Cherry Ames 24 Companion Nurse (22 page)

“I’d like that just fi ne!” Bud said.

Myron Stern realized his wish: he would work in the Pathology Laboratory. Dave McNeil asked for and got assigned to the coveted Pharmacy, with its room-size refrigerator; he would also work in the Records Room.

The youngest juniors were assigned to Central Sterile Supply—and also to the children’s playroom and to the patients’ fl ower service. Lillian Jones asked for the Reception Desk, and cheerfully accepted a job in the Dietary Kitchen as well.

Others requested special jobs “and wherever else I’m needed.” Soon Mrs. Streeter said, “Now you will please go for your uniforms.”

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Cherry led the fourteen girls to the nurses’ locker room where they put on the white cotton, short-sleeved dresses that Hilton Hospital had lent them. The girls themselves had purchased red-and-white candy-striped cotton pinafores with ruffl ed bibs to wear over the dresses. Getting into the uniform was a big occasion. Cherry wondered how the boys were making out with their white cotton lab coats or tunics and white duck trousers.

When all the girls were in uniform, Cherry said, “You look very nice, except for your feet.” All looked down at their feet. “After today,” Cherry said, “everyone is to wear fl at shoes—white or whatever you own, rubber soles if possible—and white bobby socks. No rings or other jewelry, please, only your wristwatch.”

“Aren’t we going to wear caps, like the nurses?” Midge asked disappointedly. “Most Jayvees do.” Cherry explained that Hilton Hospital wanted only its nurses to wear caps. “Patients think anyone who wears a cap is a nurse, and we don’t want any confusion. Come along, now.”

The girls assembled in Room 110 where the boys were already waiting, looking proud but uneasy in their whites. Cherry asked everyone to take seats. She went to the head of the improvised classroom. A hospital bed, table, supply chest, bandages, charts, and some other demonstration articles had been brought in.

“I am going to teach you,” Cherry said, “some of the fundamentals such as bedmaking, feeding a patient, taking and charting TPR—that’s temperature, pulse,

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and respiration—and folding bandages. Some of you may not need to know about bedmaking, but you never can tell when you may be called upon to pinch hit.”

Bud Johnson said gamely, “The more we know, the better.”

Cherry demonstrated these techniques, then had the members of the class practice on one another.

They laughed a lot, and made a few blunders, but they learned quickly. This part of their preliminary training took all morning. At lunchtime Cherry announced:

“Now that you’re members of the staff, the hospital cafeteria is open to you. Or if you’d rather go home for lunch, you may. Please report back here in an hour.” The class rushed out, eager to share cafeteria tables with physicians, surgeons, nurses, and technologists.

Midge led the way, proud of her know-how around the hospital. Cherry felt pretty proud of Midge, herself; she should prove to be a huge help on the ward.

Cherry then went to the east entrance of the hospital where she had an appointment to meet her mother for a few minutes at noon. Mrs. Ames had agreed to cash Peggy Wilmot’s check, since Cherry had no time to go to the bank, and junior volunteers were not permitted to handle money.

Her mother was there right on time, looking lovely as usual. She smiled and handed Cherry an envelope containing the cash.

“Oh, Mother, you’re a friend in need!” Cherry said.

“This will make that poor girl feel better—though I don’t 206
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understand why she’s so excited about money matters just now.”

“Well, I hope it will help her, and I hope,” said Mrs. Ames, “that the check will be honored. Mr. Alison at the bank required me to add my endorsement, too, to the check. That means if the company issuing the check doesn’t honor it, and if your patient can’t make good, then I will have to reimburse the bank for that sum. And it’s a fairly substantial sum.”

“Gosh,” said Cherry, “I never thought of that. Not that I’d let
you
get stuck, Mother—I noticed it was a printed check from some business fi rm, not just a personal check, and drawn on the First National Bank of Chicago, so I thought it was all right.”

“Oh, it’s probably all right. Don’t worry about it. I have to run now, honey,” said Edith Ames. “I’m having lunch with my Garden Club ladies at Sue Webb’s house.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Cherry called as her mother went down the hospital path to where she had parked the car. “See you at home.”

