One Night in Emergency
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Carol Marinelli
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The only person that can save Sister Eleanor Lewis, seriously injured and held hostage, is emergency consultant Rory Hunter! Rory's the father of Eleanor's baby, only he doesn't know it, and he has to rescue them both before time runs out…
CHAPTER ONE
‘THERE’S been a bus crash!’
Eleanor’s heart didn’t sink as Mary Byrne placed her hand over the telephone receiver and mouthed the words to the rapidly gathering staff. Instead, it skipped into overdrive, galloping along way too fast.
Her mind was going at the same speed, too.
It was Saturday night and the emergency room was already full to bursting. Half the staff had rung in sick, courtesy of a flu bug that had started in Singapore and had somehow landed in Melbourne five days previously, so the place was being manned by only a couple of regular staff, along with rather too many agency nurses. And to cap it off, it was Eleanor’s first night duty in the emergency department of Melbourne Central.
Actually, it was her first shift in Melbourne Central, full stop. She’d rather been hoping for a gentle easing into her new job, a slow introduction to a city emergency department after completing her training and graduation year in the country, but given that Mary Byrne was her mentor for the next three months it meant that for the most part they would be sharing the same shifts.
And as Mary had volunteered for a week of nights, by default, so too had Eleanor.
‘A minibus crash,’ Mary corrected, with a relieved sigh as she hung up the telephone and came over to address her staff. ‘Which is a lot better than it first sounded, but that still means we’ve got twelve new patients arriving and at this stage we’re not sure of the injuries. Ambulance Control is going to let me know more just as soon as they do.’
The red phone buzzed again and Mary answered it promptly, her stern face rigid with concentration and her thick Irish brogue direct and to the point.
‘Lord help us all, then!’ she exclaimed, slamming down the phone and coming back to her team.
‘What is it?’ Vicki, one of the few regular staff in the unit tonight, asked as Mary rolled her eyes and muttered loudly under her breath. ‘Does it sound serious?’
‘Oh, it’s serious all right,’ Mary retorted. ‘The minibus that crashed happens to be filled with half the victors of some local rugby shield match. And, as luck would have it, the other half of the team was following behind, so no doubt they’ll be descending on us too just to make things a touch livelier.’
‘Where have you been, young man?’ Mary asked as Pier, one of the agency nurses, joined the team. ‘When the red phone goes off, you’re supposed to come directly over.’
‘Oui, I know, but I was putting cubicle six on a bedpan.’
‘When the red phone buzzes, you ensure your patient’s safety and then come to the nurses’ station.’ Mary fixed him with a stern glare. ‘The only exception to that rule is if you’re in Resus with a critical patient.’
‘Are the injuries bad?’ It was the first time Eleanor had spoken, her very newly registered nurse brain whirring ahead of itself, trying to imagine the types of injuries that would be arriving. For a full year she’d been desperate to roll her sleeves up and tackle some real emergency nursing, constantly frustrated by her previous manager’s attempts to thwart her, but now that the moment appeared to have arrived, suddenly Eleanor felt woefully unprepared.
‘Cuts and bruises at this stage, one or two sound as if they may have fractures, and the driver has a nasty seat-belt injury—injuries I can deal with blindfolded,’ Mary thundered on. ‘It’s twenty-four young men with too much C2H50H on board I can well do without.’
‘C2H…’ Eleanor frowned, her voice trailing off as she tried to, first, remember to look assertive and, second, to work out just what on earth Mary was going on about now.
‘You don’t write that on their notes, mind,’ Mary said sharply as Eleanor dutifully wrote the mass of letters and numbers down. ‘They can smell like a brewery, have slurred speech and be staggering as they walk, but it would be very dangerous to make any assumptions. The symptoms are the same as a head injury and it won’t go down too well in court if it’s even been hinted at in the patient notes. Have I made myself clear?’
Eleanor nodded, but her frown remained.
‘Now Resus is already full, so I’m going to head in there and give Dr Heel a hand to clear the place. Caitlin is on triage…’
‘Helen, one of the agency nurses, has got an ICU certificate,’ Vicki ventured. ‘Why don’t you take her into Resus with you? Heather and I can manage the trolleys. And I’m sure Pier will be OK doing the cubicles.’
The look that Mary shot Pier told everyone present that Mary was yet to be convinced. Pier might be divine to look at, might be incredibly eager to please, but the fact his English was heavily laced with a thick French accent was already causing more than a few problems.
