A HAZARD OF HEARTS (21 page)

Protest rippled through the room but died as
Cornwallis held up his hand. ‘Bear with me, I beg. You know my reputation. I am
not easily bamboozled or misled. Yet, to my shame, I have continued unaware of
these deplorable conditions for months. This lady’s courage and determination
were needed to bring them to public notice, for which I believe she should be,
not censured, but thanked.’

Tears of gratitude stung beneath Elly’s lids. She
had a champion at last – someone who believed in her work and wanted to help. She
smiled and saw an answering faint curve of his lips as he continued.

‘There
are
vile legions of insects which
crawl nightly from the woodwork. There
are
open drains and cesspits
harbouring vermin, and there
is
a shortage of water. I have seen these things
myself. I cannot speak for the staff or the situation in the wards. However,
drunkenness is scarcely an unknown problem in the Colony, and not generally
restricted to those in otherwise good health. Nor do I think we should expect
perfection in the untrained. In short, gentlemen, I believe we should support our
new Matron in her efforts to improve the lot of her patients and suggest we
vote a sum immediately towards this.’

To Elly, falling back in her seat and viewing
him through a haze of gratitude and relief, he appeared almost a mythical
figure, Saint George without his armour, facing the dragon Board for her. The
members, however, were clearly divided on his views. When the voices rose to
something suspiciously like an uproar the President/ Chairman rapped on the
table for attention.

‘Gentlemen. Let us have silence, if you please.
Is there anyone else who would like to speak on this matter before a decision
is made?’

Several gentlemen had plenty to say, although
not always to the point; but at length it was agreed that J.G.’s letter of
apology should be given to the
Sydney Herald
for publication (which
would lower his crest, thought Elly) and the Matron admonished not to speak
about hospital affairs to outsiders, especially not to journalists. In
exchange, the Board promised to vote money for improvements and to discuss the
provision of extra staff.

The Chairman then referred to the second item on
the agenda: Doctor Phineas Gault’s complaint that the Matron had asserted
herself over him and tried to introduce her own measures into the operating
theatre.

‘What have you to say to this, Matron?’

‘A good deal.’ Elly girded herself. ‘The members
of the Board have seen from my application details that I was trained by an
eminent physician and surgeon, my father, Doctor Robert Ballard, of Edinburgh,
Paris and Vienna. He was not only highly esteemed in his profession, but he
actually taught in the great hospitals and, after migrating to the Colonies,
kept to the forefront of medical science through medical publications and
through his correspondence with overseas colleagues.’

She turned to survey the row of house physicians
and surgeons and the district physicians, all eyeing her with hostility. ‘You
medical gentlemen no doubt do the same, through the medium of journals and
papers. And of course you will have heard of one of the greatest advances in
medical history, the ability to anaesthetise a patient with ether and do away
with the pain of surgery.’

Gault’s unhealthy face turned bright red, while
his confreres tried to appear knowledgeable but unimpressed.

Elly’s voice gained an edge. ‘When I made my
suggestion, Doctor Gault was good enough to inform me that he regarded this
idea as “radical nonsense”, although I explained how I had assisted my father
in the use of ether many times with excellent results. My father never lost a patient
through post-operative shock.’

Several of the faces in the crowd grew
thoughtful, but the medical men preserved features of stone.

It was too innovative for them, Elly thought. They
didn’t know about it and they didn’t want to know.

Nevertheless she went on. ‘As long ago as 1845 a
dentist named Morton was invited by the eminent senior surgeon at the
Massachusetts General Hospital, Doctor John Collins Warren, to try to
anaesthetise a patient about to undergo surgery for a tumour of the jaw. He
used ether, gentlemen, and the patient slept through the twenty-five minute
procedure and woke saying he had noticed only a scratching sensation along his
jaw. This case was written up in the
Boston Medical and Surgical Journal
two months later and the news circulated that a new era had dawned in surgery. The
new method has been tested and adopted in London, France, Germany, all over
Europe. Yet for some reason it has not reached the Colonies.’

