Island Hospital (6 page)

Sheila nodded. She still wasn’t used to an electricity supply that depended upon the vagaries of a primitive water wheel rigged up like a Heath Robinson set-up or one of Emmett’s wilder imaginings.

Alan turned back at the door. “Don’t forget, I won’t be on the end of a phone!” There was an infuriating grin on his face.

Sheila choked down her fury. “I won’t,” she promised grimly.

She could hear distant sounds from the staff corridor. Matron and Clare must be getting ready for their trip to see the bright lights of Vancouver.

She went back to the wards. Fortunately they were not very busy. Most of the patients were at the stage of pottering about and the mothers kept tiptoeing along to the nursery to see if their babies were still asleep.

Sheila was beginning to get used to the way they talked endlessly about what they would do the next time they took a trip to town. Vancouver was the Mecca of all their dreams, a city sprawled at the foot of the Lions, whose snowcapped peaks stared across the North Arm to the narrows where a slender bridge swung on glittering cables between the dark greenness of Stanley Park, and the newness of the houses that climbed steadily up the slopes of West Vancouver. They knew in their hearts that their visits would be few, and they assuaged their longings by going through the well-worn pages of the mail-order catalogues.

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to see Matron and Clare.

“We’re off now, Miss Griffiths. Jim says the steamer has been
signalled from the outer pass. We’ll be back by the last boat on Friday. You should be all right; it’s only two days. Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Brownley has sent a message that she won’t be on duty tonight. George has a cold or something. But I’m sure you can manage.”

Faced by those cold blue eyes, Sheila could only nod. They were gone before she had the chance to decide whether she could run a 25 bed hospital practically singlehanded for two whole days ... nearly three, by the time the boat docked. She crossed to the window and saw the white steamer rounding the point. Lines of small dark dots were converging on her as numerous boats rushed out to the landing float. Beside her, the patients chattered as they picked out their friends’ and neighbors’ boats. Sheila crossed to the opposite window and stared up the long, narrow inlet that curved out of sight between the mountains.

Sun still shone on the higher peaks, but shadows were creeping steadily up the slopes. Even as she watched, a white finger of mist suddenly appeared from behind the islands and began to drift up the inlet. She stiffened. Alan had said he would make it before dark, but he wouldn’t have bargained for running into fog.

A hand touched her arm timidly. It was Mrs. Grant, the only maternity patient who hadn’t had her baby yet. She had come in early as she lived too far away to rely on a quick dash by boat getting her there in time.

“Miss Griffiths, I think the baby’s coming.”

Sheila hastily drew her professional calm about her. “How close are the pains?” she asked quietly.

The woman held on to the back of a chair suddenly and her hands whitened as her grasp tightened. “About every ten minutes,” she said gaspingly, letting out her breath quickly.

“Let’s collect your things and we’ll go along to the labor ward. You’ll be more comfortable there.” Sheila’s thoughts were anything but calm as she remembered the last note on Mrs. Grant’s chart: “query face to pubis lie.” If the baby hadn’t shifted its position, Sheila knew that it would have to be altered manually, and this was a doctor’s job. At this moment the doctor was very far away, and Sheila tried to hope that all would be well, and Mrs. Grant would have a living baby without his help.

Mrs. Grant was very good and followed Sheila’s instructions with touching confidence. The gas and air machine was put to good use, and she managed to snatch a little rest.

Time ticked away, and as Sheila straightened up after listening to the fetal heart, she knew with sickening certainty that she couldn’t put things off any longer. The baby’s heart was beginning to falter.

Her sterile trolley was already ready, but she checked it carefully again, before she began to scrub up. Fortunately the part-time nurse was an older woman and had been well taught by Matron to assist with the light anesthetic required.

“Ready any time you say, Miss Griffiths. What’s it going to be, Mrs. Grant? Boy’s best for first, some say, and then a girl comes in handy for helping bring up the next ones.”

Mrs. Grant mopped the perspiration from her forehead. “I’ll take what comes, thank you kindly.” She turned pleading eyes on Sheila. “Will it be long a-coming now?”

