Читать книгу And Then There Were Nuns - Ellen Saxby - Страница 6

Sister Catherine had wanted to be a nurse as long as she could remember. In nursing school she had no trouble memorizing. Everything stuck the first time. She got A’s in all her courses and easily transferred her knowledge into practice. She was good at it. She was able to understand complex issues that bewildered other students. The upper class students forgot that she was new and often asked her for help. She was funny and smart and the doctors often complimented her work.

By the time she was a regular on the unit, she was noticed by the attending physicians. “I’ll bet you’re good with all your patients,” Dr. Livoti had said watching her with an elderly patient of his. She blushed and reveled in the compliment. She was so good even as a second year student that the interns were known to ask her advice about dosage and treatment outcomes. She talked to the interns as though they were naughty boys.

On her third day of work on a new unit, one of her patients went into anaphylactic shock. She quickly dialed the intern on duty as she was drawing up the medication.

“Sister, what do you think we should do?” he queried into the phone.

“Well, how about one cc. of Epinephrine sub-cu. Stat,” she said as she was injecting the patient, holding the phone up to her ear with her shoulder.

“This is good idea. Yes. Stat.”

Since the hospital was a teaching center for doctors as well as nurses, interns and residents arrived from all over the world. The new crop of residents came at the end of the summer. Most of them had been attending physicians in their home country and were completing a second residency so that they could practice in the United States. They all had a fair amount of experience in their field, yet in this situation they were regarded as students. In this, they felt akin to the nursing students who at least had the benefit of knowing the culture.

The new doctors came from all parts of the globe, but the ones with the most curiosity about nuns were the ones from Turkey. The Turkish doctors had no experience with nuns and they were overtly, unreservedly curious. They regarded the student nuns as remarkable oddities and made no effort to conceal their disregard. Dr. Soysal was the smartest of the lot and very quickly became Chief Medical Resident. He also had the most questions.

“Your name is Catherine?” he asked one afternoon as he waited behind her on the cafeteria line. “Are you everyone’s sister?” He was mocking her but his words held a tone of feigned respect. Sister Catherine decided to respond to the words and leave the undercurrent alone.

“In a way, yes.” And she moved quickly past the pudding and cookies to gain some distance. She was disturbed to find that she needed it. As she sat with the other student sisters, she could watch him out of the corner of her eye. He was talking to one of her classmates. Was he asking about her, she wondered.

Early one Monday, Dr. Soysal went up to Four West to assist with bone marrow aspiration and found Sister Catherine at the patient’s bedside, setting up the tray for the test. He sat with the patient for awhile explaining the procedure, then as the patient closed his eyes, he focussed on Sister Catherine and with poorly hidden amusement asked her about her life of dedication to this ‘mythical’ Jesus.

“So you are married to this Jesus?” he whispered with a vicious twinkle in his blue, blue eyes. “Blue, the color of the evening sky,” she had thought when she first met him.

“Yes,” she replied wishing he was somewhere far away.

Unfortunately, he was way too close. She needed to focus on the the test as she realized that the patient was too frightened to care about the conversation that was happening so inappropriately above his head. She rechecked the tray with the sterile equipment, praying that her hand did not shake too much. Dr. Soysal was clearly loving her discomfort, laughing at her behind his eyes.

“So, can you see him?”

“No.”

“Such a marriage? This fulfills you?”

“Yes. Of course.” She knew that she would mess up the sterile field if he did not stop his banter. She mentally reviewed the contents of the tray.

“I need to get some saline,” she said and moved toward the door.

“You stay with the patient. He is frightened,” he said quietly changing his demeanor. “I’ll get the saline.”

She moved back to the bedside and held the man’s hand. He was indeed frightened. He didn’t need to say so. He was thin, frail, sickly, his eyes darting, not resting on anything. It was clear that his need for comfort and assurance was the pressing issue, not the saline.

“This test does not take long,” she said, cradling his hand in both of hers. “Dr. Soysal is very good. I’ll stay with you while the test is being completed. Dr. Soysal has done many, many of these. He uses a local anesthetic which will take most of the pain away. You’ll still feel a poke but I’ll be here to help you with it.”

Dr. Soysal had returned with the saline and was watching her. She flushed when she realized he had been listening. He smiled his approval.

He explained to the patient, “I will not be doing the procedure. Dr. Ryan will be here in just a few minutes.”

“Then, why are you here?” she asked quietly over the patient’s head.

“This is a difficult test. It’s not hard but it’s frightening for the patient. I’m here to hold his hand.”

Their eyes met for just a moment. She was sure she had blushed but busied herself with the tray repositioning it for the tenth time as Dr. Ryan blustered into the room.

He was a large presence and very much in charge. His demeanor cast a huge net of confidence about the room and as the patient became more calm, Sister Catherine left to complete her charting.

The Charge Nurse gave her another patient who was also very sick and also very frightened. The doctors seemed to think that her habit calmed the patients so Sister Catherine kept finding herself in difficult situations. She knew it was unfair but she held her peace.

They did not know for sure what was wrong with this patient. The tests were all inconclusive but they suspected a large mass in the stomach and they needed one more test to justify surgery. The patient, Dan Walden, was refusing. The doctors were insisting. By the end of the shift it was still a stalemate. In the last few minutes of her shift, Sister Catherine finally talked Mr. Walden into taking the medicine and complying with the doctor’s treatment plan. He took it from her hands and she left to chart that it was done. She was emotionally drained and hoped she would not cross paths with Soysal. She didn’t feel like it. She told the other Sisters that she had a headache and would have soup and toast back at the residence.

It seemed to her that sometimes the doctors used the patient’s religious faith to manipulate them into accepting treatments that they might not be so apt to agree to. This worried her especially when they involved her in the process.

