Yankee Surgeon (12 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Sally looked up at the clock for the hundredth time. She wished she had the nerve to slip down the fire stairs to Men
’
s Surgical in the hope of catching the attention of one of the nurses, but she knew they would be too busy. She could call Bill at the switchboard, but she had an idea that he already knew too much about the direction in which her thoughts were leaning. Bill could be kindness itself when a nurse was in trouble, but his discretion could be doubtful.

It was not quite an hour since Claris Stornoway had burst into the kitchen and dragged John away.
Patient has collapsed
... I
t was too general a term to give much information. Heart attack? Post-operative shock? So many of the cards were stacked against him and John had tried so hard to change the run of his luck and he had succeeded
, too ...
at least they thought he had.

Sally sighed and put away the last of the extra instruments. The general set was stacked in the sterilizer ready to go into immediate action if the phone rang. She took a final look around the theater. It was clean and shining and the patches of moisture on the floor would soon be gone.

What fun it had been last night when the three of them had cleared the theater. It had been crazy of course and the powers-that-be would have been furious in spite of the fact that no harm had been done apart from the water trickling down to Mary Ward. But that had happened before many
a time...

Sally started toward the door. She might as well tidy away the coffee things. John wouldn
’
t be coming back for his—now. As her hand went up to switch off the lights she thought she heard footsteps and then she decided she must be mistaken. The sound had been so soft and indecisive for anyone coming to Theater
to make...

She flicked up the switches and pushed open the swing door. John was standing there in the anesthetic room, and his face seemed as gray and drawn as that of a man twice his age. He was leaning against the wall as if too weary to make any more effort. He lifted his head and tried to smile.

“Hello, honey. Got any of that coffee left? I
’
m about done.”

Sally took him firmly by the arm as she would a small boy and led him out to the surgeons
’
room where she made him sit down in the senior surgeon
’
s armchair.

“Don
’
t you dare move!” she said fiercely.

She reheated the coffee and ladled sugar generously into the cup and went back to him. He hadn
’
t moved from the chair, but now he was leaning his head on his hands and his palms were covering his eyes as if trying to shut out something he didn
’
t want to see.

“Get this down and I
’
ll bring you some more.” Sally held the cup to his lips and patiently waited for him to drain it.

She watched with satisfaction as some of the color came back into his face and some of that look of shocked disbelief went out of his eyes.

“I
’
ll get you some more and then you can tell me what
’
s
happened ...
if you want to.” She suddenly remembered that John was scarcely being treated with the respect due to a consultant.

She refilled his cup and tucked a tin of biscuits under her arm. He wouldn
’
t have had anything since supper time, and she at least had started on the night nurses
’
midnight meal.

Sally was pleased to see that he was sitting up and was trying to light his pipe.

“Gosh, that
’
s a bit better. Sorry if I threw a scare into you, honey. I don
’
t often let things get on top of me. Maybe if I
’
d had my beauty sleep last night. Guess you
’
re dying to know what
happened...”

“Only if you feel up to it,” Sally said gently.

“Do me good to talk about it, maybe. Well, we
’
ve lost the old boy.” He sighed heavily. “I was so pleased to think we wouldn
’
t have
to operate ...
at his age it wouldn
’
t have been funny.”

“What happened?” Sally thought it better to keep him talking.

“A stroke ... of all the things to happen!” he said bitterly. “Though when you come to work
it out ...
it could have happened any time. He
’
d had his three score years and ten and
a bit ...
blood pressure sky high ... only one kidney and then that stone blocking up things
...
Any little thing could have done it—a sneeze ... moving him up the bed. We don
’
t
know
that what we did tonight had anything to do with it. We never will know, but if we hadn
’
t done it the old guy would have been dead by morning in any case.”

“You didn
’
t really have any choice, John. You did what you could and it
was
successful and—”

“—the patient died. It
’
s no use, Sally. You can
’
t get away from the fact, I guess, and it never gets any easier to take. You just can
’
t save all the patients all the time
...
you can only go on trying and hoping and maybe praying. I don
’
t suppose the old man minded ... he
’
d had his life and I reckon it was as good a way to go as any. It
’
s the ones that are left behind that you cry for. They can
’
t believe it
’
s happened to someone belonging to them. I think the son realized we had done everything in the book for his father, but the old lady ... it was as if life had stopped for her and yet she knew she had to go on ... go on without him. It just tore at my heartstrings like crazy and I could have bawled like a kid.” He smiled at Sally and dabbed unashamedly at his eyes. “You
’
d think a guy my age would be used to it, wouldn
’
t you? Don
’
t tell anyone, honey, will you? I guess I couldn
’
t bear to have anyone know but you ”

“Oh,
John...”
was all Sally could say and she reached out a hand to him and he squeezed her fingers tightly as if the contact could give him comfort.

