Call Me Sister (11 page)

Mrs Munro flapped a dishtowel at him. ‘Angus! Operations, is it? Well I never! Not once did you manage to put a needle in any animal – not in all your life. No! That was always left to me. And why, Sister?’ Angus looked slightly hang-dog whilst his wife ran on, ‘’Cos himself here faints at the sight of blood.’ Her eyes sparkled and she threw her head back and laughed. ‘So what do you say to that, Sister?’ without waiting for a reply, she sped on. ‘Whoever said a shepherd’s wife had an easy life must have been joking, that’s what I say and always have done.’

‘Nonsense, woman. You needed something to do,’ said Angus, nevertheless turning his head as I used the forceps to fish out the syringe and needle, assembled them then gave him his injection. ‘Anyway, I don’t know why you’re complaining. You women have it easy compared to those ones.’ He nodded at a framed, sepia-tinted photograph hanging on the wall. Black-clad, head-squared women, backs laden with peats, grimaced into the camera.

‘Right enough,’ said his wife with just a hint of malice, ‘and you’d probably be dead, and not through hard work either.’

He gave a sigh. It had all the pathos of a Hebridean lament. ‘I’m proper useless though and it’s a long day for somebody used to always being on the go. A crofter’s life doesn’t train you for retirement.’ He banged his hand on his knee in frustration.

‘Well, I’ve plenty to do,’ declared Mrs Munro, handing me the towel to dry my hands. As soon as I’d finished, she slung it into a basin reeking of bleach. ‘Oh, it’s busy I am! I’ve never time on my hands.’

Days of disposable syringes and needles weren’t far away, solving many of her problems, but the modern method of finger pricking to test for blood sugar might not have held the same appeal to Angus. He seemed coy enough about the existing method of urine testing. ‘There’s the results,’ he’d murmured, showing me a chart which had been carefully filled in to show his urine had been tested and was sugar free.

Reassured that I’d given him the right dosage, I left the Munros enjoying their cheerful banter and headed for Miss Forbes, my next patient.

She lived nearby in a Dorran bungalow. When I saw its garden gate hanging drunkenly on one hinge I thought anyone could have wandered in, but soon realised few would want to. A huge holly tree almost blocked entry to a wild unkept garden with overgrown bushes making a territorial bid for the cobbled path leading to the house, beside which a snowberry bush flourished. Its white berries hung on thread-like branches, giving it a skeletal shape. The whole made a mockery of the house’s Rose Cottage name.

Ann’s list said Miss Forbes had congestive cardiac failure and needed general nursing care. Her problem made it difficult for her to get up, to wash, dress and manage everyday chores herself. Ann’s notes had included the comment, ‘
Dog a hazard and a very proud patient
’ and although I should have taken this more seriously, I was prepared for the dog. Holding the nursing bag in front of my legs and ankles, I knocked at the door then opened it.

A thing with all the appeal of an old string floor mop came charging towards me. Had it not been moving forwards I might still not have known which end was which, but the teeth left no doubt. They were small but bared, yellow and now slavering over a mouthful which could have been me had it not been for the stout leather bag.

‘Down, you ugly brute!’ I roared. ‘Get down!’

The thing skidded to a halt, back legs meeting the front ones. It whined, then with its tail tucked between its legs slunk back to what I presumed was the living room. I followed and watched as it squeezed under a camp bed that was so low it was surprising anything could get under it.

‘Don’t speak to LBP like that. She wouldn’t harm a fly. I think you’ve hurt her feelings. And who are you, anyway?’ The voice came from the bed. Although it was weakened by breathlessness, it still held a command I recognised.

Memories of camping with a group of other Girl Guides in a field near Muir of Ord came flooding back. I looked again, suddenly remembering that this Miss Forbes had come to inspect how the camp was being run. Impressive in her uniform and with a gash of lipstick, the only feminine concession to her military bearing, she strode around inspecting patrols, checking our ties for their knots, our badges for their polish. Her experience as a district commissioner had given her the ability to carry her message over a twelve-acre field. At a jamboree, she must have struck terror into all those girls who failed to appreciate the fun of survival games played in the great outdoors. Heaven help those guides at a more local, smaller event she held responsible for loose guy ropes and wrongly-angled tent pegs.

