The Country Doctor's Choice (11 page)

‘Which is why he’s gone to sleep at last!’ retorted Sister Hicks, emboldened by the doctor’s presence. Shelagh saw that she must be firm, or the two women might come to fisticuffs.

‘Stop it! Stop it, both of you,’ she ordered. ‘Think of the other mothers.’

‘Dr Fisher will hear all about this!’ said Mrs Gainsford angrily. ‘And my husband’s on his way to
take my baby and myself home, out of this place, whether you like it or not!’

‘You have a perfect right to take your own discharge, Shirley,’ said Shelagh calmly. ‘This hospital is not a prison. All we ask is that you will sign a form stating that you are discharging yourself against medical advice.’ She winked at Sister Hicks. ‘How’s the auxiliary getting on with the tea and toast, Sister?’

‘I shall write to the
Everham News
about this,’ went on Mrs Gainsford angrily. ‘I don’t intend to let this outrage drop!’

In fact Mr Gainsford turned out to be bewildered and anxious, and not at all willing to take his wife and newborn baby home on a snowy February night, but Mrs Gainsford was adamant. She had already retrieved her toilet bag and birth-congratulation cards – the flowers would have to be left behind – and Shelagh said she had better take two hospital blankets, one to wrap around herself, the other to keep Justin warm on the car journey. The other mothers, wakened and disturbed by all the comings and goings, were not sorry to see them go. Justin, replete with his top-up, slept soundly as he was carried away.

Inevitably there were repercussions when the news got round, and Sister Hicks was called to the Midwifery Superintendent’s office to explain what had happened. Shelagh found herself facing Mr Kydd
and Dr Fisher; Leigh McDowall had also been asked to attend in Mr Kydd’s office.

‘I’m absolutely furious,’ declared Dr Fisher, and was immediately reminded by Mr Kydd that he hadn’t been there when it happened, and also that Sister Hicks was a reliable and observant midwife with years of experience of caring for newborn babies. He turned to Shelagh.

‘Why did you allow this woman to leave the ward in the middle of the night with her baby, scarcely two days after a caesarean section, Dr Hammond?’

‘I had no choice, sir. Mrs Gainsford was determined to leave, although her husband made an attempt to persuade her to stay. In my opinion she was showing warning signs of possible puerperal depression, and it would have been unwise to antagonise her further. I had to choose the lesser of two evils.’

Dr Fisher broke in. ‘You should have telephoned me at home, Dr Hammond, to let me know what was going on.’

‘With the greatest respect, sir, that would not have made the slightest difference.’

‘Hm,’ grunted Mr Kydd. ‘You may leave us, Dr Hammond, because I don’t think we’re getting any further forward. Mrs Gainsford’s general practitioner has been informed, and the district midwives will be calling twice daily. Matron will need to hold an inquiry about this, and I shall give my opinion then.’ He gave her a smile as she left.

As she walked down the corridor towards the lift, McDowall hurried after her.

‘I say, Shelagh, I wish you’d called me. I could have dealt with the couple, and persuaded her to stay. I’ve imbibed a lot about Dr Fisher’s ideas. As it is, he’s absolutely furious and not without reason, I’d say.’

Shelagh stopped and turned round to face him. ‘And
I’ll
say that I’m not afraid of some know-all paediatrician who comes interfering on the postnatal ward. Sister Hicks knows her job inside and out, and she’s been devastated by all this.’ She turned and continued walking. He continued to follow her.

‘Look, Shelagh, be reasonable. Fisher’s wife was delivered here a couple of months ago, and we didn’t have all this caper, she was an example to the mothers that breast is best.’

‘Don’t talk to me about that man and his wife,’ she retorted over her shoulder. ‘He needs to learn that all mothers are not clones of Mrs Fisher.’

‘For heaven’s sake,
we
know that
breast is best
, and it’s up to us to help the mothers achieve it.’

‘Up to us, eh? An average, sensible woman who has tried her best to breastfeed her baby knows more about it than half a dozen male doctors.’ She stopped, having arrived at the lift. Having completely lost his patience with her, he made no attempt to hide his exasperation.

‘But Fisher’s a consultant paediatrician, for God’s sake!’

‘Big deal. And I’m a woman.’

‘Listen, Dr Hammond, have you ever breastfed a baby?’

‘Not yet, Dr McDowall. Have you?’