‘Sounds good.’ Mary nodded. ‘The rest of you will have to pitch in.’ Her eyes again turned sharply to Eleanor.
‘You did some Emergency in your grad year, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ Eleanor gulped, ‘but it was a tiny country hospital, I wouldn’t exactly call myself—’
‘They have bandages in the country I presume?’ Mary broke in, and Eleanor nodded nervously.
‘Then you can have the walking wounded with Pier. Patch them up and move them on. And, for goodness’ sake, once they’re seen, do your best to get them into a taxi and as far from here as possible. I do not want my waiting room pumping with renditions of ‘‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’’ or ‘‘Danny Boy’’.’
‘We’re in Australia, Mary,’ Vicki pointed out with a grin. ‘It’s ‘‘Waltzing Matilda’’ here.’
‘I don’t need a song sheet,’ Mary barked. ‘Just get them treated and home to their mothers. Poor women!’
‘Right.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘The first will be here in fifteen minutes or so which gives us time to do a quick clear up and get the place ready. Now, do we all know where we’re supposed to be?’
Everyone nodded and started to drift off to their assigned tasks. Everyone except Eleanor. She didn’t want to ask stupid questions, didn’t want to take up Mary’s valuable time, but given she’d been so specific about not writing in their notes, Eleanor had no choice but to ask exactly what it was she couldn’t write.
‘Mary, sorry to be a pain, it’s just that I didn’t understand what you meant when you said…’ Eleanor swallowed hard, beating back a blush as the dispersing crowd all stopped, then turned to hear her question. ‘What exactly is C2H…?’ She glanced down at the scrap of paper in her hand where she’d hastily written the jumble of letters. ‘C2H5OH?’
‘Oh.’ Mary gave her a very nice smile, which Eleanor was sure was false. ‘I’m sorry, Eleanor, did I not explain myself clearly enough for you? I should have said that it’s the chemical equation for ethanol.’
‘Ethanol?’ Eleanor repeated, the question in her voice evident, her bewildered eyes looking back up to Mary.
‘It means drunk, Eleanor,’ Mary said through strained lips. ‘Does that make things clearer for you?’
‘Much,’ Eleanor replied, blushing to the roots of her hair.
‘So take no nonsense from any of them,’ Mary warned. ‘A pretty thing like you will be like a sitting duck.’
* * *
‘What’s wrong?’ Pier asked as they headed for the cubicles, noticing Eleanor’s grimly set face. ‘I also did not know that was the chemical equation for alcohol.’
‘It’s not that,’ Eleanor retorted, shaking her head and marching on as Pier struggled to keep up.
‘Then what ever is the matter with you all of a sudden?’ Pier asked, clearly perplexed. ‘The accident is not as serious as we first thought, we will all manage.’
‘I know we will. It’s not that, it’s what Mary said about…’ Eleanor shook her head angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ But the French clearly weren’t fazed by a dash of emotion and Pier just followed her into the four-bedded treatment area, patiently waiting as Eleanor pulled a blanket around the shoulders of an elderly lady.
‘What did she say that has you so angry? And you are angry, Eleanor,’ Pier pointed out, watching as she stripped a case of a pillow, then rammed the unsuspecting foam rectangle into a fresh pillowcase.
‘Well, so would you be.’ Her eyes flashed as she spoke, two spots of colour burning on her cheeks. ‘What on earth do my looks have to do with anything? Two hours into my first shift and the charge nurse is making little jabs about me being pretty.’
‘But you are pretty,’ Pier exclaimed. ‘Beautiful even! Blond hair, blue eyes, a very feminine shape.’ He made a rather lewd hourglass gesture with his hands, but somehow Pier could get away with it without causing offence. ‘In fact, if I went for women, I would definitely go for you.’ He watched as her lips tightened. ‘I am not making things better, no?’
‘No,’ Eleanor replied, as they stripped the linen off a trolley and started to remake it in preparation for the new set of patients. ‘Mary wasn’t paying me a compliment, Pier, believe me. I’ve been up against a few ‘‘Marys’’ in my training and grad year and they all assume that a blond-haired, blue-eyed nurse can only be after one thing.’
‘Sex?’
‘A husband,’ Eleanor wailed, thumping him none too gently with the pillow. ‘They all assume I’m merely biding my time until some suitable rich and good-looking man comes along.’
‘We all are.’ Pier grinned then, realising humour wasn’t called for here, he stared at her thoughtfully for a long moment.