Sheila’s gray eyes were very steady. “Not too long. Just take some nice deep breaths when we tell you.” She nodded to her assistant, who picked up the mask.

Sheila bent over her patient, waiting for the anesthetic to take effect. She was ready to attempt the task of turning the baby herself. It was a procedure she had often watched, but never expected to have to do it herself. She looked down at her gloved hands and breathed a small prayer.

The door opened quietly and Alan came in. Sheila stared at him. He took in the situation at a glance.

“Good girl, just hang on a sec and I’ll give you a hand.”

Together they carried on and triumphantly produced a living baby, Sheila surprised by a very gentle look in Alan’s eyes as he patted the baby’s bottom smartly and listened with satisfaction to its lusty cry.

“That’s it, young man. Your mum mightn’t appreciate that noise later on, but I’ll bet it’s sweet music to her ears right now, eh, Mrs. Grant?”

Sheila watched their patient open sleepy eyes and murmur, “That’s right, Doc. Thanks ever so much for all you’ve done.”

She agreed heartily with Mrs. Grant. No doubt she could have managed without Alan’s help, but it had been very pleasant to lean on his more experienced assistance.

He looked at her with a smile. “Nice job, Sister Griffiths.” He patted her on the shoulder and began to untie her gown.

The door opened again and they glanced toward it. Clare stood there, hands in pockets, watching them. Sheila felt herself shiver. Those green eyes were as cold as the Arctic seas.

Alan lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you people were off to the bright lights.”

Clare didn’t smile. “Matron went, but she was in one of her moods, so I didn’t.”

Alan’s eyes went to the clock.

Clare shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see why I have to tell you, but since you appear to want to know my movements, I had supper on board the MacAndrews’ yacht. They’re on their way up Knight Inlet.” She turned to go and then changed her mind. “They want you to go on board for a drink. Why don’t you take Sheila since you’re getting on so well together? I was going back with you, but I think I’ve changed my mind.” Her eyes were inscrutable as she watched him move uneasily in protest. “All that cleaning this morning has worn me down to a frazzle.” She put a hand up to her mouth and yawned with slow deliberation before she shut the door.

Sheila looked uncomfortably at Alan, who was frowning. “You don’t have to take me, you know.”

The door reopened. “I’ll stand in for you, Sheila.” The door closed behind Clare with a definite finality this time.

“Come on, Sheila, if you’re coming. Clare will be all right.”

She hesitated, but a glance at Alan’s grim face warned her that he wouldn’t tolerate dilly-dallying. She washed her hands and followed him out of the room.

“Get your coat and meet me at the side door. Don’t bother to change
...
the MacAndrews will think your uniform real cute.”

It was too dark to see his face when she rejoined him, but she was sure that it held no pleasure. She wanted to tell him that she would rather not
come
...
he could go alone ... he didn’t have to take her just because Clare told him
to
...
She could see a large yacht ablaze with lights tied up at the landing. Shouts of pleasure greeted their arrival.

A girl smiled at her and handed her a tall glass. “It’s Pop’s special
...
mostly fruit juice, and anything else in it is as smooth as a lamb’s tail ... guaranteed not to make even a flea tipsy.”

They crowded around her and fired questions at her about England. She forgot she had ever felt tired. She forgot to be shy or to remember that she was in a strange land, and she chatted away as though she had known them for ages.

Occasionally she caught sight of Alan sitting with an untouched drink beside him. She heard him laugh several times, but the laugh lacked its usual lighthearted ring and she wondered why. Was he sorry that Clare wasn’t here with him?

It was after midnight when they said goodbye to their hosts. They left to a crescendo of goodbyes and promises to meet again when the MacAndrews came back down the coast.

Alan walked so swiftly that Sheila almost had to run to keep up with him. Just as they were going through the rock garden at the corner of the hospital she stumbled and Alan caught her. He held her firmly and Sheila was too surprised to move for a moment. She had started to draw away when the lights went on in the big lounge. Their clinging figures were pitilessly pinpointed in the sudden blaze of brightness. Just as suddenly they were switched off and there was the sound of departing footsteps and then the distant slam of a door.

