Steady Now Doctor (10 page)

Then there was about half an hour of frantic resuscitation. The anaesthetist, who was very good, did everything. Adrenalin was put into her heart, but the poor little thing had died.

Andy could think of no apparent reason. One minute all was going well and everything was pink, but the next thing her blood lost colour and she was gone. It couldn't have been her heart, he was just lost.

Mr Gotter took command. “Right,” he said, “we just have to carry on and finish the list then we're all going for a drink.”

“What about the parents?” said Andy, “they're waiting in the ward day-room.”

“Well, you'd better go off and see them,” said Mr Gotter.

“I'll go with him,” said Mary.

‘Oh Christ,' thought Andy as he disrobed, ‘what am I going to do?' Mary was taking her theatre stuff off as well, neither of them speaking.

As they walked back down the corridor to the ward, he suddenly felt his arm being squeezed encouragingly. He went to the parents with Mary, it was a tremendous comfort having her with him, and he told them, “I have the most awful news for you, little Amy hasn't made it, she died on the operating table.”

The parents, who had been so full of hope in the morning, were now completely distraught, although Andy and Mary comforted them as best they could, and Sister came in with cups of tea.

When they had got over the first shock of their grief the father said, “We would like to see Mr Gotter.”

Andy's heart sank. “Well, I'm afraid you can't until he's finished his operating list,” said Andy.

“Never mind, we'll wait,” said Amy's father. Mary stayed with them while Andy went back to the theatre and stayed until the list was finished, which took about another two hours.

He said to Mr Gotter, “the parents want to see you sir, they'll wait until the list's over.”

“Hmm,” said Mr Gotter, and no more.

At the end of the list, without speaking, Mr Gotter got rid of his gown, mask, theatre pyjamas and boots, and attended by Andy, walked out to see Amy's parents. Andy wondered what was going to happen. They went into the day-room and both parents got up. “Mr Gotter,” said the father, “we felt we couldn't leave without thanking you for all you did for our Amy. Thank you sir.”

“I'm sorry it ended as it did,” said Mr Gotter, “I'm afraid I can't tell you what happened, but alas her outlook was very poor anyway, but we did lose the chance we had.” He made a hurried exit, shooed Sister out of the office and appeared to be poring over some papers, but, as Andy passed the office, he looked closely and could see this bluff, loud, apparently heartless man, weeping. What a dreadful day.

He wearily did whatever ward work he had, returning to the children's ward to write up some notes. Mary was still there.

“Oh excuse me sir, could I see you in the pathology room please?”

‘Oh God,' thought Andy, ‘what's this?' “All right nurse,” he said. They walked into the pathology room. “What is it Mary,” he said patiently.

“Andy, my dear,” she said, “I just had to come and give you a big hug,” and she buried her head in his shoulder and they clung to each other.

After a sleepless night in bed, Andy was all action, rushing to see his bank manager one lunchtime, and to a jeweller another. They were due to go for their usual pictures and meal the next Saturday.

Saturday came, and they went to the pictures to see an early programme, planning to eat afterwards. They sat in the restaurant after the film and, whilst waiting to be served, Andy said to Mary, “I think I have an answer to your problem of a lack of family.”

“I'm not quite with you,” said Mary.

“I think I have it here,” said Andy, and from his pocket he produced a small wrapped box.

“You mean there's a family in there,” said Mary, smiling.

“It could be,” said Andy.

Mary took off the paper, and when she saw the box was from a jeweller she began to blush. When she opened it and saw a ring, “Oh this is lovely, Andy,” she said, “I've no jewellery,” and began to put it on a finger of her right hand.

“Whoa,” said Andy, “give it me,” and he put it on the third finger of her left hand.

Mary looked startled.

“Calm down,” said Andy, “you're just the nicest person that I've ever known, I love you and I want to marry you.”

“You mean that, Andy,” said Mary, “you hardly know me.”

“Mary, my love,” he said, “I know all I want to know about you.”

Mary said, “One day when I was at the Home and had been unwell the Mother at the Home said, ‘Never mind Mary, one day your knight in shining armour will come along and ride away with you to his castle.' Oh Andy, darling, are you sure?”

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” said Andy, “the remaining question is, will you have me?”

“Of course I will,” she said, “I've loved you since the day you saved me from Matron.”