Eleanor wasn’t just pretty, she was seriously beautiful. China-blue eyes heavily framed with dark lashes were an absolute contrast to the thick blond hair, which, unless she went to the hairdresser’s weekly, was for once natural—all set off with a deep red rosebud mouth in a clear-skinned face and, given that Pier was rather more in tune with his feminine side than most men, he finally saw her problem.
‘Eleanor, people can be jealous, say cruel things, make silly assumptions, pigeonhole you for how you look, how you talk, the job you do even. But you have to learn to let those hurtful comments go. Once you learn to be confident in who you are and what it is you want from life, those bitchy comments will just wash over you. Believe me, I know.’
Something in his voice reached Eleanor, something in Pier’s stance told her that as happy and confident as he appeared life hadn’t always been easy for him, and she gave a dejected nod. Pier’s sympathetic advice and surprising understanding was all she needed to open up a touch.
‘I didn’t do too well in my grad year, that’s why I finally made the decision to leave my home town and came here to get some experience.’
‘You were in the country, oui?’
Eleanor nodded. ‘The manager didn’t like me—in fact, that’s a massive understatement. Rita actively disliked me and in a tiny country hospital there aren’t too many places to hide.’
‘How small was it?’
‘Three wards and a tiny emergency department, but when I say emergency it was more of a GP unit. Any real emergencies were transferred to the city.’
‘So you do not have much experience in emergency nursing.’
‘I would have had,’ Eleanor said darkly, ‘if only Rita had let me within a square mile of the place. Even though it was a tiny hospital, we covered a vast area. There were a lot of farming accidents, heart attacks, even a few suicide attempts. Of course, they were moved on to the city once they were stabilised, but until the paramedics arrived they were treated at the hospital. If Rita had only let me in a bit, I’d have had a lot of experience by now.’ Eleanor gave a tight shrug. ‘She treated me as if I’d barely got my first Guide badge, let alone a nursing degree. I spent my whole time in my so-called emergency rotation giving tetanus shots, putting on slings and bandages and making cups of tea for relatives. If I hadn’t worked the wards for six months I’d have come out of my grad year none the wiser than when I’d started. I had to tell them at my interview, of course. They assumed I had some emergency experience, but when I told them how little I’d really done it was decided that I’d be rostered on with Mary for the next few months. If I last,’ Eleanor added. ‘She seems so fierce.’
‘She needs to be, I guess. Imagine if this minibus crash had turned out to be really serious.’
‘I suppose. And I know that I’m not much help at the moment, but I’m not completely useless. I might not be a great emergency nurse yet, but I have spent the last year working. It mightn’t have been a busy teaching hospital, but we still had sick patients. I mightn’t have learnt a lot in emergency but it was a different story on the wards. The country’s crying out for nursing staff. Towards the end of my grad year I was even in charge of some shifts on the wards, yet Mary seems intent on treating me as if I’m a complete novice. At the interview she seemed so nice…’
‘She is nice,’ Pier broke in, smiling at Eleanor’s dubious expression. ‘Emergency nurses are a funny lot. ICU and coronary-care nurses are the same—cliquey, bitchy, always thinking that they’re the busiest, most understaffed unit in the whole hospital.’ As Eleanor’s frown deepened, Pier’s smile widened. ‘But they’re also the funniest, most down-to-earth, loyal lot you’ll ever hope to meet, and once you’re in you’ll be there for life. You’ll end up being Mary’s biggest fan, I bet.’
‘I doubt it,’ Eleanor scoffed. ‘And how come you’re such a fan, when all she’s done is roar at you?’
‘She’s testing me,’ Pier responded easily. ‘I guarantee if I make it through this shift, by the morning she’ll be giving me the pick of the unfilled shifts on the roster. But I still don’t understand,’ Pier moaned, unfortunately getting back to the one subject Eleanor wanted to avoid. ‘Why didn’t this manager like you?’
‘Well, in my written report Rita said that I wasn’t assertive enough, that I was too busy focusing on petty details and not getting the job done.’
‘What sort of details?’
Eleanor shrugged. ‘Take Agnes over there.’ She gestured to the elderly woman, who was sitting up now, her dirty feet sticking out from the blanket, her worldly goods wrapped in two carrier bags under the trolley.
‘Can I have a bedpan, love? No hurry.’
‘All night I give bedpans.’ Pier rolled his eyes, ducking out and coming back two minutes later as they both helped the elderly woman on and waited outside the curtain. ‘All night I tell you. You were saying?’
‘My manager would have sent her off into the night, whereas I…’
‘Would have let her sleep?’ Pier ventured.
