Free Yankee Surgeon by Elizabeth Gilzean Page B

getting plumb deaf I distinctly heard Dr. Brown tell you that your presence was not required, Dr. Stornoway. If you managed to hear that this case was coming to the theater, it could be that you also heard that Dr. Brown and Staff Nurse have just finished another one that took two hours. It is also none of your business if I choose to serve coffee to two of my team before starting on a further job that will take at least another two hours.” The voice grew crisper. “I guess I also happen to know, although Dr. Brown did not tell me, that he took over your calls—but I won ’ t go into the reasons why. You are not on duty unless we happen to get a major disaster in this area, and I don ’ t reckon that ’ s occurred in the last five minutes. Go back to bed and if you ’ ve got any sense at all in that silly little head of yours, you could remember that house surgeons are expendable at St. Bride ’ s.” He brushed aside any attempted excuse and strode toward the door with Sally still in tow. “Come on, Nurse Conway, we have work to do. Ready, Brown?”
    Sally knew that none of them would ever forget that moment and Claris Stornoway least of all. The woman might try to ignore it for reasons of her own where John was concerned, but she would never forgive Sally and George for being the witnesses of her humiliating reproval.
    Sally knew a fleeting pity as she heard the high heels clipping along the corridor toward the stairs, but she forgot it all when she saw their patient being wheeled into t he anesthetic room.
    Dr. Gerrard was at the head of the stretcher, holding a bottle of plasma aloft in one hand, and the fingers of the other were at the boy ’ s temple. The color of the young face was the dirty gray of a London fog and the eyes appeared sunken in the extremes of shock. Rough splints seemed to encase most of his limbs and already the first-aid dressings put on by the ambulance men were stained.
    The anesthetist looked up worriedly at the American surgeon. “He ’ ll not stand much anesthetic, you know. What do you intend to tackle first?”
    John gazed at the boy thoughtfully and felt the racing pulse. “He ’ ll not do at all well until we get rid of that ruptured spleen. Did the blood transfusion people say how long you ’ d have to wait for a bottle of the stuff?”
    Dr. Gerrard nodded. “They ’ ve got six pints on the way now and there ’ s more if you need it. This is the second pint of plasma we ’ ve started on.”
    “Okay then. The sooner we whip that spleen out the better. All right, let ’ s go.” There was no hint of dismay at the difficult, perhaps impossible task that lay ahead.
    Afterward Sally could only remember and admire the deft sureness and speed with which he worked that night against odds that might have made a lesser surgeon shrink. It took all her skill to keep the two men supplied with instruments, ligatures, hot packs, small gauze mops on long holders, and all during the frantic struggle she knew the two theater nurses were behind her to anticipate every need of them all.
    “Strong ligature, Nurse. That ’ s it. Move the clamp just a shade, Brown, so I can get around the points. That ’ s the stuff. Now, slowly off ... there, that ’ s got it. A nice big dish, Nurse, and then more of those hot packs of yours ... hot enough to skin a lizard ... that ’ s the girl. How ’ s he doing at your end, Gerrard?”
    “Better now that you ’ ve got the spleen out. Second blood bottle going up, and the pulse is steadying down a trifle, but he ’ s got a long way to go...”
    As they proceeded, Sally felt the tension that had hung over theater a brief moment ago vanish like mist from the hillside.
    A comfortable silence fell over the theater. The end was in sight. The patient was a little stronger, and with luck and youth on his side he had a chance of living.
    John glanced at Sally and George. “Now go and draw a breath of fresh air, the pair of you, and then tell us what it