Cherry went upstairs to give Peggy the cash, and to resume her duties.

The patients on the women’s orthopedics ward were having lunch, except for Peggy Wilmot. She was asleep.

Miss Greer said to let her sleep a little longer. Cherry went to say hello to Mrs. Davis, who had osteoarthritis, which some old people get as they age. Mrs. Davis had no family. No one but the social worker ever came to visit her. This little old lady had had surgery and had already been in the hospital for rehabilitation for a

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month; she was expected to remain for a month or two longer. When she got out, she would be able to walk again, but with a permanent limp, and always with some pain. Cherry smiled at her, and Mrs. Davis smiled back.

“Were you a good patient this morning, Mrs.

Davis?” Cherry asked. “Did you go for your whirlpool treatment?”

“Yes, and the physical therapist says I’m a whole lot better if I only didn’t have to be pushed to the therapy room in that wheelchair!”

Liz Emery said from the next bed, “Mrs. Davis wants a motor on the wheelchair, so she can drive the chair herself. I’ll bet she could drive it, too!” Liz was fourteen, blond and pretty, restless in trac-tion but unfailingly good-tempered. She was here because of a fractured heel, suffered when a horse she was riding bareback threw her and she landed on her foot. Cherry was glad her bed and Mrs. Davis’s bed were side by side. Liz was cheerful young company for the lonely patient.

Cherry moved on past Liz’s bed to speak to quiet Mrs. Swanson, who had a badly sprained back, then spoke to the patients on the other side of the room.

Peggy Wilmot was awake now. Since Nurse Corsi was busy serving lunch trays, Cherry fed her.

“Your check is cashed,” Cherry told her and handed her the envelope. “I’ll call admitting to send someone up for it, and lock it away for you.”

“Oh, thanks! That’s good,” Peggy sighed.

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She looked thin and pale—anemia often accompanied arthritis. “Dr. Watson or Dr. Dan probably has ordered a blood-count test for her,” Cherry thought.

“She may need a special diet.” Aloud Cherry said:

“How do your wrists and knees feel? Is the heat helping?” Hot-water bags and heating pads were applied, gently, to her infl amed joints. Heat increased the blood supply to relieve pain and relax muscles.

“Yes, the heat helps some,” Peggy said. “Please, no more food, Miss Cherry. I’m not hungry.” She was still in too much pain to want to eat, Cherry realized. She coaxed a few more spoonfuls of custard into her, let Peggy rest a few minutes, then very gently altered her position in the bed. This was to avoid bed sores and stiffness. Then Cherry gently removed Peggy’s splints and washed her red wrists and knees, then reapplied the splints, and tied them on loosely with elastic bandages.

“You won’t have to wear these splints for long,” Cherry told her. “Soon it’ll be for only a few hours a day, and when you’re asleep.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get better,” Peggy said deject-edly. “Not ever really well and active again. I have an older cousin who’s had arthritis for years, and she’s—

well, she lives in a wheelchair! How will I ever keep house, alone?”

“Peggy, will you please listen to me?” Cherry looked into her unhappy brown eyes. “Chances are good that you
will
get well. You’ll be just as lively as ever. People who have arthritis almost always feel unreasonably pessimistic. It’s another sign that you’re sick.”

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Peggy absorbed this information while Cherry glanced at her chart. Dr. Watson had ordered drugs for her, in her present acute stage: more aspirin or other simple salicylates, and cortisone, in substantial amounts. These would help right away.

“Miss Cherry?” Peggy Wilmot said, and Cherry put aside the chart. “I’d like to believe you, but how can I? It hurts every time I move. What will happen to me next?” Her gaze clung to Cherry’s. “I thought when my husband died that I knew then what it was to be unhappy—poor Art—”

All in a rush she was telling Cherry about her brief, happy marriage. Her husband had traveled a great deal for the company he worked for. They had moved to Hilton and bought a house here, just a short time before he made his last business trip. As usual, he fl ew in one of the company’s private planes. The plane crashed.

Only its burning wreckage was ever found.

Cherry remained silent, pretending she didn’t see Peggy trying not to cry.

“That was less than a year ago,” Peggy Wilmot said.

