Doctor Knows Best Read online

  Megan watched her retreating figure, her fat legs encased in black stockings, the seams of which were invariably crooked. Today was no exception. She smiled slowly; good old Thelma, her sort were the salt of the earth. She worked hard for not much pay, never complained, not even when insults were heaped upon her by irate junior doctors, usually taking out on her their own inadequacies. She was always kind and understanding to patients and invariably ignored by the nursing hierarchy. Megan would have gladly had ten Thelmas for some of the new staff nurses she had had to tolerate over the years.

  She wandered out to the reception area to talk to the girl at the desk, seeing that all was quiet. As she approached the desk the telephone rang and the girl picked it up. “Casualty, County General,” she said. She listened for a few moments, then said briefly, “OK.”

  She turned to Megan, who by this time was standing beside her. “Badly injured baby, about ten months old, on the way in,” she said.

  “Just the baby?” asked Megan. “Nobody else? Is it a road accident?”

  “No, it’s not an RTA,” replied the girl. “From what Ambulance Control didn’t say I would think it’s a battered baby, or to use the correct phraseology, a non-accidental injury.”

  Megan heaved a sigh. “These cases always make me feel sick,” she said. “Let’s hope it’s not as bad as they say. I’d better go and warn Giles…Mr. Elliott, that a case is on its way in.” She left the reception area and walked quickly back towards the sound of the party, but before she reached the door of her office she met Giles Elliott in the corridor.

  “I was wondering where you had got to,” he said.

  “There is a baby on its way in,” said Megan, not wasting time. “Non-accidental injury by the sound of it.”

  Giles Elliott’s face hardened. “Poor little beggar,” he said under his breath.

  The baby arrived a few minutes later in the ambulance accompanied by the parents, a weak-looking, undernourished girl of about nineteen and a young punky-looking father with a shock of pink hair. Their story was that the baby had fallen out of her cot, but neither Megan nor Giles Elliott could believe it. But protocol forbade them from expressing an opinion at that time, and in any case the most urgent thing was to try to do something for the baby.

  Gently Megan undressed the unconscious little body, carefully noting the various bruises on the fragile arms and legs and in the small of the back just above the area of the kidneys.

  “I would say this child has been consistently beaten,” grated Giles to Megan through gritted teeth, “and now she appears to have been hit around the head.”

  Megan said nothing. In spite of her professional training she was having difficulty holding back the tears. The little mite in her arms was so weak and defenceless— how could anyone hit a baby like this, she thought.

  Carefully and quickly Giles Elliott made his examination. Then he said to Megan grimly, “This child is in coma, her breathing is stertorous, the heart appears all right but the pupils are fixed and dilated and I can’t get any reflex actions.” He sighed and shoved his stethoscope in his pocket. “I’ll ring for Mr. Mason, the neurosurgeon, and ask him to come quickly. Perhaps he’ll think it worth scanning her, although I wonder. I think perhaps things have gone too far already.” He left the cubicle to make his way back to his office.

  Megan called over Thelma, who had come hurrying back when she had heard there had been an admission. “You stay here with the baby. I’ll have to speak to the parents, I suppose. Then they will just have to wait until Mr. Elliott and Mr. Mason can see them.”

  “Is it bad?” whispered Thelma anxiously.

  Megan nodded grimly. “Yes, I think it’s very bad.” She swished the cubicle curtains tightly shut behind her and walked outside to the reception area where the mother and father were waiting.

  “How long are you going to keep us waiting?” demanded the young father belligerently. “We’ve been here over half an hour already. We’ve got to get back—she’s got to get me something to eat.” He indicated his pathetic little wife.

  Megan could see that the young man was a bully; it was obvious from the frightened way his wife looked at him. Her panic-stricken eyes looked beseechingly at Megan. “Is my baby all right?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  “Of course the baby’s all right,” interrupted her husband. “That damned kid makes enough noise all the time! You’re making a lot of fuss about nothing, you should never have called the doctor.”

