Doctor's Orders (2 page)

Isabel smiled beneath her concealing mask. She knew he had probably been dying to actually do some part of the operating all morning, but as a house surgeon, cutting the stitches was the only thing he would ever be entrusted to do. Nevertheless, the first time was bound to be a thrill, to feel really part of the team.

Mr Goldsmith carefully put in the first stitch. “Cut,” he barked curtly.

The house surgeon leaned forward carefully and snipped through the thread. “Too long,” growled Mr Goldsmith, glowering at him over the top of his gold half-moon spectacles.

The house surgeon didn't answer, but Isabel could see him swallowing nervously as he watched Mr Goldsmith insert the next neat stitch. “Cut,” he barked again. The house surgeon leaned forward, and even more carefully than before, if that was possible, cut through the thread. “Too short,” snapped the senior surgeon as he leaned forward to put in the next stitch. “Cut,” he barked again as soon as it was inserted.

“Please sir,” said the house surgeon as he approached the still body of the patient on the operating table, “how would you like this one, too short or too long?”

Whether or not he intended to be cheeky, Isabel wasn't sure. She didn't think so, he was much too serious and intense, but she had great difficulty in restraining a giggle. To her surprise she heard a snort beside her and looked down at Mike Blakeney sitting on his stool by the anaesthetic machine. His previously cool grey eyes had a distinct twinkle in them as he flashed Bill Goldsmith a look.

The surgeon, for his part, heaved a heavily exaggerated sigh. “Just try again,” was all he said, making no comment this time when the house surgeon nervously cut through the thread.

Apart from that amusing episode at the end of the morning, everything had gone smoothly, but Isabel was left with a dissatisfied feeling. She felt the unspoken friendship which existed in the surgical team, but as she was primarily there to assist the anaesthetist, she didn't feel included in the camaraderie which thrived amongst them. Michael Blakeney seemed to distance himself from everyone, apart from the surgeon and the patients. Isabel felt distanced too, because she was his assistant. Perhaps the other anaesthetists will be more friendly, she hoped wistfully, as she changed quickly to make her way down to the canteen for lunch. The scrub nurse was also changing, and she eyed Isabel curiously.

“I haven't seen you in the County General before,” she said, “welcome to the team.”

“Thanks,” said Isabel, smiling at her gratefully, “I've only started here today. I worked in Edinburgh before. My name is Isabel McKenna.”

“Mine's Sally Mannering,” the other girl replied as she took off her theatre cap and shook her short blonde hair loose. She was very pretty, thought Isabel, big blue eyes and shiny blonde hair. She had the sort of provocative face that would make men look twice, whereas Isabel's classic beauty had a distinctly serious air about it.

“How did you like your first morning?” bubbled Sally. “Working with dear Dr Mike Blakeney can be a bit difficult. He's a strange character.” She paused a moment. “I've never been able to suss him out. Pity,” she continued brushing her hair vigorously, “because he's a very eligible bachelor. But he never gives anyone any encouragement, he's always remained a bit of a mystery.”

“I'm not surprised he's a bachelor,” remarked Isabel acidly, “he certainly doesn't seem the friendly type. All I've seen of him are those cold grey eyes of his above his mask, and I can't say I'm particularly anxious to see any more of him!”

Sally laughed. “The gossip is that he was badly let down by some girl, and now takes it out on all the female sex. That's why he's so unfriendly, and there's no doubt,” she continued, lowering her voice confidentially, “that when he has a girl working with him he is much more demanding. He lets the fellows make the occasional mistake, but woe betide any woman who makes a mistake! He'll come down on you like a ton of bricks!” After imparting that cheerful piece of information, she made for the door, stopping to look back before leaving. “By the way, do you want to come down to lunch. I'll introduce you to a few people in the canteen.”

Isabel accepted with alacrity, quickly tying her long dark, curly hair back into a pony tail. It was nice to have her hair free for an hour, after being crammed into a theatre cap all morning. She followed Sally out of the theatre suite, and along the wide polished corridor in the direction of the staff canteen.