“Sometimes it feels like ten long years since I’ve seen Art, and sometimes it seems like yesterday.” Now she was alone. She had her parents, but they lived in California. Her brother, living in Florida and working for a fi rm that built parts for rockets and mis-siles, was busy with his work and his own family.

“Well, there’s one good, hopeful thing, at least, in all my troubles,” Peggy said. “It’s surprising—” But instead of going on, she turned her head against the pillow, 210
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as if too tired to talk more. “Miss Cherry,” she murmured, “could you have someone bring me the mail from my house? I’d ask my neighbors, but they’re away on vacation. My mail is in the letter box on the porch, you don’t need a key. Today and every day? It’s terribly important.”

Cherry promised. She had no right to ask prying questions, but she could not help wondering what was so important in this young woman’s mail. She wrote down Peggy Wilmot’s address, then covered her patient lightly and left the ward.

After a very quick lunch in the hospital cafeteria, Cherry returned to the classroom. Midge was there; Cherry gave her Peggy Wilmot’s address and asked her to bring the mail from the porch letter box. Then she resumed teaching the volunteers.

“I want to stress, class,” Cherry said, “that today’s all-day session is preliminary training. Tomorrow you’ll report to wherever you are assigned—Records Room, Clinic, X-ray, ward duty, whatever—and
there
the supervisor will give you specifi c training. But there are some general things you all must know.” Cherry discussed the hospital setup, emphasizing how various hospital departments worked together.

She talked very seriously to the class about hospital ethics. Since all of these young volunteers would come into contact with patients, Cherry talked about the psychology of a sick person.

“How do you treat a person in bed?” Cherry said.

“You do
not
talk about his illness to him. Be kind, but

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don’t be oversympathetic. You’re here to get him
out
of the hospital, mentally. Talk to him about the things he
can
do, now; encourage him to feed himself and dress himself. Talk to him about what he will do when he’s strong again.

“Don’t just let him sit or lie there, keep him active,” Cherry said. “Interest him with the book cart, or bring him today’s newspaper, or play a game of checkers with him. And when the patient becomes ambulatory, or can get around in a wheelchair, you Jayvees will take several patients outdoors to the hospital garden.

Of course you’ll be supervised by a nurse. You must never, never take anything upon yourself without orders.”

Cherry went on to stress another point.

“You must always say on the phone, ‘Such-and-such department or ward, volunteer speaking,’ ” Cherry said,

“juniors must sign in and sign out of the hospital. You absolutely must come when you promised to, and on time.”

The class was staring at her so soberly that Cherry smiled and said now they would have a little graduation ceremony. Dr. Fortune and Mrs. Streeter came in to commend the twenty young people, tired by now in the late afternoon. They held a graduation in miniature, but everyone was thinking of tomorrow when they would receive preventive inoculations against infectious diseases and start on-the-job training.

Wednesday morning Cherry reported to Orthopedics at eight. Midge and Dodo were already there, in 212
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uniform. Cherry smiled at their freshly scrubbed faces and their eagerness. Midge had a pile of mail for Peggy Wilmot. Cherry said that could wait a few minutes while she introduced the two new ward volunteers around—fi rst to the head nurse, then to Nurse Corsi, the P.N. who took care of convalescents, then to the patients. Liz knew Midge and Dodo slightly from Hilton High School, though they were not in the same class. “Wish I could be a Jayvee,” Liz said from her bed. Everyone was glad to see the two young girls in their striped pinafores; their youth was like a tonic for sick people. Miss Julia Greer said:

“I am glad to have you on the ward, Midge and Dorothy, and I know you’ll to prove your worth. When you do, then I’ll accept you as a part of our nursing team. Come to the nurses’ station and you’ll see what I mean.”

The nurses’ station was a desk just outside the ward door; here were a telephone, callboard, bulletin board with the day’s orders, various reports. Here the head nurse met daily with her two R.N.’s and the P.N.

to give each team member her written assignments for the day. It was important, Miss Greer explained to the two young newcomers, to be aware of the relationship of every team member to each patient. Miss Greer gave no defi nite assignments to the Jayvees.