Now, however, with her powers sadly diminished, she lay under a heap of blankets covered in dog hair, no help to her breathing problems. I wanted to check her pulse but she was wearing so many layers of clothes it couldn’t be done unless she allowed it. Right now, this seemed unlikely. Maybe, as that Raigmore doctor had hinted, it was easier dealing with unconscious patients.

A cold draught blew round my ankles, and still worried about LBP taking a bite out of them, I made my introduction brief.

Miss Forbes struggled to sit up and then adjusted her hairnet. I wondered if it was the same one (as I recalled her saying) that only came off was when she was putting up a bell tent. Now, less efficiently, it sat over her eyebrows whilst she dealt out a measuring look.

‘Sister, you say? Young whipper-snapper, more like. Anyway, I don’t think you’re a very nice sort of person. Look how you shouted at LBP and came barging in here.’ She patted her chest as if that might help her breathing, then managed to wheeze, ‘So I think you should take your little black bag and get out before I call my doctor and tell him there’s a cheeky young brat here masquerading as a nurse and certainly not a Sister.’ She slid down the bed again. ‘So thank you for calling but goodbye.’

I felt like the naughtiest girl in the patrol and wondered how Sister Shiach would have coped with the situation. Probably by this time, I thought miserably, she’d have had LBP enrolled in a ‘better-manners’ course run by Jomo. Meanwhile, Miss Forbes would be happy, chatty, washed, dressed and sitting with a cup of tea in front of a cheery fire reminiscing on how three sharp whistle blasts could alert help from every guiding corner.

Clearly, I’d upset both my patient and her dog. I stood for the moment, undecided. Miss Forbes was giving a very good impression of being fast asleep, whilst LBP’s nose stuck out from under the bed as if she were on sentry duty. She must think I’m a threat to both her mistress and herself, I thought, and only a bucket-load of tact and diplomacy will put things right.

Compared with Raigmore’s standard lightweight model, the commode near the bed was a substantial affair of mahogany-coloured wood. The Queen Anne legs added class. The back and pan lid were padded in rich red velvet. I sat down on the lid, hoping that it was as solid as the rest of the chair.

If Miss Forbes had been taking her diuretic tablets the pan would need emptying, but she was so breathless I suspected she hadn’t been. It seemed more likely that her body was holding such a build-up of fluid it was putting pressure on both her heart and lungs.

LBP’s nose, on very active duty, inched out a little further.

I tried for a conciliatory tone, ‘You’re a good dog, LBP, and I’m very sorry if I’ve offended you.’

She looked doubtful. Nevertheless, she managed to squeeze her head out sideways, which made it as unbecoming as her accompanying growls and snarls.

I went on, ‘But, for a lady, your language is unbecoming and, frankly, I think your namesake, would be horrified by it. Lady Baden-Powell had very high standards.’

As if I’d sounded a reveille, there was a stirring under the blankets. Miss Forbes shot open her eyes and gave me a look that was more curious than suspicious.

‘Do I take it you were a guide?’

‘I certainly was. I loved being one.’ Remembering growing up on a Highland upland farm where cats and dogs constituted high society, I was honest. ‘If it hadn’t been for guiding I don’t think I’d be where I am today.’ I recognised that my present position might not be regarded as the high point of a career, so I hurried on. ‘What I mean is that I learnt from people who were dedicated to giving young folk the benefit of their time and experience, that there’s an exciting world beyond home ground and that it’s well worth exploring.’

‘And did you learn how to make a cup of tea?’ Miss Forbes wondered.

‘Yes, and how to light a fire. Come on, LBP, you can show me where the sticks are.’

Encouraged by her mistress’s tone of voice, LBP made her full appearance. She might have had an ancestry of Westie Scottish terrier blend but now, grey-haired, whiskery and dishevelled, she was more like a pocket edition of Miss Forbes. Still, she didn’t have swollen legs or a hairnet. The latter would have helped to hold back the long fringe obscuring her view. Perhaps her mistress wasn’t seeing too well herself. I was sure she’d have been vexed if she’d realised LBP had matted bits on her coat and nails that were too long. They clicked on the linoleum as she followed me into the kitchen.

There was a whistling kettle on a solid Baby Belling ring. It looked as if it might achieve blood heat, if we lived long enough. The outside back door stood open.

