Authors: Elizabeth Gilzean
Theater Super
’
s tone was pure ice. “I assure you, Dr. Tremayne, that I have every confidence in my senior staff nurse. Her orthopedic experience is excellent, and far more up to date than my own. Or did you expect the theater superintendent to stay on duty to take your session?” With deliberation she picked up her cape from the radiator and went out through the swinging doors which Sally hastily held open for her.
Sally resisted her first panicky impulse to follow after her and reluctantly she released the door and turned back to face her surgeon for tonight. She couldn
’
t decide whether it was annoyance, amusement, or some other emotion that kept him silent.
“Did I say something to upset the old girl, or what?” a somewhat rueful voice inquired of no one in particular.
Sally took off her cuffs and swung them to and fro absently. She decided that truce was better than war for the first session with St. Bride
’
s Yankee surgeon.
“You weren
’
t very tactful to either of us ... sir.”
He gave her a frank stare. “I suppose not. You could put it down to a new boy
’
s shyness.”
Sally nearly choked, but before she could make a suitable reply there was the sharp clatter of high heels clicking along the corridor and a clear voice calling, “Where
’
s everyone? Dr. Tremayne! Where have you gone?”
The double doors swung open and Dr. Claris Stornoway stood there. She was smiling as she twirled her stethoscope gently and looked from Sally to the American before crossing the intervening space to put a hand on the man
’
s arm with a confiding sort of gesture.
“You won
’
t get cross with me tonight if I
’
m the teeniest bit slow, will you, Dr. Tremayne?” She smiled up at him coaxingly.
Sally started to turn away, but not before she had seen the slow color creeping up her surgeon
’
s face. A sharp voice stopped her departure.
“Nurse! I take size six gloves and size four wellingtons.”
Sally never knew what prompted her own remark. “I understood that Dr. Brown was assisting for the first two cases, Dr. Stornoway.”
It didn
’
t take the flash of sheer hate in a pair of greeny hazel eyes or the look of puzzled respect in a pair of pale blue eyes to tell her that she hadn
’
t been tactful either.
CHAPTER TWO
“
Conway, come on. What
’
s keeping you? Theater Super did say you
’
d take over from me, and I
’
ve got a date.”
Sally turned with relief to greet the day staff nurse. Any excuse to get away from the little bonfire that she had set alight with that last remark of hers.
“I
’
m
coming ...
right away.”
She knew the other woman had seen the tall American surgeon and would be too curious to speak out of turn for a moment. She collected a gown from the pile on top of the radiator outside the operating theater and began to put it on slowly. She was also very much aware that the new house surgeon, Claris Stornoway, was still glaring at her with angry eyes.
She beckoned to Sally with such curtness that Sally wished she could pretend that she hadn
’
t seen.
“Even if Dr. Brown is assisting, I will also be scrubbing up. So if you would be kind enough to put out gloves and wellingtons as
requested...”
Some imp of devilry within Sally refused to be squashed. “Is someone else taking Casualty for you, then, Dr. Stornoway? My runner will be rather busy.”
“Since when is Casualty your department, Nurse?” was the house surgeon
’
s cutting remark as she went out through the swinging doors.
Sally knew she had made an enemy as she walked into the theater with the day staff nurse. It didn
’
t require a soft murmur as she passed from the tall man who stood in the door of the surgeons
’
room.
“Would you call that evens or quits, Nurse?”
As soon as the theater doors had swung behind them, Sally turned to the hovering day nurse.
“Don
’
t wait, Smithers. You
’
ve done a standard lay-up, I take it, or has our new surgeon asked for a lot of stuff we
’
ve never heard of?”
The other woman shook her head. “Not as far as I know. Theater Super said he could ask. I don
’
t think she
’
s very pleased. I
’
ve put out some extra sharps for you in the big tray and the large bone nibblers. Jones will be on at eight-thirty and she
’
s jolly good at instruments, so you should be all right. The junior
’
s a bit green, but she
’
s willing, and she doesn
’
t go to pieces when a surgeon shouts at her ... which is something.”
Sally sighed. “I don
’
t think our Yankee is the shouting kind, but you never know. But Dr. Stornoway ... ye gods and little fishes! The selection committee must have had an off-day when they chose her!”
