at her patiently. ‘You know as well as I do that people often get promoted because they’re brilliant fund-raisers and medical politicians. Some of them can’t operate their way out of a paper bag!’
‘Well, this one can,’ retorted Josey smugly. ‘Sister Henderson says she’s never seen such a wonderful technique. . .neat, yet fast—the ultimate combination!’
‘Good grief,’ said Cat sarcastically. ‘Has the idol got feet of clay, I wonder? Does he come complete with a halo?’
Josey’s eyes glinted. ‘The last thing he looks like is a saint, I can assure you.’
‘Sister Henderson isn’t seriously besotted, is she, Jo?’
This produced a fit of the giggles. ‘Probably. But it won’t do her the least bit of good—he’s decades younger!’
‘I’m surprised she’s put me in with him, if he’s that grand.’
‘Ah, well—you are the blue-eyed girl, aren’t you?’ asked Josey a touch bitterly. ‘Everyone knows they’ll make you sister soon.’
Was that true? wondered Cat as she made her way slowly towards Theatre One. Ironic that once she could think of nothing she’d wanted more, yet now the thought of promotion filled her with only a kind of mild curiosity. She shook her head very slightly, knowing that she was going to have to snap out of this mood very quickly indeed. Soon she would be on hand to use her skill as a scrub nurse in some of the most exacting operations known to medical science.
As she set about preparing her trolley she reflected that cardio-thoracic surgery—or heart surgery, as it was more popularly known—excited a very passionate response from the general public. All doctors and nurses knew that getting funds for this particular speciality was almost as easy as raising funds for the children’s ward. Perhaps the fact that the heart was seen as the very nub of human life was what made the public response to it so gratifying. And the heart was, of course, seen as the centre of the emotions, something which she had only recently discovered. For the first time in her life she found herself wishing that she worked on a ward, or in Out-patients, or in something, anything other than a job where the word ‘heart’ was spoken day after day, reminding her of all those terms that now seemed to accurately reflect her life, and her feelings. Heartbroken. Absolutely.
The theatre began to become a hive of humming activity. Cat had gloved and gowned up, and was placing the myriad fine instruments on to the sterile trolley. Her ‘runner’ scurried around, fetching more sutures and extra instruments. She was a student working three months in theatres, and had been dreading assisting Staff Nurse Bellman. Everyone knew that she didn’t suffer fools gladly—her high standards were the talk of the student nurses’ canteen. What she hadn’t been expecting had been someone quite so young as Catriona Bellman, or so lovely, either.
Systematically, in a routine which was now as familiar to her as washing her face, or brushing her teeth, Cat began to lay the instruments out in neat lines, in the order that they would most probably be called for. She glanced up at her runner.
‘Student Nurse Lloyd, could you find out if the professor favours any special instruments?’
‘Yes, Staff.’
She returned a couple of minutes later, bearing a set of Hanwright forceps, and opened the packets so that the contents fell out on to the sterile trolley.
‘Thanks,’ said Cat, and, seeing the girl’s keen expression, began to question her. ‘Have you done much theatre work?’ she queried. ‘I haven’t seen you before.’
‘I came while you were off sick,’ explained the student.
‘I see.’ Colour crept into Cat’s cheeks. She felt such a fraud for having been off with a sickness that was so patently self-induced—but she could never have worked in the state she’d been in, and it was only the second break for sickness she’d had in her entire career. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Melissa,’ answered the girl.
‘Well, Melissa, I’m pleased to have you on board. Have you done much running so far?’
‘This is my third time. The first two I was just observing, then today Sister Henderson said that I could help you, as we’re short-staffed.’
Cat nodded. They seemed constantly short-staffed, but she smiled encouragingly at the younger girl, recognising some of the same eagerness to learn that had first characterised her own ambition to work in Theatre. Theatre nurses were born, she had long ago decided, not made. ‘Well, Sister Henderson must be very pleased with your progress if she’s letting you run for a major operation at this stage. Well done!’
‘Why, thank you, Staff!’ Student Nurse Lloyd flushed pink with pride, thinking that this kind interest didn’t tie in with Staff Bellman’s reputation.
Cat knew immediately what the girl was thinking, her theatre mask hiding her wry expression, for yes, she had changed. She knew that she had. Work no longer seemed the prime motivating force in her life. She had tasted both pleasure and pain, and a newer, softer Cat had emerged. The question was whether or not she would ever be able to forget the man who had effected that change, or—more important still—would she ever be able to experience that fierce and overwhelming reaction with someone else?
‘Have you worked in Anaesthetics yet, Melissa?’
‘Not yet, Staff.’
‘Then I’ll tell you a little about it before the patient arrives, as we’re ready. At this moment the patient is being anaesthetised, and the anaesthetist is inserting lots of different lines into him, which will enable him to monitor his progress during the operation. What lines do you think he might use?’
‘A CVP line.’
‘Correct. The full name being?’
Melissa cleared her throat. ‘The central venous pressure line.’
‘Good. And do you know what that shows?’
‘Not really, Staff.’
‘Well, it gives us a clear indication of the state of the volume of fluids within the body. It would tell us, for example, if the heart was overloaded—by being raised. It is, as you can imagine, of vital importance, particularly as we’re operating on the heart itself. It will be removed when the patient is ready to leave the intensive care unit.’ She smiled at the student’s rapt expression. ‘And what other lines might we expect to find?’
‘A venous line?’
‘At least one,’ answered Cat. ‘Dr Crone prefers to use four, although he isn’t typical—as you might have already heard, Dr Crone is a law unto himself!’
‘Yes, Staff,’ smiled Melissa.
Further discussion was halted by the appearance of two surgeons—Phil Bennett and Morgan Crossland—Cat knew them well. These were the surgeons who would prepare for the arrival of the professor himself. The operation being performed was a coronary artery bypass graft—an inspirational procedure to any member of the profession. The coronary arteries—vital for supplying the heart with its own blood supply—having become furred and clogged up with arteroma, would be removed, then replaced with veins taken from the lower leg. Thus
