Richard Gordon: DOCTOR AT LARGE

'They could have come from a surgical retractor,' I murmured.

He nodded. 'That's what I thought, Doctor,' he went on in a low voice. 'I know, see. Used to be in the R.A.M.C. Come to think of it, after my operation I heard a sort of rumour something might be missing.'

'Let me have a look at your stomach,' I said.

There was a gastrectomy scar, about six months old.

'Umm,' I said. I scratched my head. I looked up and down the room. There was no one in sight. Even Bingham would have been welcome.

'This might be serious,' I suggested.

'That's why I came in, Doctor,' he continued calmly. 'Mind, I'm not one of them people that makes trouble with law courts and that. But if anything happened…Well, I've got a lot of relatives, Doctor.'

'Quite,' I covered him with the blanket and began to walk round the couch slowly. The hospital rules were clear: all serious cases at night were to be referred immediately to a consultant. And if the Professor had somehow managed to leave a spring-loaded retractor inside an abdomen, he certainly would want to know of it before anyone else.

'I think we'll hang on for a bit,' I said. 'By eight o'clock I can get your notes from the registry and organize proper X-rays-'

He grabbed his stomach violently. 'Something else, Doctor,' he cried. 'Coming up!'

The Professor had a Wimbledon number, and after ringing a long time the telephone was answered by a cross female voice.

'Yes?'

'Could I speak to the Professor, please?'

'Who's there?'

'St Swithin's.'

'Oh dear, oh dear! Don't you ever leave the poor man in peace? Ar-thur!'

When the Professor reached the telephone, which seemed to be several minutes' walk from his bed, I began, 'I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir. This is the house surgeon-'

'Rogers?'

'Er-no, not Rogers, sir. Gordon.'

I heard him draw his breath. 'Where's Rogers?'

'He's out for the night, sir.' I felt this was truthful, as I had seen him carried to bed. I steadfastly gave the Professor a brief clinical history of the case.

'It's perfectly possible, I suppose,' he admitted. I could tell that he was worried. 'I can't remember the case offhand, but six months ago I certainly had a new theatre sister…You're sure it's bits of a retractor?'

'Oh, definitely, sir.'

There was a pause.

'Very well,' he decided grudgingly. 'I'll drive in. The Lord only knows how I'll manage it this weather. Admit him to Faith, and get the theatre ready for an emergency laparotomy.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And-er, Gordon.'

'Sir?'

'It was quite right of you to phone me.'

'Thank you, sir!' I said in delight.

But he had already rung off.

I spent the next half hour organizing the operation. I woke the theatre sister and her staff, brought the night sisters and porters from their suppers, and ordered the night nurses on Faith Ward to prepare a bed with hot-water bottles and electric blankets. Then I went back to the patient, who was now lying quietly on the couch

'Don't worry, old man,' I said heartily, slapping him on the shoulder. 'Everything's under control.' I glanced at my watch. 'The Professor will be here any moment, and he'll fix you up in no time.'

'Thank you, Doctor,' he said, with a sigh of gratitude. He took my hand touchingly. 'I'm real pleased with the way you've looked after me, Doctor.'

'Oh, it's nothing. Just part of the service.'

'No, honest I am, Doctor. Real pleased. Mind you, I've got a soft spot for doctors. Especially young doctors trying to get on in the world like you.'

'That's very kind of you.'

'As a matter of fact, Doctor,' he said more cheerfully, 'I'd like to meet you again when all this is over. Socially, you know.'

'Perhaps we will,' I said with an indulgent smile. 'Who knows?'

'I'd like you to come and stay with me for a week-end. I've got quite a nice little place in the country. Down by the river. It's an old castle I picked up cheap. There's a bit of shooting and fishing if you care for it. Private golf links, of course. So bring your clubs along, Doctor, if you play.'

'I don't think I quite-'

'Tell you what I'll do. 'I'll send the Rolls for you on the Friday afternoon. The chauffeur can pick you up here. You can't miss it, it's solid gold all the way through, even the piston-rings. Just looking at me now, Doctor,' he said proudly, 'you wouldn't think I owned the Bank of England, would you?'

I met Bingham in the lift.

'Hello, old chap.' He grinned. 'Sorry you didn't get the senior H.S. job and all that.'

'Yes, I'm sorry, too.'

'You had hard cheese rather, old chap, didn't you? About that loony, I mean. You ought to have had him X-rayed before calling the Prof. Or asked "patient's occupation" as your first question. I'd have done.'

'I suppose I ought.'

'Now you're going to look for a job in the provinces, aren't you? There's some jolly good hospitals outside London, so they tell me. Not up to St Swithin's standards, of course, but you might do pretty well in time. Do you want me to say good-bye to the Prof. for you? I don't suppose you'll want to see him again, will you-after that.'

'It happens I've just been to him. For my testimonial.'

'Any time I can be of help to you, old chap, just let me know.'

'Thanks.'

We reached the ground floor, and I got out.

'I'm going to the basement,' Bingham explained. 'Going to have a dekko at some slides in the lab. Now I'm senior H.S. I thought I'd better run over my path. and bact.' I slammed the gates. 'Don't expect I'll see you before you go, old chap. Got to give a talk to the new cas. H.S.-they don't seem to know a thing, you know, these chaps who've just qualified. Toodle pip!'

He pressed the button. The lift moved six inches and stopped. Bingham pressed all the other buttons in turn. Nothing happened. He rattled the gate. It wouldn't open.

'I say, old chap,' he called after me anxiously, 'I'm stuck in the lift.'

'So I see, Bingham.'

'Absolutely bally well stuck.' He gave a nervous laugh and rattled the lattice again. Several nurses, porters, and patients had gathered round to watch. Passengers were often stuck in the St Swithin's lift, which provided a regular diversion to the otherwise monotonous aspect of the corridors.

'I say, old chap.' His voice wavered. 'Get me out, will you?'

'But I don't think I know how.' Some of the nurses began to titter. 'Do you mean I ought to send for the fire brigade, or something?'

'No, dash it, old man. This is beyond a joke.' He rattled the gate loudly, terrified that his dignity was slipping away from him. 'Be a sport, old chap,' he implored. 'Get some help. You can't leave a pal like this, can you?'

'Oh, all right,' I said testily. I supposed even Bingham had human rights. 'Wait a minute.'

'Thanks, old chap. I knew you'd do the decent.'

As I strolled away as slowly as possible to fetch a porter, I noticed a loaded food trolley moving down the corridor with the patients' lunch. An idea struck me. When I returned to the lift I was pleased to see the crowd had doubled and Bingham was rattling the bars again.

'Ah, there you are, old chap!' he said with relief. 'You've been pretty nippy, I must-here! What's the idea?'

I slowly peeled half a bunch of bananas and poked them one after another through the bars. This simple pantomime delighted the audience, which had now been joined by a party of convalescents from the children's wards and blocked the corridor. Bingham himself became mildly maniacal.

'I won't forget this!' he spat at me. 'I won't bally well forget it! You wait and see!'

I left him still in the lift and walked straight out of the hospital, for the first time in my qualified career feeling reasonably contented.