Page 30 of Broken Heart Syndrome
‘Rosie, I …’ I tried to call after her but she was already halfway down the corridor. I was glad she was going to take a stand, but wasn’t sure that storming into the cath lab once the list was in full swing was the way to do it. Sighing, I turned and walked smack into Mr Fletcher.
‘Hey, princess,’ he laughed, steadying me as I nearly fell backwards. ‘No need to throw yourself at me.’ I smiled what I hoped was a polite smile and tried to shrug out of his grip. ‘How about coming to theatre with me today? I’ll even let you assist. Lots of trainees would jump at the chance.’
Urgh!Theatre: I couldn’t think of anything worse. This guy was a serious egomaniac. Even if I were a cardiology trainee, why would I want to go to theatre? He must just have been so used to his own trainees clamouring for theatre time that he assumed everyone would want to dig around in someone’s chest cavity for five hours.
‘Adrian.’ I looked up to see Tom closing in on us, his eyes focused on Mr Fletcher’s hands, which were still gripping my upper arms. ‘Do you want to letmytrainee go? Some of us need to get on. You know, do ward rounds and actuallyseepatients.’
Mr Fletcher smirked but thankfully dropped his hands from my arms. ‘Yeah, mate, well some of us have got to crack some chests open, re-plumb some hearts and actuallycurepatients, rather than faffing about with some teeny, tiny little stents.’
‘Wanker,’ I heard Tom mutter under his breath as we watched Mr Fletcher walk away. Great. Now he’d be in a bad mood for the whole ward round.
Ash joined us on CCU and we managed to see the most sick patients quickly. I decided that I needed to make my own stand today, as we had a bit more time on our hands.
‘Guys,’ I called, stopping outside Mrs Jones’s side room as they tried to keep resolutely walking on. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got to see some bed-blockers today. They haven’t been seen in two weeks.’ Both Ash and Tom shifted uncomfortably.
‘That’s not true,’ Ash said. ‘You see them every day, habibi.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, subtly taking small shuffling side-steps down the corridor. ‘Don’t worry, Frankie, we trust your medical judgment.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘She deserves consultant-led medical care,’ I explained.
‘But she doesn’t even need to be here,’ grumbled Tom, shoving his hands in his pockets.
‘Well, the fact is she is here and that puts her at risk of a hospital-acquired infection; ergo she needs proper hospital care,’ I said firmly.
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’ Jeepers, they were like five-year-olds sometimes.
When I’d managed to get them into Mrs Jones’s side room I was dismayed to see that the bed was empty. Crap. If she wasn’t here now I’d never get them back again.Neighbourswas playing on her telly however, so she couldn’t have gone far.
‘Mrs Jones?’ I called, and heard a shuffling behind the bathroom door. ‘Mrs Jones, are you in there?’
More shuffling; then: ‘Go away,’ from behind the door
‘Are you okay?’
‘Go. Away.’
She didn’t sound okay at all. Her voice was high and tight and she sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jones, but I’m coming in,’ I said as I pushed open the small bathroom door. I gasped at the scene that greeted me. Mrs Jones was wedged between the toilet and the wall, her knickers and tights around her ankles and her skirt round her waist.
‘I reached for something and couldn’t quite manage it,’ she said in a trembling voice. I scooted down next to her and started righting her clothes as best I could.
‘Why didn’t you pull the alarm cord?’ I asked softly, pulling her skirt down.
‘I didn’t want them to see what a pickle I’d got myself in,’ she said miserably. ‘They’d use it to stop me going home to my Trevor.’
I sighed. Her husband Trevor was long dead and the reasons she couldn’t go home were more along the lines of nearly setting her house on fire by leaving the gas on, and wandering the streets in the middle of the night. Dementia was a cruel disease.
‘Can I call the nurses to help you up?’ I asked, realizing that she was too heavy for just me, and straightening from the small space.
‘No, no! Please,’ she begged, in a real panic now. I saw tears forming in her eyes. Suddenly I felt heat at my back and turned slightly to see Tom standing behind me in the cramped space.
‘Mrs Jones?’
‘Who are you?’ she shrieked, in a panic. Tom shifted me to the side and moved to crouch down next to her. He grabbed one of her shaking, papery hands in his large tanned one.