  “I’m afraid your daughter is very far from being all right,” said Megan gently, looking at the young mother and ignoring the father.

  “Here, what do you mean?” he interrupted, pushing himself between Megan and his young wife.

  “I mean, Mr. Smith,” said Megan, her voice taking on a harder note, “that your child is seriously ill and you are going to have to wait here for some time. Mr. Elliott has asked a consultant neurosurgeon to come down and give a second opinion. As soon as I have any news I will let you know. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  He stood looking at her with his mouth open, all his previous belligerence evaporating. Megan suddenly felt very sorry for them both. She knew from reading the scant notes on the baby that the father was unemployed and that they lived in a bedsit. Poor things, she thought: neither of you is equipped to deal with married life and a baby and this is the tragic result.

  She made her way back to the cubicle where Thelma was keeping watch over the child. As soon as Megan entered she looked up anxiously. “I think the pulse is weaker,” she said.

  Swiftly Megan reached down and felt the tiny fluttering carotid pulse. Yes, it was weaker and uneven. “Get Mr. Elliott,” she said urgently, but even as she spoke the baby started fitting and then the heartbeat stopped. Automatically she pressed the cardiac arrest button by the side of the couch and within seconds the cardiac arrest team were there, quicker than usual as they were only a few yards away at the party in Megan’s office.

  Johnny Cox, the anaesthetist, was the first to arrive, for which Megan was thankful. He deftly slipped a small tube down the baby’s throat and maintained the airway, something a less experienced anaesthetist wouldn’t have been able to do so quickly. At the sound of the bell Giles Elliott had come running, and Mr. Mason the neurosurgeon was with him. Megan worked feverishly with the rest of the team, desperately trying to resuscitate the tiny scrap of humanity lying on the couch, but after twenty minutes Giles Elliott told them to stop.

  “It’s obvious we’ve lost the battle,” he said sadly. “Don’t blame yourselves,” he added as the whole team stood disconsolately in the cubicle. “I think the die was cast before this baby even reached hospital.”

  Megan felt hot tears pricking the back of her eyelids. I can’t cry here, she thought desperately, not in front of everyone else. Slipping out of the cubicle she hurried along the corridor looking for somewhere quiet, somewhere where she could control the tide of wretchedness that threatened to engulf her. Juliet Moore came out of the party and saw her. “What’s the matter?” she asked in alarm, seeing the stricken look on Megan’s face.

  “The baby has just…just died. We couldn’t resuscitate it,” gulped Megan, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I know it’s silly, but I can’t…” She stopped, tears choking her voice.

  Juliet pushed open the door of Giles Elliott’s office. “Go in there for a moment, no one is about,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll go and sort things out and do whatever needs to be done.” She pushed Megan into the office and closed the door behind her.

  Megan walked across to the window and stood beside it, staring out with unseeing eyes. With a great effort she held back the tears, knowing that if she gave in to them they would come in a flood. So intent was she on controlling herself that she failed to hear the door of the office open quietly behind her.

  “Megan?” Giles Elliott’s voice
startled her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…oh, I,” she faltered keeping her back turned towards him.

  Gently he placed a strong hand on her slim shoulder and firmly turned her to face him. Megan hung her head, tears trembling on the ends of her silken brown lashes.

  “Is it the baby?” Giles’ voice was strangely gentle.

  Mutely Megan nodded her head. Then, before she could stop herself, the tears came spilling over in a great hiccuping sob. She felt herself pulled into strong encircling arms, comforting in their strength. Her cap gave up the unequal struggle and fell from her shiny hair as his lips murmured soft words of comfort and endearment against her dark brown curls. Megan clung unashamedly to him, the rough tweed of his jacket underneath his white coat prickling the soft skin of her cheeks. At length she raised a tear-stained face to his.

  “What must you think of me?” she whispered faintly. “This is a very unprofessional way to behave. I’m sorry.”