‘And I’d have probably tried to arrange a social work referral for the morning, but Rita hated it. She said that I was slow, not good at finishing a job, that I left the place in a mess after I’d done a shift. But I didn’t come into nursing just to check drugs and drips. I want to get to know my patients, to make a difference.’
Pier gave a knowing nod. ‘It can be a bit like that sometimes. But what has all this got to do with you being pretty?’
Eleanor didn’t want to go there, didn’t really want to rake over old ground, but there was something about a night shift, something about sharing twelve hours with a virtual stranger you might never see again, and definitely something about Pier that made her open up. ‘Apparently I hid behind it.’ When Pier didn’t respond she elaborated further. ‘I’d bat my eyelashes to get my own way. Make a mess of things and then apologise, and apparently because I flashed a bit of cleavage all was forgiven.’
‘You flashed your cleavage?’ Pier’s eyes were aghast.
‘No.’ Eleanor found she was smiling. ‘It rather tended to flash itself. We had to wear baggy old theatre gear and the neckline wasn’t exactly tailored. Well, I heard Rita saying that I used my…’ Stumbling over the word, she was infinitely grateful when Pier chose a better one.
‘Assets?’
‘Thank you. I heard Rita implying that I used my assets to gloss over the fact I was a lousy nurse.’
‘She sounds horrible,’ Pier stated loudly. ‘Horrible and ugly, too, I bet?’
‘She was actually,’ Eleanor admitted. ‘But without her on my side I wasn’t going to get anywhere. I really want to be an emergency nurse, Pier, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. That’s why I decided to cut my losses and move to the city.’
‘So it didn’t help when the charge nurse brought up your ravishing looks the first night you were here?’ Pier asked perceptively, a smile twitching on his lips. ‘Don’t tell me, you want to be taken seriously—isn’t that what all the models say?’
‘I’d settle for being thought of as a good nurse.’
‘Then be a good nurse,’ Pier said simply.
‘Finished, love.’
They helped Agnes off, and then headed to the pan room, the blue lights of the ambulance flashing past the window as the first of the minibus accident casualties arrived. ‘We’d better get out there.’
Eleanor gave a watery smile. ‘Thanks, Pier, thanks for listening.’
‘Any time,’ Pier said airily. ‘If I can think of anything you can do to improve things, I will tell you on our meal break. I am good at advice.’
‘So am I.’ Eleanor grinned as they headed across the unit. ‘So here’s some—if you don’t want to be giving out bedpans all night, trying saying yes instead of oui!’ She looked at his bemused expression. ‘You’re sending out subliminal messages, Pier. Every time one of the old ducks hears you say wee, they ask for a pan!’
‘You really aren’t just a pretty face after all!’
‘No, Pier,’ Eleanor turned her blue eyes on her new friend and fixed him with a determined glare. ‘And I intend to prove it.’
* * *
As Mary had predicted, the arrival of the rugby team certainly livened the place up, not that it had been quiet before. But once the ambulances started arriving, in no time at all every cubicle, every trolley and every chair was packed to capacity, with staff rushing between them, prioritising patients, commencing treatments, pagers buzzing like unattended alarm clocks as the phones rang ever on. But somehow it was controlled chaos, a team stretched to its limits yet performing impeccably under Mary’s fierce guidance, and for Eleanor, although busy, although more rushed than she’d ever been in her rather short nursing life, it was a night for falling head over heels in love with Emergency.
Real Emergency.
A team working independently at times, but always looking out for each other.
Monitors bleeping, blue lights flashing past, paramedics racing in, even Jim the porter providing invaluable back-up, wheeling patient after patient around to X-Ray, while quietly, in his own unobtrusive way, guiding the junior and new staff, taking Eleanor gently aside time and again and pointing out that Mary preferred portable drip stands to be secured to the trolleys, not IV poles pushed alongside them, that in an unexpected emergency it made transportation easier and that maybe she should give the nebuliser the doctor had just ordered before he wheeled the patient up to the ward.
His advice was invaluable and Eleanor took it with a grateful murmur of thanks, the clock whirring past midnight for the most part unnoticed, the waiting room gradually emptying as they worked their way diligently through the night.
‘I’d like a hand in here, please, Eleanor!’ Mary’s flushed face appeared from the Resus doors. ‘I need you to hold an arm for me.’
Which surely couldn’t be as bad as it sounded!
