Caroline Anderson - Saving Dr Gregory

‘But I only want to see you, Pollyanna——’

‘The name’s Nurse Barnes, and please don’t call me Pollyanna,’ she almost snapped, turning round as she did so to find that her nose was in line with the middle of his tie, and so close that she could see the fine silk weave. She swallowed.

‘Patients really aren’t allowed in here. Please go into the waiting area, Mr—er…’

‘Ah, Polly, I see you’ve met Dr Gregory. Good, good.’ The senior partner swept in, clapped Polly’s intruder on the back and grinned at them both. ‘Good to have you back, old chap. Matt, this is our new nurse, Polly Barnes. She’s a real breath of spring.’

He smiled apologetically. ‘I know. She has the hands of an angel, as well.’ He laughed at Dr Haynes’ puzzled frown. ‘I fell in her hedge this morning, and she tended me, very sympathetically.’

Polly felt the heat rising from her toes—whether from her own humiliation or from his praise, she wasn’t sure. Scarlet, she muttered something about having to get on and excused herself hastily.

‘I’ll see you later for that tetanus jab, Polly,’ Matt called after her.

Polly smiled grimly. That could be a mistake. The way she was feeling, it could provide her with a wonderful means of revenge! ‘You do that,’ she called back, and stomped into her little room, mortified. He could have said something—anything! Rat. Low-down, sneaky, devious rat! So much for trusting him!

She was giving vent to her feelings when he stuck his head round the door and grinned. ‘Your notes,’ he said, and limped off down the corridor, whistling jauntily.

Polly wondered if he realised how close he was to having a hypodermic in the back of his neck.

The day was the usual hectic scrabble, with a mish-mash of inoculations interwoven with various other routine checks, like Mrs Major, the young diabetic who was having her three-monthly check-up.

Polly weighed her, took her blood pressure and a blood sample for the hypotest. ‘Your blood sugar’s a little on the low side, Mrs Major,’ Polly told her.

‘Oh, I’m not surprised. I couldn’t eat this morning—I tried, but—to tell you the truth, I’ve been off my food for a couple of days.’

Polly frowned. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea and a biscuit in a minute. Your blood pressure’s down a bit, too. I don’t suppose you could be pregnant?’

Mrs Major laughed. Oh, no, Nurse. No chance. We’re always very careful—we don’t want a family yet, and James always—no, I couldn’t be.’

Polly persisted. ‘When is your next period due?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Any time now, I think. Why? You don’t seriously think I could be pregnant, do you? I’m sure—although, come to think of it——’

She flushed.

‘Yes?’ Polly prompted gently.

‘There might have been one occasion—but surely…?’

Polly smiled. ‘It only takes once, Mrs Major. Let me see if your doctor can fit you in now, just to be on the safe side. Who is your GP?’

‘Dr Gregory,’ she replied, and Polly almost ground her teeth in frustration.

‘Fine,’ she said with a forced smile, and asking Mrs Major to hang on, she went along the corridor to Dr Gregory’s room and tapped on the door, popping her head round.

He had an elderly man with him whom Polly had seen the previous week to dress an ulcer on his leg, and she smiled at him in genuine pleasure. ‘Hello, Mr Grey. How are you doing?’ she asked warmly.

Oh, not so bad, my dear. I’ll be along to see you directly,’ he told her with a twinkle.

‘Jolly good. I’ll look forward to it——’

‘Did you want something, Nurse Barnes, or is this merely a social call?’ Matt asked a trifle abruptly, and Polly straightened up like a naughty girl.

‘I’ve got a lady I’d like you to have a look at when you’ve got a minute, Dr Gregory.’

‘Fine. Hang on to her; Mr Grey and I have almost finished, I think.’

‘Fine,’ Polly gulped and shot out of his room, pulling the door to behind herself and sagging against it with a sigh. Why did he always seem to catch her at a disadvantage?

She went back into her little surgery, and continued with Mrs Major’s check-up, examining her eyes and feet for any sign of the deterioration that diabetes could cause. Everything was fine, except that she was beginning to feel a little nauseated and was probably going to go into a hypo if she didn’t have something to eat soon.

Polly gave her a glucose tablet, and went to find some biscuits from the kitchen. When she got back, Dr Gregory was in her chair, holding Mrs Major’s hands and talking soothingly to her.

‘She’s going into a hypo, Polly. I’ll have to give her some IV dextrose, I think. What’s her blood sugar?’

‘One point five.’

‘I wonder if we can get it up with food?’ Matt suggested, eyeing the biscuits, but Mrs Major by now was beyond co-operating. ‘Polly, could you draw me up ten mls of twenty-per-cent dextrose?’ he asked over his shoulder, then, scooping the nearly comatose woman up in his arms, he laid her gently on the couch and rolled up her sleeve; putting a tourniquet around her upper arm, he started looking for a vein.

‘Can’t find one. They’re all contracted down—ah, here’s one.’ Taking the syringe from Polly, he inserted the needle, pulled back to check the positioning in the vein and then flicking off the tourniquet, slowly injected the glucose solution.

The effect was remarkable. Mrs Major groaned and rolled on to her side, complaining of nausea, and Polly grabbed a kidney dish and pushed it under her chin in the nick of time.

‘Well done, Pollyanna,’ Matt murmured, withdrawing the needle and dropping the used syringe into the yellow sharps bin. Mrs Major was groaning, and Matt laid his hand over the vein and pressed firmly.

‘Hello, there. How are you feeling?’

She attempted a smile. ‘Awful. I have been for days. I think maybe Nurse Barnes is right.’

Matt raised an eyebrow at Polly.

‘There is some possibility that Mrs Major is pregnant,’ Polly explained quietly. ‘Her blood pressure’s lower than usual, and she’s been nauseated in the mornings.’

Matt nodded. ‘Let’s just have a look at you, Mrs Major,’ he suggested, and helped her undo her skirt and slide it down to her hips. He checked her eyes and throat, the glands in her neck and under her arms, and listened to her chest before moving down to palpate her abdomen gently. ‘When did your last period start?’ he asked.

‘I’ve been trying to think. The day we finished putting in the central heating,’ she decided. ‘That was the end of September—twenty-seventh, something like that?’

Polly picked up a calendar. ‘That makes you ten days overdue, Mrs Major.’

Oh,’ she said, subdued.

‘Oh, Matt echoed. ‘Would it be bad news?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really—although I don’t know what James will say.’

Matt smiled. ‘If it’s simply a case of accelerating your plunge into parenthood, he’ll probably get used to it very quickly. If not, well, he’ll come round, I’m sure. I’m much more concerned about your physical well-being at the moment. Certainly there’s nothing else obviously wrong with you. Is your diabetes normally well controlled?’

‘Yes—well, it has been. It’s only recently that I’ve been feeling off-colour, but I really have tried to eat.’

‘You must—I know that sounds impossibly trite, but you know the importance of maintaining your intake of carbohydrates. Try eating crackers and drinking cold water with ice in it. Slices of apple are supposed to be very good, too. Get James to wait on you a bit.’ He grinned. ‘Do him good. Men have it far too easy during pregnancy—always assuming that’s what’s wrong with you! I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a sample of urine and run a pregnancy test, Polly. Can you sort that out?’