  He smiled slowly; the blue of his eyes seemed darker and softer. “Don’t be sorry for being human,” he said. “I’m glad you care, although I’m sorry it has upset you so much.”

  Self-consciously Megan pushed him away and bent to retrieve her cap from the floor. “I’d better be going,” she said with a faint tremble to her voice. “There must be plenty to do.”

  “Yes,” he said, almost absent-mindedly watching her trying to pin her cap back on.

  Now that she was out of his arms, away from him, the last few moments seemed unreal to Megan. Had he really been whispering endearments into her hair? Had he really been holding her close against the comforting warmth of his body? In spite of her unhappiness about the baby, Megan had felt a peace in his arms she didn’t know existed before.

  But now the easy intimacy had disappeared and she felt ill at ease. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she heard her voice stilted and embarrassed. “What time do you want me to be ready?”

  “Oh, I would say about ten o’clock,” he replied, “unless you would prefer it to be later. You will probably be tired after this evening’s party.”

  Puzzled, Megan raised her eyebrows. “What party?” she asked. “I’m not going to any party.”

  “Johnny Cox told me he was taking you to the Mess party tonight,” said Giles, sitting at his desk. He pulled a tray of notes towards him. “It will do you good to get out with some young people, enjoy yourself, take your mind off today’s unpleasant incident.” The tone of his voice dismissed her and left Megan without an opportunity to reply.

  Blast Johnny Cox, she thought. He really ought not to jump to conclusions, and Giles Elliott had suddenly made her feel as if she was about sixteen. Get out with some young people indeed! She wondered whether he was trying to emphasise to her the difference in their ages? Perhaps he sensed that she liked him far more than she should.

  Ah well, no use worrying about it now, she thought as she dashed into the ladies’ cloakroom and quickly tidied up her face. She didn’t want the whole department to know she’d been howling. It wouldn’t do her image much good if the pupil nurses knew she wasn’t as cool and efficient as she always seemed to be. On leaving the cloakroom she bumped into Juliet.

  “I’ve sorted everything out,” said Juliet. “The police have taken a statement from Mr. Elliott and the parents of the baby have now left with the police to give their version of the incident.”

  “I’m sorry, Juliet,” said Megan, “leaving you to cope with all the unpleasant things. I should have done all that.”

  “Nonsense,” said Juliet, “don’t worry about it. I’m glad I was here to help.” She squeezed Megan’s arm. “We none of us are as hardbitten as we like to think we are, and I think that’s a good thing.” She smiled reassuringly at Megan, who wondered whether she knew that Giles Elliott had come into the office and found her in tears.

  After that Megan tried to keep herself as busy as possible for the rest of the afternoon, but the thought of the baby haunted her. She felt sad and angry; it had been such an unnecessary death. When Johnny Cox came up later, at about five o’clock, Megan was sitting at the desk in Casualty opposite the cubicles, bundling up notes ready for return to Medical Records.

  “What time are you finishing here?” he asked.

  “I’m off at nine,” replied Megan. “And by the way, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. What do you mean by telling Giles Elliott I was going to the Mess party with you? You know I’m not.”

  “Well,” said Johnny, “I didn’t exactly tell him—in fact he suggested I take you. Seemed to think that perhaps you had taken that baby’s death a bit hard.”

  Megan looked down quickly. “Yes, I did,” she admitted quietly, “but I don’t think going to a party would make me feel better. Still, I suppose it was a kind thought on his part.”

  Johnny laughed. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I have an inkling he thinks I’m smitten with you. That’s why he suggested it to me, although I was going to ask you again anyway.”

  “Thanks, but the answer is no,” said Megan firmly, “and don’t waste your time getting smitten with me; I’m quite impervious to your charms—you should know that by now!”

  Johnny sighed and perched himself on the edge of the desk. “You weren’t the only one to feel upset about that baby,” he said slowly. “There are times when as a doctor I feel damned useless, and that was one of them.”

