shaved him.’ Mary’s direct glare wasn’t doing much for her confidence. ‘As you said to do,’ she croaked, ‘so it didn’t hurt when the strapping came off.’
‘But this was a thigh injury,’ Mary snarled. ‘You put a piece of stocking over the thigh and then you strap it.’
‘Oh.’
‘What’s this?’ Picking up the ten-dollar note clipped to the casualty card, she held it up, her accusing glare ever fiercer.
‘The deposit for his crutches. I gave him a receipt and everything. He assured me that he’d bring them back.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will.’ Mary sucked in her breath for a long moment before she carried on talking. ‘In fact, I’d suggest you could even be seeing your crutches as early as tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow night?’ Again Eleanor had no idea what Mary was talking about. ‘I thought they went to their GP for review and suture removal.’
‘Well, that’s the norm, of course,’ Mary agreed with a small nod. ‘But for staff we make exceptions.’
‘Staff?’
‘Some might call it a perk,’ Mary rattled on, ignoring Eleanor’s question. ‘Not much of a perk, though. But we look after our own in Emergency. When staff or a member of their family is brought in to the department, it’s an unspoken rule that the most senior staff look after them. You just broke that rule, Sister.’
‘But I had no idea he was staff,’ Eleanor said faintly. ‘He never said.’
‘Why did you think I asked you to leave him for me?’
Eleanor swallowed hard. ‘To share the workload?’
‘Do you not think I work hard enough?’ Mary asked as Eleanor screwed her eyes closed, every word she uttered seeming to make this horrible situation worse. ‘Did you think that by strapping a thigh and giving a tetanus shot, I’d somehow be showing that I was worth my salt?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You did remember to give him his tetanus shot, I presume?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor whispered.
‘Good!’ Mary responded crisply. ‘It would be a terrible thing if the consultant of the department came down with tetanus because one of his own staff forgot to give him his jab…’
‘The consultant!’
‘I’m back.’ Pier breezed into the cubicle, refreshed from his break, his smile fading as he saw Eleanor’s paling face. ‘Sorry, am I disturbing something?’
‘Not at all, Pier,’ Mary responded. ‘In fact, we were just finishing.’
‘Mr Hunter has already gone?’ Pier asked, a curious smile on his face as he eyed the trolley littered with dark blond hairs.
‘Minus ten dollars and some body hair,’ Mary said. ‘Sister Lewis here took it upon herself to treat him. Not only treat him—she practically threw him out of the department into a waiting taxi.’
‘I don’t understand…’ Pier’s voice trailed off and Eleanor waited, waited for an explosion, for that Irish temper to ignite, but, as she was about to find out, not only didn’t she know the first thing about Emergency nursing, she didn’t know the first thing about emergency nurses’ sense of humour. Instead, she watched in stunned confusion as Mary Byrne threw her head back and laughed, followed a moment later by Pier.
And they didn’t just laugh, they roared.
Roared till the tears were falling down their cheeks. And every time Eleanor thought it was over, thought her torture might have ended, they’d catch sight of the trolley and start to roar again.
‘It’s not funny, you two,’ Eleanor finally snapped, protocol thrown to the wind, close to tears now and wishing the night would just end.
‘Oh, but it is, my dear,’ Mary sobbed, wiping her eyes with one hand as she held her aching side with the other. ‘We’ll feast on this for weeks!’
CHAPTER TWO
SO MUCH for patient confidentiality.
Rory Hunter’s injuries and treatment became seemingly the sole topic of conversation for the entire hospital.
At least it felt that way for Eleanor as she stumbled through her week on nights. Every ward she took a patient to, she was sure the nurses were nudging each other. Even the cleaners seemed to be smiling as they quietly mopped the long lonely night corridors as Eleanor made her way back. But as hard as the nights were, nothing was going to compare to facing the man himself and it took a good deal of foundation and a lot of deep breaths to arrive at the nurses’ station for handover the following Monday.
‘You’ll be working the trolleys,’ Mary instructed. ‘Anything you don’t understand, you ask me, not the nurse who happens to be passing, not the doctor who looks approachable. You ask me. Until you feel confident to make decisions for yourself, I’m the one you run things by.’
‘Fine.’ Eleanor nodded, her hackles immediately rising. She was tired of Mary constantly talking down to her and treating her like a child that needed to be told everything not just twice but very loudly, too.
‘Good. Now, in cubicle eight is an Emily Nugent. She’s ninety-four with end-stage COAD. What does that stand for?’
‘Chronic obstructive airways disease,’ Eleanor answered with a slight edge to her voice. She may not be the most experienced of nurses but she wasn’t a complete hick and it was time Mary stopped treating her like one. Taking a deep breath first, Eleanor looked the older woman straight in the eye. ‘I’m not a student, Mary, I’m not even a grad nurse. I’m a registered nurse and I did do some nursing before I came to Melbourne Central. We do have COAD patients in the country.’
‘Do you, now?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor replied curtly.
‘Well, as I said, Miss Nugent is end stage. Now, she’s been seen by the medical registrar and she’s not for any active treatment and definitely not for any heroics. You’ll not be offended if I ask you to confirm you know what that means.’
‘She’s not to be resuscitated,’ Eleanor responded, ignoring Mary’s sarcasm and still trying to look her in the eye but it was getting increasingly hard.
‘Correct. Now, that might seem like a very basic question, but the fact is, unlike the wards, all patients who come through our doors are resuscitated unless it’s documented otherwise, and the last thing poor Miss Nugent needs is a bunch of over-zealous doctors jumping on her ninety-four-year-old chest. Now, we’re to make her comfortable while the bed manager tries to find a bed for her on the wards.’
‘Does she have family with her?’ Eleanor asked as they headed for cubicle eight.
‘She has no one, so our job…’ Mary paused outside the curtain, opened her mouth as if to speak then instead gave a small nod. ‘In we go.’
Eleanor’s jury was still out on her feelings for Mary Byrne the woman, but if ever Eleanor made it into an emergency room at the grand old age of ninety-four she hoped there would be an equivalent of Mary Byrne there to look after her. For though Eleanor had looked after a few terminal patients, though she had worked alongside a lot of nurses, no one held a candle to the way Mary gently fussed over the frail elderly woman, chatting softly to Emily as if they were old friends as they turned her onto her other side to relieve the pressure from her emaciated hips, gently stroking her forehead as the old lady whimpered in pain.
‘It’s OK, Miss Nugent,’ Eleanor said softly. ‘I know it’s uncomfortable while we move you, but you’ll feel a lot more comfortable once we’ve settled you.’
A tiny nod indicated a response and as