They both collected a lunch from the hot counter, and Sally looked around the crowded canteen, then pointed to a table at the far side of the room. “There's Cliff Peterson,” she said, “he's the surgical registrar who was in theatre this morning. He's always good for a laugh. Susie Wee and Jim Smith, another anaesthetist, are with him.”

“Not like the remote Dr Blakeney I hope,” said Isabel pulling a face.

“Not in the least like Mike Blakeney,” laughed Sally. “Quite the reverse in fact. Very chatty, great fun and nice. He and Mike Blakeney are quite friendly though, but I can never understand why!”

She led the way across to the table, Isabel following, squeezing in between the crowded noisy tables until they reached their destination.

Cliff Peterson stood up courteously when they reached the table. “Hi,” he said to both of them, and then to Isabel, “you're new here aren't you?” He made room for Isabel to sit beside him, and took her tray from her.

“I'm from Edinburgh,” she answered with a smile, squeezing in beside him.

“That's a long way to come,” he remarked, “any special reason for coming to the County General?”

Isabel shrugged her shoulders non-committally. “I just felt like a change,” she said. “The south coast seemed quite a change from Edinburgh.”

Cliff laughed. “I'm glad you're not fleeing with a broken heart,” he said, “working with one in theatre is quite enough!”

Isabel raised her finely shaped dark eyebrows expressively in a questioning look, at the same time making a mental note never to tell anyone that in fact she had done precisely that.

When Hugh Sinclair, a senior registrar in anaesthetics, had thrown her over after an eighteen-month engagement for a student nurse he had only just met, she had been broken-hearted. However, her pride had prevented her from showing it. Pride combined with a true Scottish grit. She had been very dignified, and had let Hugh think she had taken it well. Just handing in her notice and getting herself another job. Although, on reflection, she realised that working as an anaesthetist's assistant in theatre had perhaps not been the wisest move. It would be difficult to forget Hugh when she would be working with anaesthetists all the time.

Cliff carried on with his conversation in answer to her questioning gaze. “I was referring of course,” he said, “to our esteemed consultant anaesthetist, Dr Mike Blakeney. He is suffering from a broken heart, or so the gossip goes.”

“Sally did mention something to me,” said Isabel. Cliff paused between forkfuls of steak and kidney pie, “Trust Sally not to waste a moment in starting the gossip! Anyway,” he continued, “perhaps you are just what the doctor ordered. A new face, a new girl. Perhaps you can cheer him up for us.”

“Forget it,” said Isabel briefly. “I don't regard my role in life as that of an agony aunt! If he wants to cheer up, he could start off by at least being polite! I've never worked with anyone before who managed to get through the whole morning without saying please or thank you once!”

“It sounds as if he annoyed you,” remarked Sally from the opposite side of the table. “At least he doesn't shout like Mr Goldsmith.”

“At least you know Mr Goldsmith is human,” retorted Isabel pulling a face, “I'm not so sure about Dr Blakeney. Underneath that theatre gown I wouldn't be surprised to find a robot!”

“If you'd like to come into the mens' changing room, I'd be only too happy to set your mind at rest!” A steely voice echoed in Isabel's ear.

Her face colouring violently Isabel swung round. It was Michael Blakeney standing right behind her, a tray in his hand. She was struck by his rugged good looks. His hair was a dark bronzed colour, faintly waving, and in dramatic contrast to his dark brows. His grey eyes, however, seemed colder and more impenetrable than ever.

Knowing that her cheeks were stained a guilty red, she tried to regain her composure, and tilting her head back defiantly, her brilliant blue eyes challenged his steely grey ones. “You know what they say,” she said, forcing a nonchalance she didn't feel into her voice.

“What?” he snapped curtly. “What
do
they say?”

“Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves!” With that verbal dart, she turned back to her lunch, but Mike Blakeney was not to be deterred.

“I was not eavesdropping,” he said coolly, “your penetrating Scots accent is difficult to miss!” Without waiting for a reply he walked swiftly away.

“Round one to him, I think!” said Sally with a giggle.

Isabel looked at her crossly. “If you think I'm going to engage in a sparring match with him, you are mistaken,” she snapped, “I just can't be bothered.”

