‘I’ll do my best, Sister. There’s no one very ill there, is there? It’s a question of keeping them happy and potting them and feeding them…’
‘Just so. You’ll have another nurse with you whenever it’s possible and I don’t believe that you’re a girl to panic. Now, we will go through the charts—there are one or two children you must keep an eye on…’
It wasn’t until the afternoon that Caroline was left alone, and it would only be for an hour or so while the other nurse took two children down to the X-ray department. The children had had their after-dinner nap and she had got those who were allowed out of their cots and beds and organised them into manageable groups around the little tables. They were for the most part good; only Bertie, four years old, was a handful. He had been admitted ten days previously, having fallen off a swing in the play-pit below the high-rise flats where his mother lived, twelve storeys high. He hadn’t been found for some time and had been taken, concussed and bruised, to the hospital. Sister Crump had spoken severely to his mother about the risk of letting a very small boy play so far out of her sight and she had promised to go to the social worker and get him taken to a pre-school playgroup. In the meanwhile he was enjoying himself enormously, doing everything he shouldn’t.
He hadn’t settled down with the other children who were up. Caroline, distributing sheets of paper and coloured pencils, saw him making for the ward doors at the other end and darted after him, to catch him into her arms—just as the doors opened and Mr van Houben walked in.
Caroline, clasping a struggling Bertie to her person, stared up at him, her face alight with surprise and delight. Quite forgetful of where she was, and for that matter who she was, she said happily, ‘Oh, hello!’
CHAPTER TWO
CAROLINE saw at once that he wasn’t going to remember her. She hoped that he hadn’t heard her little burst of speech and asked in her most professional voice, ‘Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?’
He looked at her then, but it was impossible to tell if he had recognised her. His handsome face was bland and unsmiling. ‘I’m looking for Mr Spence.’
‘He’s in one of the side-rooms. I think he may be busy. I’m afraid I can’t leave the children to tell him that you want to see him.’
She had wasted her breath for he was striding away down the ward and through the archway to the side-rooms. ‘Oh, my goodness, I shall get eaten alive,’ observed Caroline, a remark which sent Bertie off into a fit of the giggles.
The other nurse had come back presently and they were busy getting the children washed and potted and back into their cots and beds. Caroline was urging the recalcitrant Bertie into his bed when Mr Spence and Mr van Houben came through the ward, walking slowly, deep in talk and followed by Sister and the registrar and two of the housemen. Bertie’s loud, ‘Hey, Doc,’ brought them to a momentary pause, but only long enough to give them time to reply, and that in a rather absent-minded manner. Obviously they had grave matters on their learned minds.
It was Staff Nurse who told her later that the child in the side-room was to be operated on that evening. ‘That’s why Mr van Houben came—he’s a wizard with anaesthetics.’ Caroline, all ears, would have liked to have known more, but Staff was busy and presently she went off duty, to change into outdoor clothes and go with various friends to the local cinema.
The ward was its usual bustling, noisy self when she went on duty in the morning; she helped with the breakfasts and then with the rest of the day staff who could be spared, went to Sister’s office for the report.
It had been a good night in the main ward; duties were meted out in Sister Crump’s fashion, apparently haphazard but adding up to a sensible whole. ‘Little Marc in the side-room—he’ll be specialled of course—usual observations and I’m to be told at once if there’s anything you aren’t too happy about. Nurse Frisby, you will stay with him until you are relieved at noon. Either Staff Nurse or myself will be checking at regular intervals. The operation was successful—a craniotomy and decompression of the vault—but there is some diffuse neuronal damage and the added complication of a punctured lung. The child is gravely ill but we’ll pull him through. There is oedema and some haemorrhaging so be especially on the look out for coning.’ She added briskly, ‘Back to work, Nurses.’
Staff Nurse went with Caroline, who was relieved to see that there wasn’t anything complicated she couldn’t understand. The various scans, machines, tubes and charts she had already worked with on Women’s Surgical. It was a sharp eye and common sense that was needed, said Staff encouragingly. The child was in a deep coma; all Caroline had to do was to check pulse, breathing and temperature at the time stated on the chart, note any change and let her or Sister know at once. ‘Just keep your hand on the panic bell,’ she was advised, ‘and keep your head.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s time for observations, so I’ll leave you to get on with it.’ She cast an eye over the small boy in the bed, his head swathed in bandages, his person attached to various tubes. ‘Someone will bring you some coffee,’ she added kindly as she went.
Caroline did everything that was necessary, examined the little white face anxiously and took the chair by the bed. The nurse she had relieved had written ‘No change’ on the chart and with one eye on the child she read the notes on his board. Mr Spence had written a great deal and it took her some time to decipher his writing. Mr van Houben had written a whole lot too. It took her even longer to read, since his writing was so illegible that it could have been in Greek or Sanskrit.
She had just finished her second round of observations when Mr Spence and Mr van Houben came in. They both wished her good morning as she got to her feet and handed over the chart. As she did so, she realised something which she had known subconsciously when she had first studied the chart. Marc’s surname was van Houben. Mr van Houben’s son? If it were so, where was his mother? She had her answer quicker than she had expected.
‘Marc’s mother will be here shortly,’ said Mr van Houben. ‘She will stay only briefly—remain with Marc while she is here. She is likely to be upset.’ He smiled briefly from a grim face and turned to Mr Spence. ‘Would it be a good idea if…?’ He launched into technicalities and Caroline sat down again to keep watch. They thanked her as they went away. It invariably surprised her that the senior men were always civil—with the exception of Mr Wilkins—whereas some of the housemen tended to throw their weight around, wanting this and that and the other thing on the wards, leaving messes to be cleared up.
She was relieved at noon and there was no sign of Marc’s mother. She was sent to first dinner and over the cottage pie and spring cabbage she regaled her friends at the table with her morning’s work.
‘At least it gave your feet a rest,’ said someone.
‘Yes, but I was so afraid something awful might happen—he’s been unconscious ever since he hurt himself and the operation took hours.’
She bolted rhubarb and custard, drank a cup of tea far too hot and went back on the ward. It was time for the children to have their afternoon rest. Sister had gone to lunch, taking all but the nurse specialling Marc with her, leaving Staff and Caroline to the task of seeing to the children who were up and enticing them into their beds and then going around making comfortable those who were bedridden.
‘Marc’s mother came,’ said Staff. ‘Mr van Houben came with her, of course.’
Caroline said, ‘She must be terribly upset.’
‘She