“We will make a special date,” said Andy, “and we'll go and meet your father-in-law to be and a real live auntie.”

Mary said, “I never thought that life could be as good as this.”

They walked back to the hospital arm in arm. “Well Mrs Howard-to-be,” he said, “bollocks to everybody, you're coming up for a cup of cocoa.”

They had hardly sat down when there was a knock at the door. ‘Oh God, who's this?' thought Andy, ‘we don't want bother tonight.' It was O'Sullivan.

“Man,” said O'Sullivan, waving a bottle of rum, “I have come to congratulate the happy couple.”

“How on earth did you know?” asked Andy, “I only proposed an hour ago.”

“There's nothing that goes on in this hospital that I don't know about,” said O'Sullivan. “Now, quick, drink up, I want to be home and tell the missus.”

Chapter 9

The Gods Shone

Andy had to go to little Amy's post-mortem, he hated these with all their indignities. He just had to steel himself. Happily now, he had Mary. He could always think of her, though he couldn't forget that he had been playing with this lovely little girl just a few days before.

The result of the post-mortem was that the death had been caused by a fat embolism. This gave some relief as there was no way of avoiding it, and it was nobody's fault or due to any negligence. The great post-operative killer is the pulmonary embolism where a clot from the leg goes to the heart and lungs causing death. In this case some fatty bone marrow from the leg had done the same thing. Although Andy had heard of it he had never seen it and it meant Amy couldn't have been unluckier, poor little scrap.

Andy rang Mr Gotter to tell him the news. “Just what I thought,” said Mr Gotter. He and Andy weren't on good terms nowadays, as Andy refused to leave the hospital to assist in his private work.

'You lying bugger,' thought Andy.

Life, generally, was mad. He just wanted to see Mary all the time and was always popping down to the children's ward just to be able to look at her. She came to his room each evening when she was off duty, always having changed out of her uniform, stayed until about 9.30 p.m. when all the cocoa lot were fully installed, then Andy walked her back to the nurses' home.

They always used to leave the door open. They were affectionate but never passionate. They toasted crumpets in front of the gas fire and cooked soup, baked beans and spaghetti on the gas ring. O'Sullivan was right, this was the best room in the hospital.

Mary was terribly worried about meeting his father and Auntie Rob. “Do you think they'll like me?” said Mary.

“No,” said Andy smiling, “they'll love you.”

“Guess what I did today,” said Mary.

“I give up,” said Andy.

“I had some flowers sent to the Matron, she will never know who they're from. If she hadn't told me off, we might never be together, and although she's all-powerful now, think of the lonely spinstery life she and her cronies have, and what have they to look forward to? Just look at the happiness I have to look forward to with you.

“Oh, darling, I feel so lucky, it all seems too good to be true, pinch me and tell me I'm not dreaming.”

“No,” said Andy, “I'll kiss you instead. Sometimes you look like a smiling pixie, I could eat you. I know someone who is much luckier than you.”

“Impossible,” said Mary, “who is this luckiest of people?”

“Why me, you idiot,” said Andy.

The day they set out to meet his father and Auntie Rob Andy didn't tease her, she looked terribly pale and tense. She was wearing a smart suit, felt hat, lace-up shoes and carried some flowers. “You look so elegant my love,” said Andy.

“Are you sure,” she replied, “my stomach is doing cartwheels. Are you sure your father and aunt won't mind you getting married to an orphan Annie.”

Andy said, “Darling, they'll love you. They'll be worrying now about what you will think of them.”

Andy so wished his mother was alive, Mary could have been just the person to melt her.

His father met them at the station, there was no awkwardness, Mary just ran up to him and embraced him. You would have thought it was a daughter coming home from school. They talked as if they were continuing an interrupted conversation. Andy stood back watching.

“What do I call you?” said Mary, “Mr Howard sounds so formal.”

“You just call me Dad,” said his father.

Mary went up and gave his father another hug, but this time it was to hide the tears that were forming.

They got into his father's car. “Do you mind if we just pop up and see your mother's grave?” said his father. “Auntie Rob said lunch won't be until one sharp, she doesn't want to be interrupted.”