“Pity,” remarked Cliff Peterson with a laugh, “I have a feeling you would be a good match for him. I thought that this morning, when you stood up to old Goldsmith. He usually reduces most nurses to tears.”

“No man will ever reduce me to tears,” said Isabel, vehemently. Perhaps it was a little too vehement, because for a split second there was silence at the table as everyone looked at her.

“A women's libber, eh?” enquired Cliff, raising his eyebrows.

“Not particularly,” said Isabel firmly, “I just don't like bullies that's all. It doesn't matter to me whether they are male or female.”

“Good for you,” he said with a grin, “a girl after my own heart.”

There wasn't much more time for chat, as the hour between the morning and afternoon operating lists soon passed. Before long Isabel was back in the quiet, orderly atmosphere of the anaesthetic room and operating theatre.

Mike Blakeney had been so curt and taciturn in the morning that Isabel had not thought it possible for him to be more so. But somehow he contrived to be just that! He was brusque to the point of making Isabel long to throw the drug ampoules at him when he asked for a drug, but her professionalism prevented that, even though she was sorely tempted.

The rest of the afternoon passed fairly uneventfully, Isabel even getting used to her silent, moody-looking colleague. The patients came and went in a seemingly never-ending stream, for various operations. Isabel marvelled at the stamina of Mr Goldsmith, who was not a young man, and, apart from the one hour break, had been on his feet all day. She didn't marvel at the stamina of Mike Blakeney, he seemed so cool and efficient she felt he could go on anaesthetising for twenty-four hours without a stop if necessary. Nothing seemed to make him lose his cool, and even though some of the surgical procedures were simple, the patient often had complicated anaesthetic problems.

The last patient on the list was a fit young girl for an appendicectomy, but for some reason she didn't respond in the usual way to the drugs Mike Blakeney gave her, and he had difficulty in preparing her for intubation. Quickly Isabel passed him all the drugs he would need and when he asked for the laryngoscope she passed that to him quickly as well. But not quickly enough, because he barked at her tersely, “The laryngoscope, damn you.”

It was in his hands almost before he had finished speaking, Isabel biting her lips in vexation. She had proudly boasted in the dining room that no man would ever reduce her to tears, but at that moment Mike Blakeney had come perilously close to doing just that. However, the tense atmosphere of the anaesthetic room, when presented with a difficult and potentially very dangerous situation, was unnerving for them both. He was worried, she knew that, the tense lines on his face as he bent over the girl showed his concern, but she didn't think she had reacted so slowly that she deserved to be sworn at!

Once the girl was intubated and ventilated she provided no further problems, and the appendicectomy proceeded without further incident. At the end of the case Mike Blakeney accompanied the girl back to recovery and Isabel set about clearing up the anaesthetic room.

Carefully and meticulously she counted everything, checked and double-checked the drugs, cleaned and relaid the anaesthetic trolley ready for the operations the next day. She was thankful that it was the end of the day. Her nerves were tense and her limbs felt like lead, she was so tired. She was glad too, that tomorrow she would be working with a different anaesthetist, Dr Jim Smith. His name was on the next day's operating sheet pinned up outside the anaesthetic room door, and Cliff Peterson would be doing the surgery by himself. It was a list of relatively simple operations, varicose veins and hernias, things he could do without Mr Goldsmith's supervision.

At least tomorrow should be a little more relaxed thought Isabel thankfully, as she walked out of the anaesthetic room after one last final check to make sure everything was in place.

Once in the changing room she changed quickly into jeans and a teeshirt. The changing room was empty, everyone else had already changed and gone. As a theatre nurse she didn't need to wear a uniform into the hospital, always wearing a theatre dress once she was there. At least that's a bonus point for the job, she thought! Carrying her cardigan slung casually over her shoulder, her dark hair free again to cascade down her back, she started to walk down the corridor leading to the main exit from the theatre suite. As she passed the theatre sister's office, Sister Clarke called out.

“Oh, Nurse McKenna, come here a moment will you.”

Isabel stepped into the sister's office wondering what it was she wanted.

“Dr Blakeney has been speaking to me about you,” said Sister Clarke, looking up from her mountain of paperwork.