“I
’
m glad my boyfriend doesn
’
t work here,” Nurse Smithers said with fervor. “Know anything about her?”
“Not much,” Sally said slowly.
What George Brown had told her had been off the record and his evidence could be biased.
“Well, I
’
m away. Have a good night!”
“Thanks a lot, and the same to you—and no creeping through the window either,” Sally said cheekily.
“Who do you think I am? Yourself, by any chance? Anyway, I live out.”
“Civilized you are, aren
’
t you? All right for those who aren
’
t trying to save money,” Sally grumbled.
Smithers paused, holding the theater door open with one hand, untying the tapes of her gown with the other. “You
’
re still keen on this idea of going to America, then? Whatever for?”
“Because I want to study new methods and so on,” Sally said slowly. Then her eyes lit up. “I had another letter this morning. It sounds like a wonderful place—the hospital, I mean—and it
’
s in New York.”
The other nurse laughed. Sally
’
s American letters had long been a source of amusement to their set.
“When do you go?”
Sally sounded mournful. “Not for ages and ages. I didn
’
t realize the fare would be so much—eight hundred!”
“Dollars or pounds? Give me England any day. Well, I
’
m away. Alec won
’
t wait much longer. You could get to work on our
new surgeon...”
Sally stamped her foot impatiently. “I suppose you think he
’
s just hanging on the tree waiting to be picked. First George and now you! Anyway, he
’
s used to the glamor-girl types they have out there. I wouldn
’
t stand an earthly. I only want to see America and work there. I don
’
t want to marry an American—ever—so there!” She stared at the other nurse with a sort of slow horror as a large hand took hold of the theater door and opened it wider and she watched the day staff nurse step aside hastily, saying, “Sorry, sir. I didn
’
t know you were there.”
Smithers vanished with a final flick of the gown she was pulling off and Sally was left once again facing her Yankee surgeon. Again she couldn
’
t decide whether his light blue eyes held scorn or amusement.
“How about showing me the layout here? Your theater super was rather busy when I came up this morning. I tried later, but she was still about. Say, don
’
t you people work the shift system over here at all?”
Sally relaxed a little. If he had overheard he didn
’
t appear to want to comment on it. Shy ... conceited ... indifferent. She didn
’
t know, but she had put so many feet wrong where John B. Tremayne was concerned already that she was going to pass judgment very slowly indeed.
“Not exactly, sir. It
’
s mostly what you could call broken shift with time off in the middle. It still adds up to eight hours on duty if you deduct for meals and so on. It usually works out that you average two to three straight eight-hour days a week, which means you finish at
five ...
if you
’
re lucky.”
He nodded. “But what about you? I think your boss called you a staff nurse.” There was definitely amusement in his eyes now. “Sorry, I was a bit rude about that. Could I have it explained to me?”
Sally decided to be kind. “That
’
s all right, sir. You couldn
’
t be expected to know. It
’
s the same as your graduate nurses, and if you
’
re staff you
’
re not in charge of a ward or department except when Sister
’
s off duty, on holiday, and so on. I
’
m the night staff nurse, and that means I take any cases that are done at night, but as we don
’
t have regular sessions ... as a rule—” she said it gently, “—there isn
’
t another theater nurse on with me. I borrow someone from the wards, usually someone who
’
s done theater. But
of course tonight we have two of the theater day nurses coming back until eleven.”
“You mean they
’
ve got to work overtime?” He sounded worried now.
“No, not overtime. They
’
ll have had extra time off this afternoon. That
’
s why Theater Super—”
“—was so peeved. I guess it meant she had to work short-handed. The profs didn
’
t mention this sort of thing when we were talking about arrangements. No wonder I haven
’
t been getting the red carpet welcome.”
Sally shrugged her shoulders. “I don
’
t suppose the higher-ups ever think about things like that,” she said frankly. “We
’
ll get used to
it ...
in time.”
He was staring at her now and she began to wonder if she had been too informal in her efforts to help.
“Seems as if I
’
ve caused a sort of upheaval all around. How about that conducted tour we were
mentioning ...
if you can spare those few minutes?” He was almost apologetic.
Shy ...
Sally
’
s mind tabulated.
“It
’
s all right, sir. The day staff laid up the trolleys and I don
’
t have to scrub up for another ten minutes.”