Entering the hallowed area of Resus, Eleanor longed there and then for a day when this room was familiar to her, when she, like Mary, could glance at the wiggly lines on the monitor with a knowing eye and know, just know, that the patient hadn’t gone into cardiac arrhythmia but instead the red dot attaching the electrode to the patient’s chest must have fallen off.
‘Mr Papadopoulos has had an inferior myocardial infarction. He’s supposed to be going up to Coronary Care now, but he’s not well enough to be moved.’
He certainly didn’t look well enough! His eyes were closed as he struggled just to breathe, a grey, clammy face exhausted against the pillow, and Eleanor stepped forward nervously, unsure what she should do, but Mary didn’t keep her in suspense for very long.
‘I want you to shave his chest and reattach the dots,’ Mary ordered, handing Eleanor the clippers. ‘His drip has just packed in and I need to get IV access quickly.’
With shaking hands Eleanor did as asked, listening intently as Mary told her to rub the skin with alcohol swabs before applying the dots. ‘They’ll stick better,’ she explained, turning her attention back to the useless IV bung she was trying to remove before inserting a new one.
‘Heaven help us, do they teach these doctors nothing in medical school?’ Pulling back the sticky plaster on the man’s arm, she tutted away. ‘Can you ever imagine putting sticky plaster on a man and not shaving him first? I’m sorry, Mr Papadopoulos, so very sorry, dear, but I really need to get this tape off.
‘Now, Eleanor, hold his arm for me while I put another IV in and see how I shave the area before I put a wad of tape on. It might seem like a small detail but when Mr Papadopoulos is ready to have his IV removed, you can be sure he’ll thank us for our foresight.’
‘I’ll remember.’ Eleanor nodded. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
‘Could you ask Vicki to come and check some morphine for me?’
Which shouldn’t have been a problem, but instantly Eleanor felt relegated. She was more than capable of checking controlled drugs, it was part of her job, but yet again Mary seemed intent on treating her like a student. ‘I can check morphine, Mary,’ Eleanor pointed out, quietly grinding her teeth as Mary effectively dismissed her.
‘Just ask Vicki to come in, would you? You get on with emptying those cubicles. How is it going out there?’
‘It’s settling. Just a few more to be patched up and sent home.’
‘Good lass.’ Mary nodded. ‘Save cubicle one for me, mind. I’ll come and see him when I’m done in here. If you could just find Vicki for me and ask her to come in, that would be grand.’
‘We’re nearly there.’ Pier gave a tired smile as Eleanor came out. ‘I must have a drink or you’ll be treating me for a faint. Vicki said to sort out our breaks between us—do you want to go first?’
‘You go,’ Eleanor offered, knowing Pier was just being polite. ‘I’ll just finish up here.’
‘There’s nothing to do.’ Pier shrugged. ‘Everything is under control. Mary said to leave cubicle one for her—he just needs some strapping and a tetanus injection, which I’ve already pulled up. Agnes is just sleeping it off in between asking for bedpans and the toddler in cubicle two just needs the doctor to listen to his chest now that his nebuliser is finished, then hopefully his parents can take him home.’
‘Then go.’ Eleanor grinned. ‘Even I can manage that lot.’
It felt strange, being left alone in the department. Not that she was really alone, there were a few patients still around, a few doctors writing their notes up at the desk and the rest of the staff were bobbing in and out of various cubicles. But, standing at the nurses’ station, Eleanor couldn’t help but feel a bit smugly important, as well as nervous in case anything should come flying through the doors and she would, temporarily at least, be the one to deal with it.
‘How much longer will he have to wait?’ A ruddy-faced rugby player popped his head around the curtain and Eleanor made her way over, pulling out the casualty card from the clipboard.
‘Shouldn’t be long.’ Eleanor peered at the card. ‘He just needs some strapping and a tetanus shot.’
She expected an argument, after all she was just standing there, but instead the man disappeared behind the curtain and Eleanor listened with increasing impatience as the drunken guffaws got louder.
‘How long will the doctor be?’ The father of the toddler in cubicle two came over, a worried frown on his face, and Eleanor gave a sympathetic smile.
‘Not too much longer. It has to be a registrar or consultant that discharges Marcus, and unfortunately they’re both stuck in Resus at the moment. They know that you’re waiting, though.’
‘Fair enough.’ He gave a tired shrug. ‘He’s just getting upset with all the noise, you know.’ He nodded pointedly towards cubicle one.
‘I do know,’ Eleanor said grimly. She was about to tell him it shouldn’t be much longer again, about to run with the usual spiel, but Pier’s words had struck a chord.
