It Won't Hurt a Bit (12 page)

She turned to Isobel and beckoned, ‘Come on, Iso, one more and then we’ll join you.’

We should have gone with them. It might have spared Sister Cameron from an ill-judged pounce, and Rosie and Isobel from a consequent and very big fright indeed.

‘You’ll never guess what happened.’ Rosie appeared in the pantry, looking even more the part. ‘We were both caught and Sister Cameron’s mad and says she knows who else was with us. She says she’s going to tell Miss Jones and we must be the worst P.T.S. the hospital’s ever had.’

‘Just wait till Miss Jones hears this,’ Isobel – always pale, now ethereal – murmured.

‘Just wait till Miss Jones hears this,’ we parodied to show bravado before stepping into the privacy of our bedrooms and offering up deliverance prayers.

‘I believe some in this class have a flair for drama.’ Miss Jones was in brisk Monday morning mode.

Her ankles were a normal size though, always an encouraging sign, the nostrils, no smoke – so far so good. Still, we kept quiet. Even the floorboards held their breath because Miss Jones had that sort of presence.

‘There’s a lecture cancellation today so Mrs Low and I thought you could put a more constructive use of your talents to some role play. So, this afternoon, we want you to demonstrate the care of an asthmatic patient taken in an acute stage to a – what kind of ward?’

‘A medical ward,’ we Good-Girl chorused, apart from a random Sheila who promoted Inverurie Casualty in case lightning had wiped out Aberdeen.

‘You can spend the morning preparing and then we’ll see you later. We’re trusting you to do this on your own, so use the time profitably.’ With a flash of her teeth she was gone.

The promised lecture by a roving parasite officer cancelled, and the chance to have some fun. What an opportunity! Control at last.

Whilst the rest of the class moved into intense, earnest little groups, ours was casual.

‘If they like our performance, we could move on to “The life cycle of a louse”,’ said Isobel in her dreamy way. ‘Hazel, you could be the school nurse and I’d be the visiting medical officer. I could ask all sorts of personal questions.’

‘Private education gave us a great insight into pest control,’ Hazel agreed. She patted Rosie’s head, ‘but I don’t know that it’s working here.’

‘So, how are we going to do this?’ asked Jo, chalk in hand, followed seconds after by Rosie who grabbed it from her.

‘I’ll tell you.’ she tapped the blackboard with authority. ‘I’ll be the ward sister, Sheila, you’re the patient, Hazel, you be the staff nurse, Isobel, you the resident doctor, Maisie, you’ve got to be a student nurse, Jo, you take over from me, it’s a split shift and I’ll be off half-time. We need to share the responsibility.’

‘I see you’ve been studying power structures in your spare time,’ Maisie observed.

But Rosie raced on, ‘And, Jane, you’ll be a difficult relative – that should be easy,’ she gurgled, ‘and you could doll up Sheila a bit so that she looks blue.’

‘Easy.’ I rose above Rosie’s jokey moment, diverted by the sight of a bottle full of the most gloriously coloured liquid nearby, a drop of which would be ideal for make-up.

‘Ah’m nay sure.’ Sheila looked dubious.

‘I’ve thought of something good,’ I promised, ‘really authentic.’

‘And maybe I could be a secretary,’ said Morag in her diffident way. ‘They’re really important you know.’

All eyes swivelled in her direction. ‘Eh?’

She blushed, and checked her finger waves. ‘Well I think so anyway. How else can doctors’ notes be deciphered?’

‘Is that what you used to do?’ I asked, rather ashamed that I’d never bothered asking Morag what she did in her previous life, but then again, she wasn’t about to give away much.

‘I was learning,’ she said obliquely.

‘Sounds good,’ said Rosie, sounding unconvinced. ‘So maybe you could move around the stage taking notes.’

‘I couldn’t do that!’ Morag was appalled. ‘I’m definitely backstage and even then I’d have a problem if I didn’t know what I was doing.’

‘Join the club. But life, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ said Hazel, chewing gum, ‘is dealing with challenge.’ She put an arm round Morag and blew a bubble. ‘And yours will be prompting us when we get stuck, but since we’re likely to be making it up as we go along you shouldn’t find it too difficult.’

That settled and names on the board, we relaxed, checked with the others we could go first, and discussed our tutors and where they might have gone. Then we tried to winkle information out of Jo about her boyfriend, and, failing, recalled our own real life dramas and left rehearsal for the lesser. At lunch break, some trolley setting and trial dialogue made us think it would be alright if we worked as a team.

