CAROL MARINELLI - The Italian's Touch

Not waiting for the rest of the staff to appear, he kicked the brakes off the bed. ‘We get her to Resus now.’

The imperfect English and stunning looks could only mean that this was the man Kathy had been describing. But there wasn’t time for niceties as they pushed the bed along the highly polished floors, the staff standing back to let the all-too-familiar sight pass by.

Gliding into Resus, Fleur immediately attached Hilda to an array of monitors.

‘Her oxygen sats are low and her respiration rate is only six.’

Mario flicked on his torch. ‘She’s blown a pupil. I’ll bag her—you page the anaesthetist and neurosurgeon.’

A couple more staff had joined them now, working on the inert body, setting up IV infusions and an intubation tray. Fleur ran for the telephone and put out the emergency pages but, replacing the receiver, in that instant it hit her— it was all too soon, much too soon. ‘I’ll get Danny.’

‘He’s in his office and Felicity is up in Theatre. I need some IV dexamethasone now.’

Like a deer caught in headlights, she stood there for a second as Lucy rummaged through the drug trolley.

‘Now!’ Mario demanded more loudly.

Her hands shook as she located the drug. Just preventing stabbing herself with the needle, she pulled up the solution into the syringe and handed it to Mario’s impatiently outstretched hand.

‘Run through some IV mannitol.’ He looked at the closed resuscitation doors expectantly. ‘Where the hell is the anaesthetist?’

‘I only just put out the page,’ Fleur replied quickly. ‘They’ll all be up in Theatre.’

‘Then I need you to help me.’ Giving Hilda several swift pumps of oxygen, he removed the ambu-bag and slid a laryngoscope into her slack mouth.

‘Size seven ET tube.’

Two years ago he wouldn’t have needed to ask. The intubation equipment would have been handed to him before he’d even thought it. But this wasn’t two years ago, this was today, her first day back…

Shaking, dropping tubes as she frantically located the correct size, she attempted an explanation. ‘I’m not supposed to be in Resus, I don’t do Resus…’

He looked up, just for a second. The sapphire blue of his eyes seemed out of place with his dark Mediterranean looks, but they were blazing with frustration and anger as he addressed her curtly. ‘Then just what the hell are you doing, working in Emergency?’

His words echoed Fleur’s thoughts exactly.

‘Fleur, what’s going on?’

Gratefully she swung round at the sound of Danny’s voice. ‘My quiet morning just ended.’ Glancing over at Hilda lying flat and lifeless, tubes and wires crowding her body, it might just as well have been Rory lying there. Overwhelmed, overwrought, with a sob Fleur fled the room.

‘G’day, there, sweetie—time for your morning break?’ Beryl, the domestic, made no comment about Fleur’s reddened, watering eyes. It happened all too often in this place. ‘Why don’t youse sit down and I’ll bring you a brew? Now, what would you like—a cappuccino or a caffè latte, or just an espresso?’

For a second Fleur thought Beryl was having a joke, but she started when she saw the huge stainless-steel contraption Beryl was lovingly polishing. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’

‘Dr Mario bought it for us, his first week here. ‘‘How am I supposed to function on this slop?’’ he said, all Latin like, as he threw his coffee into the sink, and that very afternoon here it was. Now, what can I get you?’ Beryl showed her the works and in no time the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room as Beryl frothed the milk. ‘Just gorgeous,’ she said with a small sigh, and Fleur was positive Beryl wasn’t referring to the coffee!

Sitting in the empty staffroom, Fleur berated herself over and over. She had been a fool to come back, a fool to think she could just walk in to her old job and carry on as if nothing had happened, when everything had changed.

It had seemed such a good idea when Kathy had first suggested it. With the government’s latest drive to encourage nurses back into the work force, job share was a concept that had been bandied around like a supposed gift from the gods. Reasonable shifts, flexible rosters, all like manna from heaven for nurses trying to juggle child care and young children. But half the pay with all the responsibility, Fleur had pointed out when Kathy had first broached the subject.

‘Come on, Fleur,’ she’d urged. ‘You said yourself, money’s a bit tight. And besides, it would do you good to get out a bit more. You know I want to cut back my hours and we’d both have built in babysitters. It’s the perfect solution. Heaven knows, they’d welcome you back with open arms—that place has really been going to pot lately. There’s just not enough senior staff and morale is really low. It would be great for everyone.’

And after a couple of glasses of wine, well, maybe more than a couple, Fleur had found herself starting to agree.

So now here she was, sitting in the staffroom feeling like the biggest failure in the world. She should never have come back, never have let Kathy talk her into it. Not only was it unfair on the staff, it was downright dangerous for the patients!

* * *

In contrast to the first half of the morning, the hand clinic ran smoothly. Danny had been right in his prediction that it would be a big clinic, and patient after patient trooped through—some bandaged, some with slings, others with their injured hands in plastic burn bags. Each hand injury seen in the department was always reviewed the following day, or in this case on the Monday following the weekend. More often than not, a simple re-dressing was all that was required, but in a few cases a more significant problem was detected on review which more than merited the manpower and time that the clinics took. Mario and Luke Richardson, the senior consultant, were both extremely experienced and zipped through the patients. It didn’t take long for Fleur to work out that Mario’s handwriting was truly appalling and it was far easier to stand behind him and listen, rather than try to decipher his extravagant scrawl after he’d seen the patient.

The next hour was spent in a flurry of taking down dressings, listening to Mario’s and Luke’s instructions and then re-dressing the injuries. Luke was friendly and professional, but as the clinic carried on Fleur couldn’t help but notice a few chips of ice in the cool blue eyes of Mario as he handed her the patients’ files. At first she tried to ignore it, sure she was being paranoid, but as the clinic progressed so did Fleur’s unease—Mario was definitely upset with her!

Without looking up, he accepted the final patient card from Fleur and read the notes for a moment before addressing the rather unkempt young man sitting at the desk.

‘So this was the result of falling off a wall, Jason?’

Fleur watched as Mario gently picked up the grossly swollen hand and examined it carefully.

‘Yeah, maybe I got a bit of gravel stuck in it. It’s killing me. That medicine the doctor gave me is useless. I don’t reckon he knew what he was talking about.’

‘I see from Dr Benson’s notes that he asked if you might have been bitten.’ Mario looked up from the hand to the face of the scruffy young man, who shifted awkwardly in his seat.

‘No way, man. Like I said, that doctor didn’t know nothing! I fell, I tell you.’

Mario didn’t comment straight away, not rising to Jason’s aggressive voice. Instead, he slowly turned the hand around. ‘The reason that I am…’ His forehead creased for a moment. ‘How do you say this? Nag,’ Mario said finally, obviously pleased with himself at choosing the right word. ‘The reason I nag is that many people do not realise the harm a small bite can do.’