Then be a good nurse.
Mary was just trying to share the workload by telling them to save cubicle one for her. Eleanor could just picture the scathing look if she came out of Resus and saw her standing at the nurses’ station, twiddling her thumbs when there was still work to be done. Well, she’d learnt her lesson the hard way with Rita. By the time Mary came out, there wouldn’t be a patient in the department and she’d have started cleaning the trolleys. Picking up the kidney dish with the tetanus shot in it, she smiled at Marcus’s father. ‘Leave it to me.’
Breezing into the cubicle, she shot her most withering stare at the five men standing around the trolley. ‘Would you mind keeping the noise down, guys? We’ve got a young child next door and your noise is upsetting him.’
‘Sorry!’ The sarcastic response from the ruddy-faced man Eleanor could deal with, but when the other hangers-on started wolf-whistling Eleanor began to understand why Mary might have dealt with it better. But just as she started to wonder if perhaps she should leave the job to Mary after all, she found a rather surprising ally in her patient.
‘Cut it out, guys.’ His voice was deep and firm and brought an instant response, his five teammates instantly cutting the wisecracks and offering their apologies. For the first time Eleanor looked at her patient.
Then looked again!
For the past couple of hours she’d remained indifferent to the sight of six-foot-four, thick-necked, broken-nosed rugby players, but only a general anaesthetic could have rendered her indifferent to this one.
He was so huge that he made the gurney look like it belonged in the paediatric bay, yet there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his solid frame that was way too big for the white hospital gown that stretched over his wide chest, blond tousled hair framed a rugged face and somehow he even managed to make the customary broken nose look endearing, but, then, one couldn’t linger too long on his broken nose when navy eyes were attempting to focus. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, gesturing to his raucous friends. ‘They’re getting bored.’
‘Which would be understandable if they were two years old,’ Eleanor replied crisply, determined not to let him see he was having the remotest effect on her. But her bossy nurse routine only delighted the crowd, the cat calls starting up again, growing ever louder, the whistles more piercing as Eleanor’s blush darkened. But when little Marcus in the next cubicle started crying again, Eleanor’s patience finally snapped. ‘Right, you can all wait outside while I fix up…’ She glanced at the casualty card. ‘Mr Hunter.’
‘Rory,’ her patient offered, but Eleanor wasn’t really listening. In best assertive nurse mode she shooed the last of the stragglers in the vague direction of the waiting room.
‘I thought Mary was going to come and patch me up,’ Rory ventured once they were alone.
‘Sister Byrne is busy with a sick patient in Resus,’ Eleanor answered crisply, ‘so you’ll have to make do with me.’
‘That’s fine,’ he responded easily. ‘And you are?’
‘Sister Lewis.’
He was squinting at the name badge hanging around her neck, or at least Eleanor hoped that was what he was attempting to focus on.
‘Do you have a first name?’
‘Sister Lewis will do just fine,’ Eleanor replied firmly. ‘Now, you’ve already been stitched up.’ Peering at the notes, she put them down before turning to her patient. ‘It’s the left thigh, isn’t it?’
‘I hope so, given that’s the one they stitched.’ Lifting his gown, he pulled back the dressing before, annoyingly—extremely annoyingly, in fact—reaching over to the silver trolley beside the gurney and helping himself to a wad of gauze.
‘Please, don’t.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘The trolleys are sterile.’
‘Really?’ He gave her a slightly nonplussed look and Eleanor was forced to relent somewhat. ‘Well, they’re clean and I’m supposed to restock them soon. It doesn’t make things easy when the patients help themselves.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ It didn’t, but it was far easier to be bossy, far easier to be slightly cross, than focus on his thighs—very nice thighs, too, Eleanor thought reluctantly, extremely muscular, blond-haired thighs that needed to be strapped.
‘I’ll need to shave you.’
‘Sorry?’ There was no question that he was apologising this time and, clearing her suddenly dry throat, Eleanor forced a brisk smile.
‘The doctor wants your thigh strapped,’ Eleanor explained patiently. ‘Because you’re so, er, muscular he wants the sutures to have some support for a couple of days. That’s why he wants you to have crutches as well…’
‘But why do you want to shave me?’
‘I don’t want to,’ Eleanor corrected. ‘I have to. Believe me…’ Echoing Mary’s words, she flashed an efficient smile and said, ‘You’ll thank me for my foresight once the strapping comes off.’