‘You’ve certainly been putting a lot into this,’ enthused Mrs Low, overhearing our conversation on the way back to the classroom, ‘and my goodness, you’ve set up the place so it looks like a first-night performance. I like the way you’ve made the screens like curtains. What do you say Miss Jones?’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Just come this way.’ Between hand-scooping gestures and herding the audience to their seats, Rosie had hit an all-time bustle record. Her cheerful welcome and introduction set a good, if ambitious, tone. I didn’t remember bed-baths or constipation being discussed but maybe, bored with so much of her instructions, I’d tuned out. Full of confidence, Rosie bounced backstage.

‘You should have charged them. You sounded like a compere-cum-ticket-officer.’ Maisie had had time to consider her role and was smarting about her lowly position.

Rosie’s sniff was so profound, it might even have impressed Beth.

Hazel now drew back the screens, their little wheels screaming like those in a car rally. Isobel followed, more Sarah Bernhardt than Dr Finlay, and beckoned to Rosie who, complete with clipboard and eager expression, re-entered.

‘Um, Sister,’ Isobel raised a hand to her forehead – a fine portrayal of an artist in thought. ‘There’s an asthmatic coming in – emergency – can you get things ready? You’ll know what to do. I’ll have to dash now – there’s another emergency coming in.’

She drifted off.

‘Staff Nurse!’ shouted Rosie. Hazel ambled on.

‘There’s an asthmatic coming in. You’ll need to get a bed ready and trolleys, you know – just the usual.’ Her hands waved like small propellers.

Hazel tapped her teeth thoughtfully, checked their stability and giving a very good impression of quiet authority, beckoned Maisie who had started to hum ‘The Red Flag’. Still, she appeared on cue and gave a proper imitation of servility, battening down her curls with such an armoury of hairpins she looked as if she might have a problem understanding life, never mind instructions.

‘Now, Nurse, prepare a bed and set a trolley please. There’s an emergency asthmatic coming in and – look! She’s arrived. My goodness that was quick.’

Sheila’s entrance was made in a high-speed trolley driven by Jo, aiming rather than steering since nobody had thought the role of a porter with transporting expertise relevant.

‘Merciful Heavens! What has she on her face?’ gasped Mrs Low. ‘If that’s gentian violet, she’ll never get it off.’

‘We never thought about makeup,’ said someone in the audience.

‘Maybe just as well,’ said another.

‘I’ll kill that bloomin’ Jane,’ gritted Sheila putting an appalled hand to her face and beginning to breathe in short bursts.

‘Let’s lift the patient altogether now,’ called Rosie, and those who were team players assembled round the patient, astonished by how feather-light she was. As she flew from caring clutches to the far edge of the bed, she was stopped from a crash landing by her own keen instinct for survival and a ‘Mind oot!’ scream.

Apart from reassuring Morag, who was plainly bringing stage fright to a new art form and being banned from action except make-up artist until now, I was ready for a role to be relished. With a busybody walk I got on stage.

‘You’ll mebbe find ma auntie a bittie confused. She’s been affa difficult lately, winna tak her pills, winna stick tae her diet. Ah canna sleep at night fur her coughin’ an’ I’ve a right sair back lookin after her – an’ as for her bowels, weel that’s anither story. Noo whaur’s Sister an’ whaur’s the Complaints Book. I’ve plenty tae pit in it.’

‘Sorry, but you’ll need to wait in the waiting room. We’re far too busy dealing with your aunt just now. You can see how breathless she is.’ Jo appeared at my elbow and gave a discreet shove.

Stopped from getting into full stride, I was offstage quicker than I intended, which was a pity, for being such a caring relative was fun.

Jo now assumed Rosie’s mantle of authority and addressed the air very clearly.

‘Let’s have the oxygen shall we?’

‘Oxygen! What oxygen? Oh! Just a minute.’ Maisie stifled a scream.

Mutterings and curses followed, then an unaccompanied trolley appeared so fast the attached
Oxygen
marked flag flew from it in a straight line.

‘Where’s a’ the nurses an’ fit kinda corners are these?’ The relative had sneaked back and was pointing to the feeble mitres. ‘In ma young day, beds were made properly. That’s a disgrace, an’ she’ll need mair pillows an’ mind she’s allergic tae feathers.’

‘Check the patient’s pulse.’ Morag must be on the mend for that was her voice even if it was interrupting my observation.