He glanced at her keenly. “Done many spinal fusions, Nurse?”
“Quite a few. We seem to have had a run of them
lately ... I
mean just before I came on nights. Dr. Weymouth-Smythe is jolly good at them, and quick too.”
“I see. Was that meant to be a gentle hint, by any chance?” Dr. Tremayne asked quietly.
Sally
’
s blush spread above the whiteness of her mask. “No, it wasn
’
t,
sir ...
and this is the scrubbing-up room and this is the gown drum and your gloves are on this toweled trolley.”
“A kind of do-it-yourself layout, eh? I take it you don
’
t dress your surgeons here?”
Sally looked at him quickly to see whether he was pulling her leg, then she remembered that American film she had seen.
“The runner ties your tapes for you, but the nurse taking the case does instruments and mops and assists you and so on, but there isn
’
t a spare nurse scrubbed up the way you have in America.”
“Ever been there? Sounds as if you know something about it. Thanks for the tour. See you later.”
He had gone before Sally knew whether he had expected an answer or whether it was just a general comment. But a glance at the clock told her there was no time for speculation about her new surgeon.
The two nurses came in and stood quietly attentive as she gave them their instructions.
“I
’
ve left the plaster trolley ready in the other theater, and with any luck we
’
ll be allowed to wheel the first patient through and do his plaster in there. So when I give you the signal, fill the bowls with lukewarm water—not hot—and be ready to put the first slabs into soak. They
’
re all in the proper order, so don
’
t mess them about. I
’
m going to scrub up now. Nurse Jones, you can tie me in and then start preparing for the second case, and you can add the extra instruments when I
’
ve finished using them for the spinal fusion.” She glanced at the junior. “See that the coffee tray is ready, and then you can fold laundry for the drums until we shout for you.”
As she turned on the elbow taps and adjusted them until the water ran warmly across her hands she felt caught up in the tense excitement that she usually felt before beginning an operating session. In her mind she could see each trolley and its precise set-up. So plainly printed on her memory was the pictured position of each instrument that she was sure that if she had been blindfolded her hand would go just as surely to the correct one.
She could never quite decide what it was about theater work that pulled her so strongly. It could be the dramatic atmosphere, the dressing up in sterile gown and gloves that made a play of even the most simple operation, the waiting, the preparedness that must never be relaxed because no two cases could be quite the same and the human element was so variable. It was a matching of wits and personalities and skills until they were blended into a harmonious procedure that was a joy to take part in and a joy to watch. There were the sounds—the clean click of instruments as they smacked against the surgeon
’
s glove as she handed
them ...
the muted bubbling of the anesthetic
machine ...
the soft movements of the nurses in the background ... the distant hiss of the sterilizers ... the remote clatter of the elevator gates, which told her the next patient was on the way up from the wards ... the ringing of the phone that sent a nurse slipping out at her gesture to return and stand with tactfully held sheet of paper bearing a message for her, for the surgeon, for the house
surgeon ...
It was like holding in her hands the strands of many destinies and weaving them into a familiar pattern that kept at bay the fears, the mistakes, the
failures...
Sally finished scrubbing up and dipped her hands in the bowl of antiseptic and felt its stinging coolness. Her junior was standing beside the gown drum waiting to tie her gown.
“The surgeon
’
s just arrived and Dr. Brown and the new house surgeon are already here. I
’
ve finished one trolley of drums. Nurse Jones has rung for the first case and she
’
s waiting to tell the night porter about the sterilizing,” the girl reported in her soft voice. “May I watch Nurse Jones lay up, please?”
Sally nodded. “Once the patient is on the table—but you
’
ll have to keep popping in. I might want you for something.”
Sally went through into the main theater and folded back the sterile towel covering her ligature trolley. Her hands moved with skilled sureness as she threaded needles, arranged her carefully rinsed scissors and other sharp instruments. She checked her swabs and mops with the junior, who wrote the totals in large figures on the blackboard.
The anesthetist shoved a cheerful face around the corner of the anesthetic room door. “Good evening, Staff Nurse. All set?”
Sally could hear taps running in the scrubbing-up room. “Just about, Dr. Ross. I
’
ll get a drip stand for the intravenous.”
The anesthetist shook his head. “Shan
’
t
need it ...
no intravenous.”