‘I’ll look like a zebra,’ Rory moaned. ‘I read that hair grows back thicker and darker once you shave it.’
The grumbling smile he flashed at her wasn’t making this any easier.
‘Utter rubbish,’ Eleanor scoffed, while feeling horribly guilty.
‘It’s true. I read it in a magazine—a women’s magazine,’ he added, as if it might make a scrap of difference.
‘Well, if you’d read on, the magazine would undoubtedly have told you that the down side to waxing is sheer agony, which is what you’ll get when the sticky plaster comes off if I don’t shave you first. Wait there,’ Eleanor added, fleeing for the safety of the stock cupboard and trying to even out her breathing as she located fresh heads for the clippers.
She could do this, Eleanor told herself firmly. Gorgeous men with massive hairy thighs were part and parcel of Emergency, so she’d better just buckle down and get used to coping with it.
‘Right!’ Pulling the curtain back, she marched in with the clippers.
‘Right,’ Rory responded glumly, as Eleanor swallowed hard and turned on the clippers, hoping his inebriated state would mean that he wouldn’t notice her shaking hands.
‘How much are you taking off?’ Rory asked with a slight note of panic.
‘Well, you need your thigh strapped,’ Eleanor pointed out, ‘not a small sticky plaster.’ But despite her best efforts, the bossy nurse routine was getting harder and harder to keep. Despite his friends, Rory Hunter had been the perfect patient and Eleanor relented with an apologetic shrug. ‘I’m really sorry about all this,’ she mumbled. ‘It really will grow back quickly.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘And itch like hell, too, no doubt.’
‘Then I’m glad I’m not a woman.’ Rory grinned. ‘Must be hell, doing this every week.’
Eleanor laughed, really laughed. ‘Well, generally we’re not quite so hairy…’ Her voice trailed off as his navy eyes attempted to meet hers, the room impossibly hot all of a sudden as the conversation tiptoed into dangerous territory.
‘Roll over and I’ll do the back,’ Eleanor responded quickly.
He did as he was told. In fact, he was the model patient, lying quietly as Eleanor dressed the large cut and then strapped his thigh securely. ‘Not too tight?’ she checked, and he shook his head. He even lifted the sleeve of his gown without asking as she approached with his tetanus shot.
‘Your arm might be a bit sore for a couple of days.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Right.’ Happy with her work, Eleanor measured him for his crutches. ‘Do you need a hand to get dressed?’ she offered, praying he’d say no.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘And I’ll need a deposit for the crutches,’ Eleanor added, smiling up from the notes she was writing. ‘Ten dollars.’
‘I haven’t got my wallet with me.’ Rory patted his pockets. ‘Maybe it fell out on the minibus.’
‘Well, we need a deposit,’ Eleanor said firmly, determined to retain a professional upper hand. ‘It’s a safety guard to ensure that people bring the equipment back that we loan. Perhaps one of your friends might be able to lend it to you.’
‘It’s OK, I’ve found it.’ Balancing on one foot, he tried to pull his wallet out of his jeans and Eleanor made a mental note that next time she asked a disabled patient for the deposit it might be better to do it when they were lying down for, as it turned out, balancing on crutches and trying to locate his wallet in the back of his jeans wasn’t the easiest feat. Eleanor knew if she didn’t intervene he’d be back in Theatre, having his scalp stitched.
‘Let me help you.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘No, really.’ Ducking behind him, she gave an almost imperceptible cough as she dipped her hand into his pocket and pulled out the offending article, handing it to him and feeling awful as he flipped it open, a single ten-dollar note the only cash he had on him.
‘How much is in there?’ Rory asked, squinting down.
‘Ten dollars,’ Eleanor gulped.
‘Then take it.’
‘How will you get home?’
‘One of my friends will have some cash.’ If she’d looked up she’d have seen a twitch of a smile on his lips. ‘If not, I only live a couple of kilometres away. I’m sure I’ll soon get used to the crutches.’
‘Maybe you should just keep the money,’ Eleanor offered. ‘You can bring it in tomorrow or something.’
‘Won’t you get into trouble?’
‘Probably,’ Eleanor admitted, ‘but I can’t just let you hobble out of here with no means of getting home.’
‘Taxis take credit cards now, Sister Lewis.’ His face broke into a grin and Eleanor knew then he’d been teasing her. ‘I’m sure I’ll make it home in one piece.’
‘Very funny,’ Eleanor retorted. Gorgeous he might be, but Rory Hunter had just used up his last strike on Eleanor’s sympathy card. ‘Now, if you go out to Reception they’ll happily call you and your friends a taxi.’
