Шэрон Кендрик - Surgeon Of The Heart

The theatre began to become a hive of humming activity. Cat had gloved and gowned up, and was placing the myriad fine instruments on to the sterile trolley. Her ‘runner’ scurried around, fetching more sutures and extra instruments. She was a student working three months in theatres, and had been dreading assisting Staff Nurse Bellman. Everyone knew that she didn’t suffer fools gladly—her high standards were the talk of the student nurses’ canteen. What she hadn’t been expecting had been someone quite so young as Catriona Bellman, or so lovely, either.

Systematically, in a routine which was now as familiar to her as washing her face, or brushing her teeth, Cat began to lay the instruments out in neat lines, in the order that they would most probably be called for. She glanced up at her runner.

‘Student Nurse Lloyd, could you find out if the professor favours any special instruments?’

‘Yes, Staff.’

She returned a couple of minutes later, bearing a set of Hanwright forceps, and opened the packets so that the contents fell out on to the sterile trolley.

‘Thanks,’ said Cat, and, seeing the girl’s keen expression, began to question her. ‘Have you done much theatre work?’ she queried. ‘I haven’t seen you before.’

‘I came while you were off sick,’ explained the student.

‘I see.’ Colour crept into Cat’s cheeks. She felt such a fraud for having been off with a sickness that was so patently self-induced—but she could never have worked in the state she’d been in, and it was only the second break for sickness she’d had in her entire career. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Melissa,’ answered the girl.

‘Well, Melissa, I’m pleased to have you on board. Have you done much running so far?’

‘This is my third time. The first two I was just observing, then today Sister Henderson said that I could help you, as we’re short-staffed.’

Cat nodded. They seemed constantly short-staffed, but she smiled encouragingly at the younger girl, recognising some of the same eagerness to learn that had first characterised her own ambition to work in Theatre. Theatre nurses were born, she had long ago decided, not made. ‘Well, Sister Henderson must be very pleased with your progress if she’s letting you run for a major operation at this stage. Well done!’

‘Why, thank you, Staff!’ Student Nurse Lloyd flushed pink with pride, thinking that this kind interest didn’t tie in with Staff Bellman’s reputation.

Cat knew immediately what the girl was thinking, her theatre mask hiding her wry expression, for yes, she had changed. She knew that she had. Work no longer seemed the prime motivating force in her life. She had tasted both pleasure and pain, and a newer, softer Cat had emerged. The question was whether or not she would ever be able to forget the man who had effected that change, or—more important still—would she ever be able to experience that fierce and overwhelming reaction with someone else?

‘Have you worked in Anaesthetics yet, Melissa?’

‘Not yet, Staff.’

‘Then I’ll tell you a little about it before the patient arrives, as we’re ready. At this moment the patient is being anaesthetised, and the anaesthetist is inserting lots of different lines into him, which will enable him to monitor his progress during the operation. What lines do you think he might use?’

‘A CVP line.’

‘Correct. The full name being?’

Melissa cleared her throat. ‘The central venous pressure line.’

‘Good. And do you know what that shows?’

‘Not really, Staff.’

‘Well, it gives us a clear indication of the state of the volume of fluids within the body. It would tell us, for example, if the heart was overloaded—by being raised. It is, as you can imagine, of vital importance, particularly as we’re operating on the heart itself. It will be removed when the patient is ready to leave the intensive care unit.’ She smiled at the student’s rapt expression. ‘And what other lines might we expect to find?’

‘A venous line?’

‘At least one,’ answered Cat. ‘Dr Crone prefers to use four, although he isn’t typical—as you might have already heard, Dr Crone is a law unto himself!’

‘Yes, Staff,’ smiled Melissa.

Further discussion was halted by the appearance of two surgeons—Phil Bennett and Morgan Crossland—Cat knew them well. These were the surgeons who would prepare for the arrival of the professor himself. The operation being performed was a coronary artery bypass graft—an inspirational procedure to any member of the profession. The coronary arteries—vital for supplying the heart with its own blood supply—having become furred and clogged up with arteroma, would be removed, then replaced with veins taken from the lower leg. Thus one surgeon would open up the leg to remove the leg veins, while the other opened up the chest wall, ready for the professor to carry out the swop itself.

Both men grinned when they saw Cat, Morgan, an out-and-out ladies’ man, frowning very slightly.

‘Been on a diet, Cat?’

‘No.’ She knew that her uniform was hanging in voluminous folds around her waist. The plain green theatre dress hid a multiple of sins, but even it couldn’t disguise the fact that ten pounds had fallen off her since her return from Italy.

‘You’re too thin,’ said Morgan critically. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

Cat could see Melissa Lloyd listening to the interchange with interest, and decided to nip any speculation in the bud. ‘Nice of you to be so concerned, Morgan,’ she said sweetly. ‘But, speaking of diets—couldn’t you do with losing a little yourself?’

Morgan laughed easily, finding something other than total female capitulation quite refreshing. He knew perfectly well that Cat was the last person to fall for his well-worn chat-up lines, but that didn’t stop him trying!

Both men began to scrub as the patient was wheeled in, a man in his late fifties. Dr Crone and his scrub nurse accompanied him, the nurse compressing the ambi-bag, which was feeding oxygen into the patient’s lungs, until he could be connected to the ventilator in Theatre.

Also in the room was the theatre technician, who was responsible for working the bypass machine. The patient’s body needed to be cooled right down, and this was done by putting a cannula in the heart itself, running the patient’s blood through the bypass machine, which cooled it, to have it returned to the patient by an artery in the groin.

Phil started opening the leg, while Morgan began opening the chest, both chatting away, quizzing Cat about her time in Rome. The atmosphere seemed relaxed, but they all worked like clockwork, and the moment that any one of the team in the whole theatre expressed any degree of concern about the proceedings then a tight tension would grip the air.

In reality, Cat would be working for all three surgeons, so she would need to be right on the ball. It was a prospect that daunted a lot of theatre nurses.

‘So how was Rome?’ asked Morgan.

‘The conference was great,’ she said, her voice only slightly unsteady. ‘I learnt a lot. There were two people from the States who——’

‘Wouldn’t you just know it?’ exclaimed Morgan as she slapped a forcep into his gloved hand. ‘Only Cat could go to a country like Italy in the height of summer and come away talking about cardiology! What else did you do apart from the conference? Didn’t some dashing Italian sweep you off your feet?’ he teased, not noticing that she had blanched. ‘And, speaking of dashing Italians,’ he continued cheerfully, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve met our newest maestro?’

‘Morgan’s had his nose put out of joint,’ interjected Phil mischievously. ‘His position as number-one hospital heart-throb has gone. He’s finally been usurped.’