The lift arrived with a clank, the doors opened and she stepped in. She pressed the ‘down’ button, and disappeared from his sight.

Well into February the snow continued to lay, where it froze overnight, making the paths treacherous in the morning. The elderly frequently slipped on trodden freezing snow, especially where the paving stones were uneven. It was outside Edward’s that Miss Johnson fell, sending her walking stick flying. A group of shoppers congregated around her.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ ‘Has she broken anything?’ ‘Does anybody know about first aid?’ ‘Can she stand up?’

Beryl was lying on her side, and gave a moan of pain. ‘I can’t pull myself up,’ she gasped. ‘Somebody will have to help me.’ She quickly checked that her skirt was well pulled down, not showing her knickers. The contents of her shopping bag were spread around on the pavement.

A couple of shoppers raised her head and shoulders, which made her groan out loud.

Mrs Pearce from Edward’s bakery shook her head. ‘What we need is a good, strong man to heave you up, dear – oh, look, there’s the vicar on the other side of the road – he’ll help you!’ She raised her voice. ‘I say, Mr Bolt, this lady’s had a fall, and needs somebody to help her to stand up. Could you come and oblige?’

Which was exactly what Beryl had planned when she apparently slipped and fell; in fact she sustained a bruise over her left hip which was unplanned but none the less painful.

With extreme reluctance Derek Bolt crossed the road. ‘What’s the trouble?’ he asked. ‘Can she not get up on her own?’

A moan from Beryl was the only reply, but she held up her right arm for him to take hold of, and with Mrs Pearce supporting her at the back, she managed to sit upright. Another heave brought her to a standing position, still clinging to Derek’s arm.

‘She can’t walk in this state,’ said Mrs Pearce. ‘Just let’s get you into the shop, my dear, and we’ll brew you a nice hot cup of tea. Can you keep hold of her, Mr Bolt? Just so’s we can get her into the bakery.’

Derek could find no way of escape. Beryl laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Stay with me,’ she whispered, ‘don’t let me go!’

The women exchanged glances, remembering
what had happened in church on Christmas morning. Everybody had heard about it.

‘If we can support her just as far as the shop, she can sit down and rest,’ said Mrs Pearce, happy to take charge of a tricky situation. ‘Can you just put your arm around her, Mr Bolt, so that she can lean on you? That’s right, we’ll soon be there.’

But not quite soon enough. Daphne Bolt was just emerging from the chemist’s when she saw her husband, half-leading, half-carrying Miss Johnson towards Edward’s bakery, while a few other women watched and commented. It was the last straw: enough was enough. She stepped forward and faced the couple squarely.

‘Let go of her at once, Derek. Stop making a fool of yourself,’ she said loudly. ‘And as for
you
, Miss Whatsername, you can stop this ridiculous carry-on, and take your hands off my husband
at once
, or you’ll regret it. I won’t stand for it!’

Derek had removed his supporting arm from Beryl’s waist, and drew away from her, and her head drooped with no shoulder to rest on. The onlookers stared in fascination: this was a scene to tell and retell! Mrs Pearce stepped forward to support Beryl in place of the vicar.

‘You needn’t think you’re going to get away with this!’ Daphne called out to Beryl. ‘You’re going to hear from my solicitor tomorrow, let me tell you – you’ll be ordered to stop this nonsense once and for all!’

Beryl was trembling all over as Mrs Pearce steered her into the bakery.

‘Come on, my dear, let’s get indoors,’ said her rescuer, casting a contemptuous look back over her shoulder at the vicar before she shut the door.

Ignoring her husband, Mrs Bolt headed for the vicarage. Derek took the opposite direction, and found that he too was trembling. Daphne was more than capable of carrying out her threat, and he needed time to consider how he should act. Hitherto he had not thought it necessary to consult the Bishop of the Diocese, but if Jamieson the family solicitor was to become involved, he would be well advised to get his own story ready. That evening he wrote a letter to Bishop George Grieve, outlining the problem, rather than telephoning him out of the blue and having to launch into the ridiculous details.

The Matron of Everham Park Hospital, and the Medical Superintendent Dr Brooks, met together with Miss Coyle the Midwifery Superintendent at an informal meeting in Matron’s office, to discuss the self-discharge of a maternity patient with her baby in the middle of a cold February night, two days after a caesarean section.

‘If the Gainsfords send in a formal complaint, or if the incident appears in the
Everham News
, there will have to be an official tribunal,’ said Matron, ‘and we would be in a much stronger position if we hold
an internal inquiry as soon as possible, and have a written record of it at hand.’

