the work and the routine would be new to her, took precedence for the time being over her sense of disappointing at seeing Sister Fisher and Martin together.

After breakfast, she reported to the theatre.

“Until Staff Nurse comes, you’d better help Nurse McAllister to clean the anaesthetic room,” the senior probationer told her.

Andrea followed Sheila McAllister into the anaesthetic room—that same room in which Martin Graham had said so scornfully: “You lost no time in spreading the story that I brought you home last night.” How she had hated him for that. Yet he had been big enough to admit his mistake.

“D’ye think ye’ll like being in theatre, Nurse?” Sheila McAllister was saying.

“I—I hope so. I’ve been looking forward to it. I should think it’s wonderfully exciting. Do you like it?”

“Och, it’s non sae bad when ye get used t’it. Staff Nurse is O.K. It’s Sister ye have to watch out for. I keep out o’ her way as much as possible, and if I were you——”

The door opened. “Now, Nurse McAllister, less talking and more work. Nurse Grey, come with me and I’ll show you round and tell you a few things.”

Staff Nurse Craig spoke briskly, but eyed Andrea with genuine friendliness as she took her round the theatre and explained points of procedure to her.

“Never forget, that of these two cylinders, black is Oxygen, green Carbon Dioxide, When operations are in progress, stay this side of the operating table. Never put rubber gloves on hot pipes. Keep a good distance away from anything sterile, unless you’re scrubbed up yourself.”

Andrea listened attentively. It somehow seemed imperative that she should be efficient in the theatre.

“And one word of warning,” Nurse Craig went on. “Don’t ever let Sister find you talking to any of the surgeons or doctors who come into theatre. Only speak to them if they speak to you. Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous,” she added, catching a look on Andrea’s face. “But if you want your life in theatre to be happy, make it a rule.”