‘I was actually hoping to catch up with—’
‘Out that way,’ Eleanor broke in, pointing to the exit sign. ‘You might even be lucky and find a taxi out there already.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Carefully he moved one of his crutches to the other side and offered his hand. ‘You were very, er, efficient.’
‘All part of the service.’ Her blush was coming back now. Seeing Rory Hunter dressed and standing and with his hand closing around hers, any hope of remembering he was a patient was fast fading. ‘I’d better get on.’ Gesturing to the exit once again, she turned back to her notes, only letting out a long-held breath when he finally hobbled out.
Right.
Surveying the mess her patient had created, Eleanor headed off to get a linen skip and returned to the cubicle just as Mary appeared, sweeping back the curtain with a bright smile.
‘Finally, Rory!’ Her smile faded as she eyed the mess. ‘Where’s Mr Hunter?’
‘I strapped him up and sent him home.’
‘He’s gone?’
Eleanor nodded nervously. ‘In a taxi. I moved him on quickly, just like you said.’
‘And what’s all the hair doing on the trolley?’
‘I shaved him.’ Mary’s direct glare wasn’t doing much for her confidence. ‘As you said to do,’ she croaked, ‘so it didn’t hurt when the strapping came off.’
‘But this was a thigh injury,’ Mary snarled. ‘You put a piece of stocking over the thigh and then you strap it.’
‘Oh.’
‘What’s this?’ Picking up the ten-dollar note clipped to the casualty card, she held it up, her accusing glare ever fiercer.
‘The deposit for his crutches. I gave him a receipt and everything. He assured me that he’d bring them back.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will.’ Mary sucked in her breath for a long moment before she carried on talking. ‘In fact, I’d suggest you could even be seeing your crutches as early as tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow night?’ Again Eleanor had no idea what Mary was talking about. ‘I thought they went to their GP for review and suture removal.’
‘Well, that’s the norm, of course,’ Mary agreed with a small nod. ‘But for staff we make exceptions.’
‘Staff?’
‘Some might call it a perk,’ Mary rattled on, ignoring Eleanor’s question. ‘Not much of a perk, though. But we look after our own in Emergency. When staff or a member of their family is brought in to the department, it’s an unspoken rule that the most senior staff look after them. You just broke that rule, Sister.’
‘But I had no idea he was staff,’ Eleanor said faintly. ‘He never said.’
‘Why did you think I asked you to leave him for me?’
Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘To share the workload?’
‘Do you not think I work hard enough?’ Mary asked as Eleanor screwed her eyes closed, every word she uttered seeming to make this horrible situation worse. ‘Did you think that by strapping a thigh and giving a tetanus shot, I’d somehow be showing that I was worth my salt?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You did remember to give him his tetanus shot, I presume?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor whispered.
‘Good!’ Mary responded crisply. ‘It would be a terrible thing if the consultant of the department came down with tetanus because one of his own staff forgot to give him his jab…’
‘The consultant!’
‘I’m back.’ Pier breezed into the cubicle, refreshed from his break, his smile fading as he saw Eleanor’s paling face. ‘Sorry, am I disturbing something?’
‘Not at all, Pier,’ Mary responded. ‘In fact, we were just finishing.’
‘Mr Hunter has already gone?’ Pier asked, a curious smile on his face as he eyed the trolley littered with dark blond hairs.
‘Minus ten dollars and some body hair,’ Mary said. ‘Sister Lewis here took it upon herself to treat him. Not only treat him—she practically threw him out of the department into a waiting taxi.’
‘I don’t understand…’ Pier’s voice trailed off and Eleanor waited, waited for an explosion, for that Irish temper to ignite, but, as she was about to find out, not only didn’t she know the first thing about Emergency nursing, she didn’t know the first thing about emergency nurses’ sense of humour. Instead, she watched in stunned confusion as Mary Byrne threw her head back and laughed, followed a moment later by Pier.
And they didn’t just laugh, they roared.
Roared till the tears were falling down their cheeks. And every time Eleanor thought it was over, thought her torture might have ended, they’d catch sight of the trolley and start to roar again.
‘It’s not funny, you two,’ Eleanor finally snapped, protocol thrown to the wind, close to tears now and wishing the night would just end.
‘Oh, but it is, my dear,’ Mary sobbed, wiping her eyes with one hand as she held her aching side with the other. ‘We’ll feast on this for weeks!’