Alan steadied Sheila. “Gosh! Someone’s in a hurry. See you in the morning.”

She watched him disappear in the direction of his quarters. It could only be her imagination that he had sounded uneasy. But what if it had been Clare switching on the lights? Would she have
imagined
...
anything? What a silly fool she had been to stumble!

Sheila went slowly along to her room. There was a gleam of light showing underneath Clare’s door. Should she stop and thank Clare for standing in for her? Her feet paused of their own accord opposite Clare’s room and she jumped as the door opened suddenly.

Clare’s eyebrows went up as she saw Sheila standing there. “What? Back already? Have a good time?”

Sheila struggled for words. “Very nice. Thank you for standing in.”

“That’s all right. The MacAndrews are great fun, aren’t they? See you in the morning.” She turned and went back into her room.

Sheila blinked at the shut door. Had someone else turned on the lights? Or didn’t Clare care after all what Alan did?

She went thankfully to her bed, but for some reason she couldn’t get to sleep. Her mind kept going back to those anxious hours in the labor ward. What would she have done if Alan hadn’t come? She had made up her mind to go ahead without help. She hadn’t had any real choice. She knew there was a phone in Matron’s office, but it couldn’t have summoned any real assistance. She knew that 40 miles away there was a retired doctor. But he couldn’t have come; there were short stretches of road, but they didn’t link up ... the sea thrust long tongues of water that struck inland into the very heart of the Coast Mountains
...
only a crow or a boat could have made the journey, and the tide would have to be right for the latter.

Back home she could have sent for the house surgeon. There would have been a senior sister in the office or at least somewhere in the hospital making her rounds. But this time she had been utterly alone ... not even the simple confidence of the patient or the calmness of the part-time nurse could help her final decision. She could still marvel at the swiftness with which her small but desperate prayer had been answered. Alan Greenwood might rouse her to helpless fury time and time again, but now he had come in reply to her very real need. He hadn’t wasted time telling her what she should have done, but had simply added his skill to hers and together they had shared the warm satisfaction of success.

Sheila twisted and turned restlessly. She became aware that someone was fumbling at her door, she sat up swiftly and switched on the light. To her amazement it was one of the patients.

“Can you come quickly, Miss Griffiths? Doctor says you’re on call.”

Sheila stumbled out of bed. “What’s happening?” she said rather stupidly.

The woman shook her head. “Don’t know. Didn’t stop to ask. Doc said hurry, so I did. I’ll tell him you’re coming, eh?”

“Yes, please.” She was struggling into her uniform, wishing it was a simple one like Clare’s.

She hurried along the corridor to find the operating room door ajar. Alan was pacing up and down, and Clare was setting up the anaesthetic trolley.

Alan glared at her neat uniform and clean apron. “Better get one that’s easy to get into fast. Thought you’d fallen asleep again.” He ignored her half-uttered protest. “We’ve got an emergency Caesarean to do ... woman’s only just been brought in by one of the fishing boats. She’s lost a lot of blood so it will be a bit tricky. Clare’s done her anesthetist’s course so she’ll look after that end.” He looked at Sheila again in obvious exasperation. “As soon as you’ve got that fancy rig off we can begin. You can thread the sutures while Clare’s doing the sleep stuff. Hurry! And I mean hurry!”

With heightened color Sheila flew into the changing room, tying her mask with fingers that trembled with rage, not nerves.

Alan and Clare already had the patient on the table when she returned, and Alan was setting up an intravenous drip.

His voice was gentle as he soothed the patient. “You lost a fair amount of blood when the afterbirth tried to come first, so if we put this needle in your vein we can start the transfusion as soon as the baby is safe.”

The woman licked pale, dry lips. “Will the baby be all right, Doctor?”

Alan’s voice was very steady. “You know we’ll do our very best.”