“Maybe, I should have been a cab driver,” she thought as she trudged down the snowy street.

When she got to the residence Mrs. Porter handed her a folded note.

“Message,” she said without expression.

“Are you sure? For me?”

“Sure thing honey,” said Mrs. Porter as though hiding a smile.

The message was from Edward. Sister Catherine breathed hard and rushed to her room. It was abrupt. “Please call Edward at 435-9998. It’s important.”

As she dialed from the phone booth on the first floor, the memories flew back to engulf her. The magic of prom night, the rose corsage, his white tuxedo jacket, the sweet music. All of sudden it was like yesterday. Her breath came hard and she hoped that neither of Edward’s parents would answer. She knew that he had finished college and was working in Manhattan. They had not seen each other since that summer but she knew where he was and she was amazed that he would call her.

He answered. Her voice sounded false. Too casual. They exchanged pleasantries.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

“You must be kidding. You know that I watch over you.”

There was a long silence.

“I have a favor,” he asked finally. “My friend’s father is a patient at your hospital. It would mean a lot if you’d check in on him. His name is Dan Walden.”

“He’s my patient,” she said, her voice quavering a bit. ”I’ve already seen him. But I can go over tonight and visit him again if you think it would help.”

“It would mean a lot. Thanks. I really mean it. Thanks. I’m going up there in an hour or so. We’re not sure he’s going to make it.”

She found a small can of soup in the student’s kitchen and heated it on the hot plate. She made some toast and buttered it. She hadn’t thought about Edward for several months and she had wondered if she was finally becoming free of the flow of memories and emotions. It did not please her that their paths would cross again.

“I watch over you,” she said aloud. “Great.”

After her soup, she trudged back up the street. The night traffic sounds were muffled by the soft snow that floated along, creating a magic crystal effect under the street lights. She stood for awhile, transfixed, then went in the side door of the hospital. Most of the day staff had gone. The night had taken over the huge building encasing it in a calm, quiet envelope. The elevator was open, manned by an elderly hospital employee, and she decided to ride.

“Where to?”

“Hi Jimmy. I’d love to go to Paris but the fourth floor will do for now.”

“Somebody sick up there?”

“Not for long, Jimmy. I’m gonna make them all better.”

“You do that honey. Then I can go home and rest.”

He clanked the metal gate open and she walked out onto the Unit. She was hoping not to be seen. Ordinarily the off duty students were barred from the units. She felt that she had a pass because of the situation. Under that excuse, she didn’t care about the rule but she certainly didn’t want to get caught.

There was only a small staff on the eveing shift so no one saw her. She went into Mr. Walden’s room. He was breathing heavily. Within a few minutes he was gasping for breath. His eyes were panicked. She bent over him. He recognized her and said, “Sister, I told you not to give me that medicine.”

His gasping became worse and she rang for the nurse on duty. She lowered the head of the bed and elevated the foot. By the time the nurse arrived he was barely breathing.

The nurse said, “Call Dr. Soysal. Now! Get him here! Now!”

Sister Catherine ran to the desk and dialed. Dr. Soysal answered immediately. “Is it Mr. Walden?” he asked. “I’ll be right there.”

She ran back to the room but Mr. Walden was already dead.

By the time Dr. Soysal arrived she was sobbing. He told her to wait in the conference room while he attended to the patient. He told another nurse to get her something to drink, to calm her.

When Dr. Soysal finally came into the conference room he was quiet, somber. He sat across from her.

“This kind of tragedy can happen,” he said. “Mr. Walden had an aneurysm that could have burst when he sneezed. He waited too long to seek medical help. Way too long. When that happends our options are very limited. We need to do miracles and we are only human beings who do the best we can. And that includes you.We had a meeting of several of the attending physicians and they all agreed on the procedure that we followed. It is not your fault.”

She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and took a deep breath. “Did you talk to the family?”

“His son was here with a friend. I talked to them. They were not surprised. They understood how very sick he was. They knew that his ice was very thin for skating.”

She felt the acute pain that a son feels with the loss of a father. She wondered what Edward would say if he knew she had given the last medication. She wished that the doctors had dealt with the problem without including her. She was used to her patients getting better, getting healed. Not dying. And not like that.

“I don’t want to be a nurse any more,” she moaned.

“You don’t have to be. At least not for tonight.” He reached to take her hand then decided against it. He spoke softly. “Tomorrow, you will get up and talk to your Jesus, then come on duty and help many more patients. Hundreds more. You will lose some. But you will help many. Many.”

“I’m so tired,” she said.

“Go home. Have a beer. Smoke a cigar.”

“I wish I could,” she said. “Thank you, Dr. Soysal. I’m very grateful. You’ve been very kind.” She stood up and reached for her cloak, hoping to regain her composure. They walked out of the conference roome together. She was already putting her long cloak around her shoulders. She was gathering her identity with it, retreating into her studied persona.

“Oh, and by the way, do not tell your old boyfriend about the medication you gave. There is no need to discuss that. I’ll talk to the family about what we did and why.”

She spun around sharply. “How did you know about…?”

“I am amazing, eh?’’ and he laughed his wicked laugh. “Go home,” he said with great tenderness. “You will be a great nurse. But only if you agree to go home, have a glass of beer and smoke a cigar.”

She laughed through her tears. He reached out and took her hand in both of his.

“If you don’t learn to care for yourself, you won’t make it, no matter how much you know.” He released her hand and turned to go.

She felt very young and very old all at once. He was right and she knew it. How severely she had distanced herself from the emotions that death and loss had summoned. How well knowledge and skill had protected her from the depths of feeling that she dreaded. She started to speak but he held up his hand.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he said. “But only after you see your Jesus,” and he turned and strode down the hall.