Dr Brooks agreed, and asked who should be present in addition to Dr Hammond.

‘Harry Kydd, of course, as she’s on his team, and Night Sister Hicks?’ he suggested. ‘And what about Fisher?’

‘He’ll make an enormous fuss if we don’t,’ she replied, ‘and will no doubt give us his lecture on secrets of successful breastfeeding. I shall ask Miss Coyle to speak on behalf of Sister Hicks who has been thoroughly upset by this whole business, and has had to go to her doctor because of it. Miss Coyle considers that she has been punished enough, if indeed she has been at fault.’

‘And we don’t invite the Gainsfords to attend?’

‘Oh, no, Dr Brooks, they would only be required to attend a tribunal, which we hope will not be necessary, as we’ve agreed.’

So Dr Shelagh Hammond was summoned to attend the meeting which took place two days later, at ten o’clock in the morning. She held her head high and was outwardly composed when asked to describe what had happened, beginning with being called to the postnatal ward at 2.40 a.m. She recalled it to the best of her ability, reporting that baby Gainsford was asleep when she arrived in the ward, having been given a small diluted formula feed by Sister Hicks. Mrs Gainsford, however, was very displeased.

‘A bottle given to a baby whose mother was determined to breastfeed?’ Dr Fisher cut in. ‘Utterly irresponsible!’

‘You will have your turn to speak, Dr Fisher,’ said Dr Brooks. ‘And so was this small bottle-feed the cause of Mrs Gainsford’s self-discharge, Dr Hammond?’

‘That and her state of mind, sir. She came near to physically attacking Sister Hicks for giving the baby a drink that finally settled him. He was a very large, hungry baby, and wouldn’t suck at the breast because his mother’s lactation was insufficient – in fact she had scarcely any milk, two days after a section.’

‘And did you make any attempt to persuade Mrs Gainsford to stay?’

‘No, sir. By this time she was hysterical, and had already telephoned her husband to come and take her home. And in my opinion, sir, she was showing signs of puerperal depression, and was incapable of listening to any reasonable explanation.’

‘And when the husband arrived, was he equally insistent on taking her home?’

‘No, sir, he’d have tried to persuade her to stay if she had been capable of listening to reason. I felt that she was mentally disturbed, and in letting her go, I chose the lesser of two evils. I lent her two hospital blankets to keep herself and the baby warm in the car.’

‘And could you not have telephoned Dr Fisher at home to ask for his advice?’

‘With respect, sir, it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference.’

‘Rubbish!’ said Dr Fisher contemptuously.

Dr Brooks ignored him, and went on to question Miss Coyle about Sister Hicks, exonerating her for giving the bottle-feed. When Dr Fisher had his turn to speak, he condemned all concerned, and said that Mrs Gainsford was a sensible woman who wanted to do right by her baby son, and gave his opinion that she had been badly let down by insensitive midwives. Mr Kydd gave a good account of Dr Hammond’s practice on his team, and mentioned that her mother was terminally ill. Dr Brooks immediately offered his sympathy, but Shelagh assured him that her mother’s illness had nothing to do with her actions on that night. ‘I would have acted in the same way, whatever my private problems.’

The meeting ended after twenty-five minutes. Dr Brooks gave Shelagh a mild reprimand, and a warning that in future she should not take too much responsibility into her own hands. ‘Consultants are there to be consulted, doctor,’ he said, though Dr Fisher clearly thought the outcome of the meeting was unsatisfactory.

‘It will be a different story at the tribunal,’ he said, ‘when the Gainsfords are able to speak for themselves, and it’s all in the local press.
Then
you’ll hear the verdict of the local community,’ he said with a certain relish.

When the outcome of the meeting became known, Shelagh met with both blame and sympathy.

‘Congratulations, Dr Hammond, on getting off with just a slap on the wrists,’ said Dr McDowall when she met him and Tanya Dickenson in the antenatal ward office. ‘Only mind your step with Dr Fisher in future – he thinks the whole thing was mismanaged.’

‘Thank you, doctor. I haven’t anything further to say,’ she replied coldly.

The next day she was summoned to Mr Kydd’s office.