At last his coffee cup was empty and the little room was filled with the blue haze of tobacco smoke, its pleasant aroma antidote indeed to all the antiseptic smells of the operating theater. John tapped out his pipe into the ashtray and put it away in his pocket.

He put a gentle hand on Sally
’
s head. “Thanks for listening so nicely, honey. I think maybe I can sleep now.”

He stood up and then reached down and pulled Sally to her feet. “See? I did what you told me and did it through the proper channels.” He smiled at her.

Sally was puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“You said if I wanted to talk to you when you were on duty I had to have a case.”

“All right, John you win!”

His face lit up. “You mean I get the same privileges as George?”

“Oh, John, don
’
t be silly! George hasn
’
t got any. But do remember,” Sally pleaded, “Most things get on the hospital grapevine.”

John only grinned. “I
’
ll go around every single one of the wards and make eyes at all the night nurses so that each one of them thinks she
’
s the big moment in my life. They
’
ll be so busy scratching one another
’
s eyes out, they won
’
t notice that it
’
s really you all the time!”

Sally giggled. “You
’
re hopeless! If Claris gets to know she
’
ll be doing more than scratch
mine...”

John sobered for an instant. “Claris stumps me. I can
’
t get what her little game is.”

“George thinks she
’
s terribly ambitious,” Sally said slowly.

“George does, does he? Maybe I
’
m just a rung on her ladder and when she
’
s finished she
’
ll put her foot on my face and shove me off. I don
’
t know. She got herself into one big flap
tonight ...
said she couldn
’
t find me, but Switchboard knew where I was. You answered the phone tha
t time...”

Sally nodded. “It was Bill to say you were wanted on Men
’
s Surgical. He didn
’
t say anything about Claris looking for you.”

“Funny peculiar. I don
’
t get it. Maybe she did hear me go down the fire stairs and was checking up on me, and got caught up in the other business in passing. Not to worry. Well, I
’
ll let you get on with your work. Thanks for listening so nicely. I
’
ll be seeing you on my rounds tomorrow night.” He started toward the door and then stopped suddenly. “It
’
s just hit
me ...
what time does friend George make
his
rounds? Guess we better not clash.”

“There isn
’
t any set time. He comes when he
’
s finished, that
’
s all.”

“Okay. I guess I
’
ll have to set up my own private grapevine. He uses the front stairs, eh?”

Sally nodded helplessly. She could see a lot of trouble building up.

“You can expect me up the fire stairs any time after midnight, honey, and I
’
ll bring my own coffee. Okay?”

“John, it
’
s quite, quite crazy,” Sally tried to say firmly.

“Crazy but nice, like you,” John agreed calmly. He left the room before she could think of anything else to say.

Sally picked up the cup and the dirty ashtray and took them through to the kitchen and washed them rather sadly.

Oh dear, why did John have to behave like this? Things could have been such fun but it was beginning to look as if he were getting
serious ...
and George,
too ...
Sally stared in amazement at the tears that were splashing down into the sink. It was time that she sorted out her life—or else she could find herself involved to an extent where ambitions would have to be packed away as forgotten dreams.

Sally went along to the staff room and took a bundle of gowns out of the mending bag. Sewing on the missing tapes was a soothing operation, and she could let her thoughts run on and perhaps she might see a way through their tangle.

But she realized that her thoughts were going around in circles and she wasn
’
t really settling anything. She liked George and she liked John ... nothing more. Perhaps John had a slight edge on George because he was new and somewhat more exciting, but there were things she could tell George that she couldn
’
t bear to have John know ... at least, not yet.

These thoughts were still running through Sally
’
s head as she waited for the theater super. Was the older woman always conscious of the tremendous responsibility she carried—or had it all become so much
routine ...
a
precious system
with the meaning behind it buried under the drudgery of the daily round? Was that what made her bitter and irritable—or was that due to something else
entirely ...
a feeling that life was passing her by ... that the fulfillment of ambition wasn
’
t as sweet as the striving for it?

“Good morning, Sister,” Sally said meekly.

The other gave her a passing glance. “I trust it
’
s a better morning than yesterday, Nurse Conway?”

Sally felt the familiar surge of rebellion. Couldn
’
t the theater super just
once
assume that other people also tried to do things right?

“Yes, Sister.”

The theater superintendent opened the operations book. “Hmm ... one case and a minor op at that. You should have had time to do a lot of stock.”

“Yes, Sister.” For a moment Sally wondered what would happen if she said
no.

The older woman frowned as she glanced at the off-duty schedule pinned up over the desk. “Matron wants to see you,” she said abruptly. “It
’
s about your nights off. They
’
ve got to be fitted in somehow and I don
’
t suppose for one moment she
’
ll think to send me another nurse and even if she did it wouldn
’
t be one that had done her theater and could be the slightest
use...”

Sally
’
s heart picked up as she listened to the familiar complaint. If there had been something really wrong the rocket would have been devastatingly brief.

“All right, Nurse. Off you go. I suppose we
’
ll have to manage somehow.”