They drove to the churchyard, then walked up towards his mother's grave, Mary taking his father's arm, and placing the flowers that she'd really meant for Auntie Rob, on his mother's grave. She said to his father, “Andy said his mother was a fine actress.”

“She was a fine woman,” said his father, “sadly we spent too much time shouting.”

As they motored up the drive, there was Auntie Rob hopping from one foot to another in her excitement. She just about devoured Mary, embracing her, then standing back she said, “Andy, you've got a winner.”

Auntie Rob's Sunday lunch was better than usual, even her Yorkshire pudding was improving. Any worry or inhibition Mary might have had was soon dispelled as they were all chattering six to the dozen. Mary and Auntie Rob washed up while Andy went through to the lounge with his father.

“She's quite lovely in every way,” said his father, “you're a lucky boy.”

They all gathered in the lounge and Mary and Andy were bombarded with questions. When were they going to get married, when and where were they going for their honeymoon?

“Well,” said Andy, “we've decided it's either going to be St Paul's Cathedral or Ealing Town Hall for the wedding and, of course, the honeymoon will be a round the world cruise.”

“Don't forget you can have Instow if you like for your honeymoon,” said Auntie Rob.

“Oh, I would love that,” said Mary, “I've heard so much about it. Could we Andy?”

“Of course we could,” said Andy. “Thank you Auntie Rob.” Auntie Rob went quite pink with pleasure.

Andy showed Mary round the house and garden, then to his bedroom where there was a pile of all sorts of toys in a heap on the floor. “Do you think,” he said, “it would be appropriate if we took them with us when we go to see the Master and Mother of your Home in two weeks' time?”

“I didn't know we were going there,” said Mary.

“It's me being masterful,” said Andy.

“No,” said Mary, biting her lip, “you're just perfect.” She paused, “no, just you and I will go the first time, bless you, we'll take the toys another time.”

The Sunday just whizzed past. Auntie Rob insisted that Mary went into her house to look at some treasures with her. Andy suddenly realized that he had never ever been in Auntie Rob's house.

Eventually the time came to go. “I shall always remember this happy day,” said Mary to Andy's father when he dropped them off at the station. On the train they snuggled up together holding hands, and Andy always found that holding hands with Mary had a quality all its own. Her smooth, cool hands, slipped into his, was what the Chinese called, ‘a wave of a thousand comforts'.

When they got back to the hospital, Mary came up for cocoa. There was a note on his table, Matron would like to see him in her office at 1 p.m. the next day.

“She's not going to stop me coming up here,” said Mary, “I wonder if I've got a note too?”

When he went back with her, Andy waited outside the nurses' home for Mary to pop up and see if she had a note too. She came down waving a piece of paper. “Yes, I'm for the chop too, but just let her dare try to stop me seeing you.” She kissed him. “You and your family are such loves,” she said.

“No,” said Andy, “they're not my family, they are our family. See you tomorrow.”

At 1 p.m. on the dot they arrived outside Matron's office, knocked, and a stern voice said, “Come in. Sit you both down.” In an unfamiliar tone Matron said, “Well, you both know there is a rule that nurses do not visit doctors' rooms.” Mary was just about to reply when Matron raised her hand to silence her. “In the case of you two, you do it with my blessing. I was engaged to a Houseman once, but he was killed at Dunkirk so I've devoted myself to being an old crab. Grab every precious moment and happiness you can and don't forget, I'm here if you want me. Your Mother at the children's home often talks on the phone young Mary. Now be off with you.”

The two were quite knocked off their guard, not knowing what to say, they just couldn't say, “thank you Matron.” Words did come to Andy. “I'm so sorry about your fiancé, Matron, we do appreciate how lucky we are.”

As they reached the door Matron said, “By the way Mary, florists can't keep secrets any more, I was very touched by your flowers.”

As they walked away from the office they were both quiet. Then Andy said, “Really I expect she's nicer than either of us.”

“No,” said Mary, “there's no one nicer than you.”

“Oh yes there is,” said Andy, “you are.”

“Well,” said Mary seriously, “you never know what is happening in other people's lives, I feel quite humble. In my own life, I can't remember anything before the time you took me to the ball.”

“You're a pixie not a Cinderella,” said Andy, “you can't be both.”

“I'll just settle for being your wife-to-be,” said Mary, and gave Andy a peck and went off towards the children's ward.

