Marion Lennox - Midwives On Call - Stealing The Surgeon's Heart

‘Alyssa, Mrs Harrison.’ Ciro smiled warmly. ‘I know you are both keen to go home, but first we need to ensure that Alyssa is well enough. Now, I know you’ve already been through this, but, given the doctor that first treated you has gone home now, can you tell me again what happened this evening when you cut your head?’

‘I was at rehearsal—we’ve got the first performance next Saturday.’ It was the first time Harriet had heard Alyssa speak, her voice, small and breathless, almost drowned out by the busy background noise of the emergency department.

‘She’s the lead,’ Mrs Harrison explained. ‘That’s why I want to get her home. She needs her sleep so she can practise tomorrow. It’s a very demanding role—’

‘Alyssa,’ Ciro broke in, ‘why did you fall?’

‘She landed awkwardly…’ Mrs Harrison started, but her voice trailed away as Ciro and Harriet both looked at Alyssa for the answer.

‘I was halfway through my routine and I just got a bit dizzy. It only lasted a second, but I was in the middle of a jump, so I fell awkwardly.’

‘How often do you get dizzy?’ Ciro asked, and Harriet could only admire his questioning, assuming, as was probably rightly so, that this was probably fairly normal for Alyssa.

‘A bit…’ She gave a tiny shrug.

‘OK.’ Ciro nodded. ‘Alyssa, I’m going to examine you, it’s nothing to worry about, and then I’m going to take some blood from you. Harriet has put you onto one of our heart monitors so that we can see what your heartbeat is doing and maybe find out why you’ve been getting dizzy.’

Infinitely reassuring, still he was commanding, his voice firm but somehow soothing. His hands were gentle as he first pulled down Alyssa’s lower eyelids, examining the conjunctiva, then her hands and nail beds. Lifting the blanket and checking her reflexes, his middle finger probed the swollen ankles that looked out of place on such thin legs.

‘You have some fluid retention. Does this happen often?’

‘Sometimes,’ Alyssa answered, ‘but Mum gives me—’

‘Just some vitamins,’ Mrs Harrison said quickly. ‘I get them at the chemist.’

‘OK.’ Ciro didn’t push for any further details, acted as if the information barely merited a comment, but Harriet knew, just knew, it had been noted, but that for now he was focussed on the important task of gaining Alyssa’s trust.

He listened to her chest, warming the stethoscope in his palms first, all the while keeping as much of Alyssa covered as possible. When he’d finished listening he probed her abdomen for a moment before replacing the blanket.

‘Thank you, Alyssa. I know that wasn’t pleasant for you, but it was necessary. I’m going to take some blood now. I’m going to insert a small cannula and leave it there, but from that I can take blood, and if we need to give you any fluids or medication we can do it all through there, so at least you’ll only get one needle. I’ll try not to hurt you.’

He didn’t. Slipping the needle in neatly, he collected several vials of blood before unclipping the tourniquet and flushing the bung to keep it patent with the heparin flush Harriet had pulled up. Only when the blood had been taken, when the IV was in and Alyssa attached to a monitor did he approach the most difficult part of the whole subject. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Would you get the scales?’ Ciro asked Harriet.

‘Alyssa knows her weight,’ Harriet responded without looking up at him, keeping her eyes on Alyssa. It would be easy to go and get the scales, but Harriet also knew that the delay and interruption could ruin the relatively compliant mood that they had somehow managed to foster, and it would be far better to forge ahead while the going was good. So instead she broached her patient, knowing, somehow knowing, this was what Ciro wanted her to do. Effective interview skills in Emergency required as much teamwork and synchrony as a surgeon and scrub nurse required, and with some doctors it took for ever—if ever—to perfect, yet with Ciro they fell into it easily, Harriet handing him the metaphoric scalpel without him needing to ask for it. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘Forty kilos.’ When still Harriet held her gaze, she answered again. ‘Thirty-eight and a half.’

Deliberately Harriet didn’t flinch and she was thankful that, when Ciro spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact.

‘We’ll need to check it before we give any medication,’ he said, more to Harriet, ‘but whatever way you look at it, this is very underweight.’

‘She’s a ballet dancer.’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was terse. ‘She has to watch her weight.’

‘Of course.’ Ciro nodded, smiling at the agitated woman. ‘But Alyssa is extremely underweight. I’m going to run some tests and then I’ll ask one of my colleagues to come down.’

‘And how long is that going to take?’

‘It might take a while,’ Ciro admitted, ‘but I will tell you that it is my belief that Alyssa needs to be admitted—’

‘No!’ Furiously Mrs Harrison shook her head. ‘This can all wait.’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Ciro shook his head. ‘Look, I understand—’

‘No, Doctor, clearly you don’t!’ Mrs Harrison angrily interrupted. ‘My daughter is dancing next week in a role that could see her getting into the most elite dancing school in Australia. She has to rehearse, she has to—’

‘Perhaps we could talk outside,’ Harriet suggested, anxious to move what could be a very emotional discussion well away from Alyssa’s bedside, but Mrs Harrison wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Perhaps we can’t!’ she smartly retorted, and Harriet knew that for now the conversation was over. ‘I’ll wait for those blood results, and then I’m taking my daughter home.’

‘Thank you for your help in there.’ Ciro caught up with Harriet at the nurses’ station as Harriet attempted to put to paper what had just taken place, knowing that a detailed record, though always required, was especially important in cases such as this, so that the staff that were involved later knew exactly what had been broached and what the response had been. ‘You were very good with Alyssa, the mother, too. It looked as if you actually knew what you were doing.’ He smiled as she frowned. ‘That came out wrong, forgive me. What I am trying to say is that you—’

‘I worked on an adolescent psychiatric unit when I did my training,’ Harriet explained, realising that no offence had been meant. ‘I really enjoyed it. For a while there I even thought of…’ Her voice trailed off, long-forgotten dreams briefly surfacing as she remembered the thrill of excitement at being accepted to study psychology and the thud of disappointment when her fledgling plans had been effectively doused. A part-time nursing wage, while she’d studied at uni, had been nowhere near enough to cover a very part-time actor, whose dreams had always somehow been more important than her own. But this was neither the time nor place for what could have been and, quashing memories, she concentrated instead on the matter in hand. ‘Mrs Harrison was shocked when she first saw Alyssa undressed,’ Harriet said. ‘I don’t think she knew, until then, just how thin her daughter was.’

‘Because she doesn’t want to know,’ Ciro responded. ‘At least, not until the concert is over and Alyssa has her scholarship. She wants her daughter to get into this dance school—that is her sole focus.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh.’ Harriet frowned, but Ciro stood unmoved.

‘I have worked with many athletes, and with their parents, too. Believe me, Mrs Harrison doesn’t want to hear anything that might compromise her daughter’s chances of performing next week, whatever the cost.’