‘Very sad news, Shelagh. Mrs Gainsford’s GP has phoned to say she’s been admitted to Bridge House as an emergency. It’s a small private hospital, as you know, actually a psychiatric unit. The poor woman went completely berserk when she got home, and her husband thought the baby might be in danger, so their GP sent for an ambulance straight away, with a provisional diagnosis of puerperal psychosis. We can only hope that rest and sedation will restore her to normality. Her mother has come to look after the baby who’s apparently thriving on formula milk. It’s as well that you let her go when you did, but it’s a sad business.’

‘I’m so very sorry to hear that, Mr Kydd,’ said Shelagh, thinking of the mother, the husband and the baby. She made no comment about it to any other members of staff, but when they came to hear of it, there was a great deal of commenting and head-shaking.

‘Well done, darling!’ enthused Paul when the story reached the doctors’ mess. ‘What a slap in the eye for that know-all Fisher!’

‘What a tragedy for the family, just after the birth of their first baby,’ she replied. ‘Let’s say no more about it, Paul.’

‘When that wretched woman receives a letter from Jamieson, she’ll find out that her pestering of you is to cease forthwith,’ said Daphne Bolt.

‘Can you hold your horses until I’ve spoken to the Bishop?’ asked Derek. ‘I’ve asked for an appointment with him to discuss the problem and what best to do about it.’

‘Good. And you can tell him the whole truth – that you’ve never encouraged her in any way,’ his wife replied sceptically. ‘There are those who hint that it isn’t all on her side, you know, and if you are completely blameless, we need to hear it. And
I
need to hear it – in court, if that’s the only way to stop this nonsense.’

‘Only wait until I’ve spoken to Bishop Grieve,’ said Derek wearily. ‘If it
does
turn into a public scandal – which it will do if she’s taken to court – I want to get my story in first, and the Bishop on my side. And of course I want
you
to know that I’m not guilty of any wrongdoing, Daphne. I’ve been a fool, it’s true, and I’ve regretted trying to be kind to the woman, but that’s the extent of my fault, and nothing worse than that.’

Jeremy North was finding life easier to bear. The snow still lingered, but as the days began to draw out, the enlarged church choir still met on Thursday evenings to practise, and it was common knowledge that the choirmaster met Miss Oates from time to time, usually after choir practice in a public place like The Volunteer, where they talked. And his car had been seen in the hospital car park, and Sister Oates emerging from Outpatients, having changed into her usual neat hooded jacket and getting into his car.

‘I don’t think there’s anything in it,’ said Phyllis Maynard. ‘It’s all open and above board – they’re never seen doing anything other than talk, and it’s probably all about music.’

‘They don’t
have
to say or do anything untoward, you’ve only got to look at them,’ retorted Mary Whittaker. ‘See the sparkle in her eyes and the spring in her step. And he’s happier, nobody can deny that. He was looking dreadful at Christmas. None of his family come to church, which is a pity, when you consider there are three of them, plus the wife and that dear little boy. They say the eldest girl’s expecting again.’

‘We mustn’t jump to conclusions,’ said her friend, though she too had heard the rumours. ‘But if it’s true, poor Jeremy!’

‘Jeremy, I need a word,’ said the vicar to the choirmaster after evensong.

‘Is it about something I’ve done, Derek? – because if it is—’

‘Nothing whatever to do with you and your soprano,’ replied Derek, ‘though I reckon that’s being well chewed over and giving rise to all sorts of rumours. No, this is my problem, and I think you may be able to help me out. I hope so, anyway.’

‘Mysterious,’ said Jeremy, raising his eyebrows. ‘Is it by any chance about a certain lovelorn spinster?’

‘How did you know?’ asked Derek quickly.

‘The gossips of Everham talk of nothing else, old chap. What do you want me to do? – take her off your hands?’

‘I only wish you could. You should see the letters, desperate love letters, gifts which I have to keep in the safe, out of sight – and the stalking, the sudden confrontations in public or in the church grounds, the pleading – it’s intolerable, Jeremy. It’s reached a point when something’s got to be done, and if I won’t do it, Daphne will. I decided to see the Bishop and ask for guidance—’

‘Ah, that was a good move. What did his lordship say?’

‘Frankly, he wasn’t much use, and was inclined to treat it as a joke – “oh, come on, Bolt, use a bit of common sense, be firm with her”, that sort of thing – he said that clergymen and doctors must accept that lonely and lovelorn women fall for them. He actually said that I took the situation too seriously – “you must
face the fact that for her you’re just a masturbatory fantasy”—’