A few nights later they were sitting having cocoa when Andy said, “God, the medical finals start on Monday.”

“Have you entered,” said Mary.

“Yes, and paid,” said Andy, “but I haven't looked at a book or anything for a year, it's not worth going.”

“Love,” said Mary, “in the annals of medical history no knight in shining armour has been failed any medical exam anywhere, you have nothing to lose.”

“As your ladyship commands,” said Andy, “but we are still going to your home at the weekend.”

The Master and Mother, a plump, late middle-aged couple had been father and mother to literally hundreds of children, they almost shone with goodness. Andy was a bit isolated from the conversation, but there was little doubt that Mary had always been special to them, and they agreed to come to the wedding be it Ealing Register Office or St Paul's Cathedral.

At his fourth attempt Andy sailed through his degree in medicine. By now he was a pretty experienced doctor, and, of course, as Mary said, “Knights in shining armour never fail exams.” So he was now Dr Andrew Howard, MB, BS, LMSSA. He didn't feel any different.

His first job on hearing of his success was to inject somebody's piles. Mary said, “I thought a highly qualified man like you could have chosen something better than that to start with.”

“No,” said Andy, “it's always best to start at the bottom.” Mary threw a cushion at him.

It was Easter and they decided to take a picnic to Box Hill. “Perhaps in the clear air,” she said, “we can make some plans for the future.”

As usual Andy had been working hell for leather, and sometimes they even had to miss the odd hour they usually had together in the evenings.

It was a brisk spring day and they brought a car rug which they sat on, and they both kept their coats on. “Can we look at the overall plan,” said Mary. “I'd marry you tomorrow if I could, but I must pass my SRN, I promised Mother and the Master that I would, and they were so good to me, but at the same time I just don't want to let you out of my sight. I have two months and one year before I take my finals, there's no way I can expect you to stay at the hospital here, but I don't know if I can bear to be without you.”

“I know just how you feel, love,” said Andy, “and I feel the same way. I've only two months of this terrible job to finish, but I've got to do some obstetrics, preferably a job where I can get my diploma in obstetrics. Unlike you, that's another year and two months. Cocoa and crumpets for a year and two months is just not enough to me. There is a possibility that something might happen, but I daren't tell you about it my love. I'm going off to the West of England for a night next week, just to look at a job, don't ask me too much about it. It may not come off. It may not be what we want, but on the other hand, it might be.”

“Oh, love,” said Mary, “you're going so far away.”

“Shush,” said Andy, putting his finger to her lips, “just wait and see.”

A week later Andy got on the train to go to Barnstaple in North Devon. He had heard from another Houseman, who had been down to see it, that it offered obstetrics and a two bedroom furnished flat where ‘you could flick a fly rod into the River Taw from the bedroom window'. The hospital had difficulty filling the job because, although it was partly obstetrics, there was not enough to take a diploma, but enough to get on the general practice obstetrics list to practice obstetrics, and this was always essential for a junior partner.

It was a lovely journey down through the countryside. He had to change at Exeter for Barnstaple, and, looking at the empty fields on either side, he wondered, as the train thundered on, whether anybody lived in England at all. The North Devon Infirmary was an old hospital. Its Consultant staff were also general practitioners, although most of them had higher qualifications. The job offered was in obstetrics, general surgery, ENTs, with Casualty duties. There were only three staff at the hospital, one Senior House Officer and two pre-Registration, one a House Physician and one a House Surgeon. He was interviewed by a very nice surgeon, a Mr Shaw, and a young ‘very with it' physician, Rex King.

“A fine job for getting into general practice, but not much chance of getting into a practice down here,” said Rex King. “Do you know the area?”

“Oh, I've had a holiday at Instow,” said Andy.

“Well, we've seen your references, this is a difficult job to fill, go and have a look at the accommodation and if you want it, the job is yours.”

“Is it possible for me to speak to the Matron while I'm here, my fiancée hasn't finished her training yet,” said Andy.

“By all means,” said Rex King, “I'll take you over, she lives in the flat below where you'll be living if you do come.”

Andy was taken over and introduced to a tiny Welsh woman who was less like a Matron than he'd ever seen. He explained Mary's problem. Would there be any chance of her completing the last year of her SRN's training in Barnstaple if they were married?”