Utter rubbish.’ Gault could contain himself no longer.
‘I’ve never heard of Doctor Robert Ballard. Nor have I seen any evidence to
prove this so-called anaesthetic does what is claimed. The woman’s story of
dentists and American surgeons is pure fabrication.’

‘Hear, hear,’ another doctor chimed in. ‘Whatever
experiments may be carried out in Europe, I have yet to be convinced that there
is anything in such an extraordinary notion.’

‘Have you tried it?’ Elly flashed back.

The man shook his head. ‘Madam, if I tried every
new idea hailed as the latest medical miracle my patients would require a
lifetime of treatment, provided none of these experimental notions killed them.
Only twenty-five years ago everyone was mad for Broussais’ treatment, based on
his belief that all disease could be traced back to inflammation of the
gastro-intestinal tract. This should be attacked with leeches, he said, and
what happened? Within five years forty-three million leeches had been imported into
France, a great many patients had died of excessive bleeding, and more for lack
of proper treatment. No, I have no use for fads.’

‘Nor I,’ agreed another, older man, who rose to
bow to Elly. ‘Matron, do you realise there are close to forty different schools
of thought into which medical theory has been divided? Meta-physicians,
Iatrochemists, Experimental Physiologists, Gastricists, Infarct-Men,
Homeopathists, Hydropathists, Phrenologists… The list goes on. Each of these
schools has its own explanation for sickness and its own favoured methods of
treatment – some most curious, most completely ineffectual. As my colleague
said, we have not the time to try a fraction of these, nor the will to experiment
on our patients.’ He sat down to a patter of applause.

Elly refused to be moved. ‘I agree, many ideas
turn out to be worthless, but if we cease to try new methods we stagnate. Medicine
is a science and cannot stand still. How many of you doctors would do without
the stethoscope, now that it has proved to be such a valuable diagnostic tool?’

The first doctor nodded. ‘We are not as
hidebound as you may think, Matron. But we must be sure there is no danger
before we adopt something as revolutionary as an inhaled anaesthetic. The
recommendation of nitrous oxide for this purpose, for instance, has proved a
costly failure. Not realising how greatly the substance increases the force of
circulation, I tried it on a patient in surgery who subsequently bled to death.
This so-called “‘laughing gas” has since been rightly relegated to the area of
a parlour trick and sideshow for the credulous.’

Elly began to feel helpless. The opposition was
too logical, too afraid to step outside certain safe boundaries. Most of them
were thinking of the welfare of their patients, and she couldn’t argue with
that – except that she
knew
, absolutely and positively knew that the
greatest boon to those very patients waited in the wings for a chance to
demonstrate its worth, and was being denied that chance.

She rose again, slowly, placing her hands on the
table for support and leaning earnestly towards the ring of surrounding faces. ‘Please
listen to me,’ she begged. Forget I’m a woman and a mere lowly nurse. If this
information came to you from an impeccable source, from a famous and skilled
surgeon, would you not be impressed? Think of the little boy who died last
night because his heart could not stand the shock of agonising surgery. Wouldn’t
it be worth the risk of trying this new treatment?’ She saw the answer in their
impatient expressions, and despaired.

‘My dear young woman, miracles only occur in
Holy Writ.’

The speaker was another doctor, a district
surgeon attached to the Board. ‘I’ve no doubt you have the best of intentions
but you really cannot try to teach professional men their jobs. The child’s
death was regrettable but unavoidable, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s not all she did,’ shouted Gault,
practically foaming at the mouth. ‘She tried to get me to wash my hands in some
foul-smelling solution before I operated. Me, a man with twelve years’
experience in the theatre. She treated me like a child.’