‘An’ dae ye nay think she’s an affa funny colour?’

‘My goodness, that is a difficult relative,’ murmured Mrs Low, sneaking a look at her watch and inflating her chest. Miss Jones seemed to be checking her ankles.

Once more Jo helped a rapid exit.

‘Do not come back on again,’ she murmured, then for the audience’s benefit, ‘And what about a cup of tea, dearie, before you speak to some nice person who could help you,’ adding through gritted teeth, ‘I think an almoner’s available right now.’

‘I think you’re overdoing things,’ whispered Morag, ‘and look at Sheila, Jane, she’s really beginning to look distressed. I’m getting worried about her.’ She pointed, but already Maisie was bearing down on our hapless patient with a trolley heaped high with enough equipment to kit the world. It was crowned with a large but unmistakable enema funnel.

She advanced upon Sheila who had been playing dead with a faraway expression and a blue look not entirely gentian.

‘Can I just explain what I’m going to do to you?’ she asked, squaring her jaw and smiling into Sheila’s face while pushing up her spectacles for a better look.

Suddenly, Miss Jones looked very alert and made to stand up. Sheila, however, proved that one look at the trolley was enough to re-energise her.

‘Ah’m nay comin back here ivver again,’ she gasped. ‘Ah’ll stick tae ma inhaler an’ Inverurie.’ She got out of bed and fled with her bedclothes billowing behind like a storm cloud.

Isobel sauntered on to have the last word. ‘I see our patient has fully recovered. You wouldn’t think a woman that old could move so fast.’ She leant on the trolley, her regal air transforming it into a carriage. ‘Come along, Staff, let’s see if we can get rid of that obnoxious relative. Look, we’ve got a spare bed now. Ready for that emergency I was telling you about.’

Her exit was elegant and ended the performance. Backstage, Morag discouraged us from banging Sheila on the back and suggested that if we left her alone she would breath easier, whilst Rosie drew the final curtain screens and waited for the call.

Outside, the sun suggested spring was well underway and like an old dog warming its bones, the Home seemed to be basking in it. The colour of those dour grey walls softened in the light. A few nurses strolled past without their capes, allowing them individuality and easy strides. There might have been happy chat, but we couldn’t hear them. Anyway, our attention was elsewhere, as with some shoving and pushing we shuffled out to face our audience.

A small outbreak of clapping was stopped by a glare from Miss Jones who, ensuring everybody’s attention, turned to look out the window. Mrs Low followed and for a while they both just stood, watching, whilst small tittering bursts came from the rest of the class.

At last Miss Jones said, ‘Do you see these nurses?’ She pointed to some serious striders. ‘They were also in P.T.S. you know, and I remember some of them had a very light-hearted casual approach indeed. Once they were in the wards, however, that had to change and they had to learn very quickly that hospitals are not places for burlesque.’ She paused whilst Mrs Low nodded her head and looked agonised, then continued, ‘There must be professionals and professionalism at every level and so, nobody, but nobody, gets out of this classroom unless we personally are sure it’s safe for them to do so. At some time you will all be dealing with life-and-death situations and you will all have to learn to recognise the signs. Do you realise your patient was in grave danger of having a real asthmatic attack, brought on by your antics? You could have killed her and as far as we could see, not one of you recognised that – not even Nurse Munro,’ she gave Morag a baleful stare before training it on the class, ‘nor anybody in the audience either. I thought at the very least we could rely on you to be sensible, so frankly that’s very worrying and I think you all should be considering your future prospects here, very, very carefully.’

This was some curtain call. If there was any power in prayer, the floor should have swallowed us, but the only miracle was that Sheila was breathing normally and we hadn’t killed her.

I groaned inwardly. Why was it that a bit of daft jollity always seemed to go wrong?

Miss Jones continued, ‘Of course, there is a place for fun and I must say this group’s got a particular flair for it, but here’s not the place. We really do need some serious application from now on. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Yes, Miss Jones.’

The flat chorus must have touched Mrs Low for she stepped forward and said more cheerfully, ‘I’m sure everybody’s learnt a few things from today’s exercise and using the experience, we’ll see how the other groups fare tomorrow, but in the meantime, I think we’ve had enough of drama.’

Then she got out her ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hat and said, ‘Don’t forget that tomorrow as well, we’ll be having that visit from environmental health, so you can learn all about parasites and ask intelligent questions of the gentleman who is giving up a little of his rodent-roving role to speak to you. It’ll make a nice change, I’m sure.’