Sally
’
s eyebrows lifted. “Couldn
’
t the house surgeon find a vein?
I suppose you
’
ll want a trolley.”
“Not tonight, I won
’
t. They don
’
t use them so often across the water. Blood costs money over there.” He vanished back into his own territory, the anesthetic room, where the ward nurse would see to his needs until the patient came into the operating theater.
Sally stared worriedly toward the scrubbing-up room. Should she ask Nurse Jones to lay up a transfusion trolley just in case...? She was relieved to see George Brown
’
s familiar figure come through the door first. He came across to her trolley.
“What
’
s the matter, Sally? You don
’
t look very happy tonight. You couldn
’
t be afraid of our Yankee surgeon, by any chance?”
“Not
of him ...
but for him. I suppose no intravenous means no blood in the fridge.”
“Ssh! Don
’
t tell a soul, but there is some ... just in case.” There was an understanding twinkle in George
’
s dark eyes.
“Bless you,” Sally whispered fervently. “How are things ... in there?” She gestured vaguely toward the far door.
He chuckled. “I left dear Claris entertaining Tremayne. If we let Hollywood be our guide he
’
ll be used to such syrupy gush! She makes me ashamed for your sex, Sally dear, and that
’
s no lie. I
’
d hate her for herself even if it hadn
’
t been for Roy.”
“Are you helping with the two first cases?”
He nodded. “Unofficially she
’
s supposed to be assisting with the second one, but yours truly is very handy at getting in the way and helping from the wrong side.”
A loud click as the anesthetic room door was hooked back brought Sally
’
s little team into smoothly rehearsed action. She was pleased to notice that the ward had thoughtfully sent up a male nurse to help with the lifting and positioning of the patient on the operating table—always a lengthy and fiddlesome procedure as the patient had to be face down and yet accessible to the anesthetist as well. Sally breathed a secret sigh of relief that it was safely accomplished before two people came in from the scrubbing-up room. She braced herself for the surgeon
’
s inevitable fault-finding.
“Will you proceed with the skin paint, please?”
The simple request took Sally almost by surprise and her hand gave an unexpected tremble as she got down to work applying the orange liquid with broad, sure strokes until the whole of the back had been covered. Mutely she held out the first of the sterile towels.
He shook his head. “You carry on and towel up, Nurse. If I want anything different, I
’
ll let you
know ... s
ome other time.”
Sally began to relax. This was going to be easier than she thought. Swiftly she arranged the sterile towels and clipped them into place and stood back waiting for the surgeon and his assistants to position themselves before pulling up her Mayo tray and trolleys. She could see Nurse Jones moving the suction machine so that her sterile tubing could be connected, and the junior was standing by the switches.
“Patient okay for me to begin, Doc?” John B. Tremayne glanced at the anesthetist, and if he was nervous he gave no sign. “How about letting me have your sharpest scalpel, Nurse, and if you could give Dr. Stornoway a handful of Kellys she could make herself useful by passing them over.”
Sally could sense her smooth pattern was crumbling into unaccustomed chaos and wasn
’
t quite sure how to stop it, but George stepped in and put her spinning world to rights.
“I think you
’
ll find we use Spencer Wells over here, sir, if you can make do with them, and Staff Nurse has been trained to pass them to the surgeon herself. Perhaps Dr. Stornoway could swab for you.”
It was so tactfully done that Sally could scarcely believe it was George, and to her secret relief her new chief only nodded. “Carry on as usual. I
’
m here to learn after all, I guess.” Sally watched the operation proceed with critical eyes, conscious that she was comparing his surgery with that of her English chiefs. She knew that she wasn
’
t being quite fair and perhaps she was being insular in expecting the American to fall below her accustomed standards. He was good, she had to admit, and while he took a little longer the extra care seemed justified each time.
“Ready for the graft, Nurse?”
The clipped voice broke into her thoughts, but she never faltered as she beckoned to Nurse Jones to put the patient
’
s right leg into position.
“You do the graft, Dr. Brown, and Dr. Stornoway can give you a hand while I finish this part. Bone nibblers, Nurse, and then a
narrow c
hisel ...
that
’
s it. Now you hold the sucker tip just so. Got some bone wax? Good girl! Say, Doc, what are you using for the dope at your end? We
’
ve got a lot of bleeding going on here.”