Carol Marinelli - The Surgeon's Miracle Baby

Another horribly long pause ensued, only this time it wasn’t filled with idle chatter—and Louise could feel every eye on her as Elaine’s far from dulcet tones filled the room.

‘Oh, we’d all love to pick and choose when we work, Kelly, but for most of us it isn’t possible! Now it would seem that I’m going to have to spend the best part of the morning changing my regular staff’s shifts to accommodate a casual. It’s simply not on. Either Sister Adams—I mean Andrews—is to come back at one p.m. for the late shift or another nurse will need to be arranged to cover Del’s roster.’

A year ago she’d have been tempted to turn tail and run—correction, Louise thought, a year ago she would have crumbled on the uncomfortable spot and offered to work each and every one of the mysterious Del’s shifts and anything else in between just to get this difficult moment over with—but a lot of things had changed since a year ago, so instead Louise stood if not firm then feebly resolute, pointedly not saying anything until, with a very pained sigh, Elaine handed her the telephone.

‘The nursing co-ordinator wants to talk to you. Could you take it outside, please, so that we can get on with handover?’

Which meant one of two things. Either she was about to spend the entire morning barely knowing what was going on with the patients, thanks to missing out on handover, or—Louise gulped at the least palatable option—she was going home.

Without a word and with an incredibly steady hand, given the circumstances, Louise took the phone and headed out into the corridor, making sure the door was closed behind her before speaking to the nursing co-ordinator. She was determined to keep calm, determined not to let the knot of anxiety that was in her stomach creep into her voice, but her eyes were screwed closed as Kelly introduced herself. Leaning against the wall, Louise waited to find out if the weeks of careful planning and major upheaval had all been worth it, waited to find out if she actually had a job.

‘Is Elaine giving you a hard time?’ A tinkle of laughter from the nursing co-ordinator had Louise peeling her eyes open. ‘I’m Kelly, by the way.’

‘Hi, Kelly,’ Louise said, relieved to hear a friendly voice and warming to the other woman’s tone. ‘It would seem that Elaine wants me to take over Del’s shifts; but I’m sorry—I’m just not able to. I did say at my interview that I could only work early shifts and only on weekdays—’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Kelly cut in. ‘The whole point of being a bank nurse is being able to choose your shifts. Elaine should be counting herself lucky that we’ve been able to send the ward an experienced surgical nurse. Did you tell her just how qualified you are?’

‘We didn’t actually get that far with introductions,’ Louise admitted.

‘Well, it was either you and four weeks of early shifts or a grad nurse straight out of uni—and if I were the one in charge of the acute surgical unit this morning, I know who I’d choose!’

‘So it’s OK for me to stay?’

‘Absolutely. Look, you’re going to have to grow a thick skin pretty fast, I’m afraid, Louise. The hospital bank is still fairly new—till a few months ago we used an agency. Some of our ward staff can’t quite get used to the idea that a casual staff member should get to choose their shifts, get a better hourly rate of pay and use the facilities like the gym and crèche. Feel free to point out to them that your work isn’t guaranteed, and there’s no such thing as sick pay or annual leave…’ Kelly was no doubt trying to help, but as she pointed out the pitfalls of being a bank nurse, Louise felt that familiar knot of anxiety tighten a fraction, the precariousness of her situation not something she wanted to dwell on right now. ‘The fact of the matter is,’ Kelly continued, ‘it’s far better for the hospital to have our own team of casual nurses—you get to know the wards, and we get to know you, so everyone wins.’

‘Thanks for that,’ Louise said, though she was sure that Elaine would take rather a lot more convincing, ‘I’d better get back to handover.’

‘Sure. Oh, and, Louise…’ Just as she was about to ring off Kelly called her back. ‘There’s an eight-week stretch coming up in Outpatients, just after you finish on the surgical ward. The hours are eight till four, except on Wednesdays when you’d have to stay till five. The work might not be quite as varied or interesting as you’re used to, but the hours are great and at least you’d know where you’d be for a while.’

‘It sounds great,’ Louise enthused. ‘How do I apply?’

‘You just have to say yes.’ Kelly laughed. ‘Can I put you down?’

‘Sure.’ Louise blinked. ‘I mean, yes, please.’

‘Done! I’ll pop the details in your pigeonhole. Now, if you have any more problems with Elaine, just give me a call, but I’ll be up on the ward doing my rounds around eleven. I’ll come and say hello to you then. Welcome to Melbourne General!’

Even Elaine’s sour expression as she walked back into the meeting room and took her seat at the table couldn’t dampen her spirits.

Eight more weeks of guaranteed work!

OK, outpatients wasn’t exactly cutting-edge nursing, but Louise truly didn’t care. She’d have directed the traffic in the staff car park if it guaranteed her a wage! Eight weeks on top of these four meant that she had work for the next three months. It would see her right up through Christmas, and also meant she could start looking around for a rather more suitable home!

‘We’re up to bed nine.’ The nurse next to her pushed a handover sheet towards her as the lethargic night nurse—who’d been yawning before—now zipped through the patients with renewed energy, clearly buoyed by the prospect of home and bed. ‘I’ll fill you in on the rest after handover. I’m Shona by the way.’

‘Thanks, Shona.’ Louise smiled, snapping on her pen and running her eyes down the handover sheet, which thankfully contained the names and details of all the patients on the ward with a space left for her to add her own notes. Despite the rocky start to the morning, despite the rather frozen look on Elaine’s face as she’d returned and sat down, Louise was utterly determined to enjoy the rest of the day—back in the workforce, doing the job she loved. Nothing could spoil that except…

Room 3 Age 35 Danny Ashwood APFI

For a second Louise froze, reading again the small amount of information about the patient in Room 3 and trying desperately at the same time to concentrate on the details that were being given about the patient in Room 10.

It couldn’t be him, Louise scolded herself, writing down a complicated antibiotic and IV regime, listening carefully to the handover. But at the same time a small part of her brain was having its own conversation and every now and then, between patients or when the handover was interrupted by a phone call or a nurse popping her head around the door for the drug key, Louise couldn’t help but listen to the argument that was raging somewhere in her mind.

It couldn’t be him because for one thing he lived in England! As if Daniel would be here in Melbourne.

As if!

Anyway, this patient was called Danny—Daniel never shortened his name! And it wasn’t exactly a rare one—there must be loads of thirty-five-year-old Daniel Ashwoods around the world and no doubt a fair share of them were in hospital at this very moment with abdo pain for investigation.

It could even be a woman, Louise reasoned. Whoever had typed up the handover sheet might have spelt the name wrong! She was getting worked up over nothing—no doubt the patient in Room 3 would turn out to be a thirty-five-year-old named Danielle with endometriosis.