‘There’s a flask of hot water on the table, and the tea caddy’s on the window sill,’ my patient instructed, her voice rising marginally. ‘That cooker takes as long to heat up as it does to cool down so I try to use what they call its residual heat.’ She gave a derisory snort. ‘Supposed to save energy. Whose, I wonder.’

A smiling Queen graced the tea caddy with a red geranium standing beside it bursting with health in stark contrast to a back garden so overgrown that LBP, who’d gone out the open door, had completely disappeared.

I was a bit anxious about her, but Miss Forbes was reassuring. ‘She’ll be all right. The back garden’s secure. That’s why I leave the door open. She can come and go at will. It’s not always easy for me to get to it.’

Her admission that she had a difficulty emboldened me.

‘Would you think of having someone in to give you a hand. Maybe a home help?’

There was such a long pause that I thought she must either have fainted or that my supposed tact and diplomacy were being given due consideration.

The silence was actually Miss Forbes needing all her energy to get out of bed. It was so low she merely rolled out onto the floor. However, it wasn’t going to be so easy getting up from there. I tried to help but she shrugged me off. ‘Leave me. Once I roll over, I’ll get onto my knees.’

It was hard standing by, just watching, but she persevered. Eventually she managed, then, using the commode arms as leverage, she pulled herself up. As soon as she did, she plumped down on the commode seat, exhausted and wheezing so badly I wondered if I should call her doctor.

There was a telephone beside a stack of
The Guide
magazines on the kitchen table. I checked the line was operational, then fiddled about a bit, hoping to give Miss Forbes time to recover at her own pace.

Eventually when I did go back, she said, ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t look so worried. From the way you’re looking, you’d think I was about to keel over.’ She was still breathless but she managed, ‘I expect it looks much worse for you. Actually, I was up a few times last night. I’m sure that’s making me more chesty than usual. I’ll get better as the morning goes on. I always do.’ She tried to inhale, but stopped short. ‘But as you’re there, you could help me put on my dressing gown.’

It was a small concession that I was useful, and I was even more pleased when she followed it up with , ‘You know, it’s not that I wouldn’t like a bit of help, it’s just that I hate upsetting LBP. She’s timid but she’s got it into her foolish head that I need to be protected. It puts her on red alert all the time. That’s not good for any caller or a dog. I do worry about her especially now that I’m not so able to exercise her. At least she’s getting that free run outside. That’s why I leave the door open. She can come and go as she likes. Plenty of fresh air’s good for the two of us, I say!’

From the blood-curdling growls and snarls floating through the door, I figured that, at the very least, LBP’s lungs were beneficiaries.

‘She won’t get out the front, will she?’ I asked, remembering the broken gate.

‘No. The back’s blocked off. It’s a pity. She’d have even more space then, but I wouldn’t want her run over. We’re so near the road a car could easily get her. Now once I get that cup of tea, I’ll get washed and dressed and then I’ll see if you can light a fire with only one match. Mind, I’ll be watching!’

Was there humour in that voice, I wondered, handing over tea in an enamel cup, the only one I could find without turning the kitchen upside down. Miss Forbes plunged her hand into the dressing gown pocket and took out a bottle of tablets.

‘These damn water pills make me pass enough to sink a ship,’ she said, ‘but at least I’m up now and able to make the loo – so much better than this thing.’ She wrinkled her nose and banged the commode’s arms. ‘I never did like latrines.’

As she took a tablet with her last swallow of tea, I blurted out, ‘That should help your breathlessness too.’

‘I’m not that,’ she wheezed. ‘I’m just fine. I’ll manage the rest myself, and once that fire’s got going so can you. I’m sure you’ve plenty others to see to. We’ll see you tomorrow.’

*  *  *

Snow fell, feathering the windscreen. As I got into the car, I worried about Miss Forbes. At least, I supposed, she’d let me help her get washed and dressed to sit by the fire. I’d even made my peace with LBP, now happily sitting on her mistress’s knee. My patient was so independent she was never going to really admit her problems, but if this cold continued, by tomorrow morning I might have another Willie scenario, only there’d be a rabidly protective dog to deal with as well.

At the time of my visit, I’d wondered why Miss Forbes was in such an unsuitable bed, but a sneak peek had shown that she couldn’t get near any other. Every room was crammed with guiding paraphernalia she was plainly unable to sort. Pride was an issue. So was confidentiality.