Elly marshalled her wits. ‘Surely some of you
have heard of antisepsis, of the work of Doctor Ignace Semmelweis at the Vienna
Medical School?’ She saw only blank faces. ‘Oh, God, how can I convince you?
Look, Dr. Semmelweis proved that the simple measure of washing the hands in
chlorine solution until the skin was slippery prevented the transmission of
contagious disease from one patient to another, from a cadaver after dissection
to a woman in childbirth. He saved the lives of hundreds of women with this
discovery. My father learned of it through correspondence with a colleague who
taught with Doctor Semmelweis, and he himself practised antisepsis with amazing
results. He taught me to clean all instruments, furniture, swabs, needles and
thread, and in particular, the hands which would touch the operating field.’

Gault stood up and shouted, ‘Poppycock! Lunacy!
We all know that septic infection is a miasmic contagion borne on the air.’

Deas Thomson ordered him to sit down, then said
to Elly, ‘What you are telling us is theory. Both this Doctor Semmelweis and
your father had a theory in which they believed. Where is the proof? What has
been published?’

Elly looked at him hopelessly. It was true. She
had only her father’s word and her own experience to offer. It wasn’t enough.

Cornwallis’ smooth voice flowed from the corner
of the room. ‘It would appear Matron Ballard has once again intervened in the
interests of a patient. Whether or not this was warranted is a matter for the
Board to decide. I cannot agree that offering a surgeon the opportunity to wash
hands no doubt filthy from the dissection room is an insult. Again, the offer
of a new, if peculiar technique in the interests of a patient’s safety can
scarcely be seen as interference. Doctor Gault remained within his rights to
refuse the offer. However, his deliberate umbrage does him no credit. Miss
Ballard, I should like to offer my personal apology for the slur cast upon you
by Doctor Gault’s intemperate reaction.’

Elly bowed slightly and sat down again, her head
whirling. What was happening here? Was she being censured or praised? Was the
Board about to dismiss her or Gault?

 Why hadn’t he told them she’d genuinely
insulted him? Or would his dignity not permit others to know he’d been called a
butcher?

Heads came together and a further buzz of conversation
broke out, which continued until Deas Thomson brought the room to order once
again.

He addressed Elly coolly, but kindly. ‘Matron
Ballard, my colleagues and I have reached the conclusion that you are not to be
censured in this matter.’ He broke off to deliver a warning look to Gault,
already half-way to his feet. ‘However, we require you not to bring any further
innovations to the operating theatre, and to comply at all times with the
wishes of the surgeon in charge. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly clear.’ The words stuck in Elly’s
throat, but she got them out.

‘Very well. At the next monthly meeting the
Board of Directors will decide upon extra funds to be allocated and their
future use. Your advice will be invaluable, and we should like you to draw up a
list of the most urgent repairs and necessities.’

‘Thank you, sir. I am grateful.’

He nodded. ‘The meeting is now adjourned. Miss
Ballard. Gentlemen.’

Everyone rose and Elly headed blindly for the
door, more than anxious to escape. A hand clasped her elbow and Cornwallis’
voice said in her ear, ‘Allow me to assist you out into the air. I’m not
surprised you find it oppressive in here.’

Her feet seemed to glide above the floor as they
traversed the corridor, descended the front steps and moved out through the
gate into Macquarie Street.

Here she collected herself, saying ‘I can’t
leave now. I have duties...’

‘The Board adjourned earlier than was expected.
Whoever you left in charge is still there. You can be spared for a few minutes
longer.’

Persuaded by a voice with the consistency of
honey, Elly allowed herself to be led down the street towards Hyde Park, and
there, in the shade of a young Moreton Bay fig tree she found herself seated
beside the man who had championed her so strongly.

‘Mr Cornwallis, I’m very grateful for your
support.’ Meeting the warm, dark eyes she realised they were only one striking
feature of a face with the impressive mien of a statesman, or counsellor. A
noble face, she thought, denoting the kindness and love of justice behind the
physical facade.

‘There is no need for gratitude. You had no one
else to speak for you, and those dolts would never have thought to investigate
beyond their own prejudices if I had not pointed out the obvious. I abhor
stupidity.’ His smile seemed to envelop her.