  Impulsively Megan reached out and took his arm. “You did everything you could, everybody did.”

  “But it wasn’t enough,” answered Johnny in a strangely subdued voice. “It was not enough.”

  Megan looked at him. This was a Johnny she had never seen before, quite a different Johnny from the bright, breezy Canadian who never seemed to have a care in the world.

  He took her hand. “Come to the party, just for a little while,” he said persuasively.

  Megan hesitated; what was there to lose? If she stayed in her flat she knew she would inevitably start to brood over the baby incident. “All right,” she said slowly, “but I’m not going to stay late. I’ve got to get myself organised ready to go home to Devon in the morning.”

  Johnny swung his long legs round and jumped down from the desk. “Great,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll pick you up at about a quarter to ten. By the way, wear something warm; the heating in that part of the building has broken down, so the Mess is freezing.”

  Megan had to laugh. “Trust you to leave the crucial bit of information until last,” she said. “Now, off you go and let me get on. I’ll see you outside the nurses’ home.”

  Promptly at a quarter to ten she was waiting outside on the pavement, wrapped up to the ears in a huge woolly sweater, jeans and an anorak on top to keep out the biting north-easterly wind. Johnny came running down the hospital perimeter road, vigorously beating his arms round his chest to keep warm. “Race you to the Mess,” he said as he ran past.

  Megan joined him, having difficulty in keeping up with his long legs, and they arrived stumbling through the Mess door out of breath and pink in the face.

  Susan North, who was already there, greeted them at the doorway shouting through the cacophony of noise, “Gracious, you two look healthy, positively rude with it.”

  “You should have joined us,” said Johnny. “The keep-fit duo of the County General.”

  Susan laughed. “Since when have you been so keen on keep-fit?” she asked. “I thought the only exercise you got was raising your arm at the bar?”

  “That is where you are wrong, my girl,” said Johnny, wagging a finger at her. “There are many hidden facets about my character that have never been revealed. Remind me to tell you about them one day.”

  “I will,” laughed Susan, leading the way across to the bar which was festooned with balloons and streamers.

  In spite of herself Megan soon began to enjoy the evening. Practically everyone in the
hospital who was off duty appeared to be there. They played silly games and generally let their hair down.

  “It’s a good job this place is well away from patient areas,” remarked Susan to Megan. “Do you remember the old Mess, right opposite Men’s Surgical? There were always complaints about the noise then.”

  Megan laughed. “Yes, I do remember,” she said, sipping her glass of punch.

  “By the way,” said Susan, “I still haven’t managed to catch a glimpse of your new consultant, Giles Elliott, yet. How are things going? Are you getting on a little better with him now?”

  “Oh, he’s all right,” said Megan non-committally, not sure how much she wanted to tell Susan.

  “I gather that he has quite a dishy young daughter, so he must be married,” said Susan, eyeing Megan curiously. It was unlike her friend to clam up about anything, but Susan had the feeling that she was not going to get much information about Giles Elliott out of Megan.

  “Yes, I’ve met his daughter,” replied Megan and told Susan of the accident with the motor-cycle and how she came to be involved.

  Susan was intrigued. “You and Giles Elliott certainly seem to have a knack for being personally involved in accidents,” she said. “You’re not a casualty nurse for nothing! First you are his casualty, then his daughter.”

  Megan laughed. “It was the first time I’ve ever needed to go into Casualty as a patient—you make it sound as if I was always there.”

  “Ah,” said Susan dreamily, “but it could be the beginning of a beautiful romance. Casualty nurse swept off her feet by Casualty consultant…” She threw out her arms dramatically. “Romance begins after consultant revives Casualty nurse!”

  Megan hooted with laughter. “Susan, you are ridiculous! Revived me, indeed! And as for having a romantic ending, forget it.”

  “Of course,” said Susan, “I was forgetting there must be his wife. Where is she?”