superficial, though I see what you mean about the one to his loin. I’d better refer him to the surgeons. I know Mr Hinkley doesn’t like knife wounds to be sutured down in the department.’
‘Good call,’ Lila agreed. Mr Hinkley was senior consultant of the emergency department and, though not the most exciting of personalities, he was a diligent and respected boss.
The trouble was that Jez, the surgical resident, though thorough in his examination, was less than impressed with the referral.
‘They’re fairly minor injuries. I’m happy for him to be stitched up and discharged.’
‘Fair enough. If you’re happy then so am I.’ Diana accepted back the casualty card Jez had hastily scribbled on.
‘Sorry, guys.’ Lila, anticipating trouble, had been discreetly hovering. ‘He’s a surgical patient now—it’s not up to Diana to stitch him.’
Jez pursed his lips. He was young and good-looking, and also far too used to getting his own way—only not when Lila was on duty. ‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it then I’ll do it myself, but can I at least have a nurse to help in Theatre?’
Lila’s voice remained calm, friendly even, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone. ‘I’m afraid not, Jez. You know as well as I do that surgical patients can’t be stitched down in Emergency. Our theatre’s only designed for superficial wounds.’
‘Which these are.’
‘Not according to Mr Hinkley: ‘‘A stab wound can only be considered superficial when the wound has been thoroughly explored.’’ He’ll either have to go to the main theatre or be stitched up on the ward, if your boss agrees. It’s the department’s policy.’
‘Since when were you such a stickler for policy?’ Declan’s friendly tones as he made his way over broke the rather tense atmosphere that had developed.
‘When the policy concerned is in the best interests of a patient then I’m a stickler.’ Lila turned defiantly from Jez to Declan. ‘I have a young man with multiple lacerations. One in particular looks deep—’
‘It isn’t,’ Jez broke in. ‘Look, I’m happy for him to be stitched up, I’ve even offered to do it myself, but Sister here insists he goes up to Theatre or at least a ward. Considering that the rest of the surgical team are stuck in Theatre, it could be hours until he’s seen.’ He threw a withering look at Lila. ‘And we all know the department’s policy about patient waiting times.’
Declan grinned as Lila gritted her teeth. ‘So it’s stalemate?’
‘It would seem so.’ Lila found she was holding her breath. She knew she was right, and that Mr Hinkley and even Hester, come to that, would support her on this. But that wasn’t what was worrying her. Declan’s take on this mattered, and not just in a medical sense. If they were going to work together effectively as a team, if they were going to cast aside their differences in the name of peace, she needed his support here.
Her personal feelings, her innermost thoughts, didn’t apply—at least, she tried not to let them.
‘Can I see the casualty card?’
Jez handed it over, watching as Declan flicked through the notes.
‘You’re a braver man than me!’ Declan looked up. ‘I personally wouldn’t like to stand up in court and explain my findings based on these notes.’
‘He has superficial wounds,’ Jez insisted, though rather less forcibly. Declan was, after all, far more senior than him.
‘Appears to have,’ Declan said, his face suddenly serious. ‘As Lila pointed out, until the wounds are thoroughly explored by a senior doctor they cannot be called superficial. Now, I suggest you get your registrar down here, and if he doesn’t want to take the patient to Theatre I’ll repeat my argument to him. And one other thing,’ he said as he handed back the casualty card to a fuming Jez, ‘I’d try listening to the nursing staff a bit more if I were you. They can make your life one hell of a lot easier.’
As Jez flounced off to the telephone Lila realised a thank-you might be in order. But that didn’t stop it sticking in her throat. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘No worries. I meant what I said. The last thing a doctor needs is the emergency nurses offside, particularly the night team. If Jez doesn’t realise that then it’s time he learnt. Now, if there are any problems with the reg, be sure and let me know. How are Terry’s obs?’
‘Stable.’
‘Good.’
She knew she should go now—after all there were a hundred and one things that needed to be done—but for some reason Lila found her legs wouldn’t move.
‘I’ve just seen a Vera Hamilton. From the pile of notes outside her cubicle I assume she’s a regular?’
Lila nodded. ‘We all know Vera. What’s wrong tonight? Her leg ulcer?’
‘So she says. Frankly, I can’t see much to write home about.’
Lila laughed. ‘Vera’s a manic depressive. She works her way back to us about once a month under various guises, and her ‘‘leg ulcer’’ is the most common excuse.’
‘She just needs a dry dressing. I offered to do it, but she said you normally took care of her.’
‘No worries. I’ll get around to her when I can.’
The conversation was over, or at least it should have been, but he still stood there.
And to her utter surprise it was she herself who resurrected it. ‘Do you fancy a curry?’
‘Lila!’ Declan’s face broke into a grin. ‘I’ll have to defend you more often. A couple of hours ago you wouldn’t even consider a drink, now you’re asking me out for dinner.’
‘In your dreams.’ Lila grinned. ‘The staff have a whip-round about now and ring for a take-away. Tonight is curry night.’ She couldn’t be certain, but she was almost sure a hint of a blush crept over his face as he reached for his wallet.
‘How much?’
‘That should do it.’ Cheekily she grabbed a ten-dollar note from his hands. ‘And we don’t complicate things by taking individual orders. ‘Chicken Jalfrezi with saffron rice and Kashmiri naan are the go tonight.’
‘Sounds great. When do we get to eat?’
‘When you get rid of all the patients.’
* * *
Whether the delicious fragrance of curry proved an incentive, or whether it was merely the fact that Declan was a good worker, by three a.m. most of the patients had been moved up to the wards or stitched and sent home. A couple of patients remained, awaiting X-rays and bloods, and two or three of the city’s homeless slept soundly on trolleys.
‘I don’t know what it is about you,’ Sue said, laughing as she tucked a blanket around Henry, one of their regular tramps, ‘but all the down-and-outs
