Bone Street/Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
THE HOSPITAL
IT was one o’clock on the Sunday afternoon when the ambulance arrived to convey the now unconscious Jack to the hospital, and on arrival there he was immediately put to bed and prepared for an operation. Then he was carried away to the operating theatre, and in a very few minutes was asleep in that blessed unconsciousness produced by science, and used to assist humanity in relieving pain and suffering.
An hour later he was back in bed, gradually recovering his senses, and presently his eyes opened to find the nurse by his side.
“Do get it over, Nurse,” he said wearily.
“But it is all over now,” the nurse replied cheerily.
Jack looked at her unbelievingly.
“Yes,” she said, smiling, “it is all over,” and he believed her this time. The pain. Yes, that had gone, but in its place was a numb feeling, a feeling of, oh, such deadness. Surely they had taken his arm off. He glanced to his side.
“Is it off, Nurse?” he asked. “Have they cut my arm off?”
“No, it is still on,” the nurse replied, “and you mustn’t talk. Try to sleep and you will feel better.”
“Can I have a drink? Please, Nurse.” She smiled, and gave him about a tablespoonful of water.
“No more,” she said, “I don’t want you to be sick. Now sleep.” And off she went.
Half an hour later—“Nurse,” his faint cry echoed down the ward. Nurse hurried down the ward. “May I have another drink, please?”
“Will you go to sleep if I give you one?”
“I’ll try,” said Jack, smiling wanly. And he did, a long, deep, refreshing sleep of nearly six hours’ duration, and then did not wake till the night nurse came to his bedside, when commencing duty.
“Hello, No. 16, are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks,” was the reply, “can I have a drink, please?”
Nurse had it prepared for him, a half-pint of boiled milk with an egg beaten into it. Oh, it was grand. He lay back in bed, slowly sipping it from a feeding-cup.
“All gone?” asked Nurse presently.
He nodded his head.
“Any pain?” was the further question.
“Just a bit,” Jack replied, “but it still feels numb.”
“Yes, I suppose it does, but the numbness will wear off; now try to have another sleep, you are doing nicely, considering how ill you were.”
Jack settled himself as comfortably as he could, and after some time went off to sleep again, but he slept rather uneasily the second time, waking in fitful starts; his mouth and tongue felt parched, but he refrained from calling for a drink as the rest of the ward was sleeping.
After what seemed an eternity to Jack, Nurse came down the ward, and noticing him awake enquired how he felt.
“Oh, not so well, Nurse,” he said, “my mouth feels as if it had been rubbed with sand-paper.”
“Yes, you can expect that,” was the reply. “Do you want a drink?”
“Yes, please, Nurse,” and he smiled again.
Yes, he was coming round, and although the arm was throbbing painfully, interest was freshening. He really felt better after the drink, and made an effort to sit up. But no, the arm was securely strapped to a pillow, and he must perforce lie on his back.
Gradually the ward was awakening to life, and another day commenced for Jack.
By six-thirty the ward was thoroughly awakened. Ward maids, probationers, and nurses were busily engaged washing patients, making beds, and doing all those things necessary for the comfort and well-being of the sick.
By eight o’clock breakfast was in full swing, bread and butter if you were well enough to eat it, with steaming hot mugs of tea, but Jack was not in that category yet. Egg and milk was again his portion.
At nine-thirty the house surgeon visited the ward — a cheery word and enquiry about all as he went his round. Coming to Jack’s bed, he enquired, “And how are you this morning?”
“Better than yesterday,” was the reply, “only my mouth feels so dry and rough.” The surgeon, turning to the ward sister, who was accompanying him round the ward, said, “Mr. Halstone is coming to visit this case to-day, so leave the dressing till he’s been.”
“Very good,” was the reply, and they passed on down the ward.
At eleven o’clock the house surgeon again appeared, accompanied by Mr. Halstone. The latter was a small-boned, sharp-featured man of about forty-five years, wore a long unkempt straggling moustache, and walked with a slight limp. He walked straight up to Jack’s bed, and without a word, began to feel his pulse, at the same time scrutinising the temperature chart that hung at the head of the bed.
“Feel all right?” he asked.
“Much better than yesterday,” replied Jack.
“The arm painful?”
“Yes, sir, but less painful than it was.”
“H-m-m.”
Meanwhile, Nurse was baring the arm. Quickly she clipped through the bandages from wrist to shoulder, a syringe was produced, and morphia injected into the sound arm, then gently removing the bandages, a waterproof sheet was placed under the injured arm. The arm was gradually uncovered. Jack lay through all this process, biting on to a corner of the sheet to prevent him crying out, for the pain was so intense; even then he didn’t succeed in keeping the tears back.
“Fine, man, fine, you’ve got pluck,” said Mr. Halstone at the finish, patting Jack on the shoulder, and he limped away discussing the case with the house surgeon.
Jack lay back thoroughly exhausted; the bed, nurse, and hospital were all whirling round; everything was passing away from him. He didn’t faint, but for many days, during the process of dressing, he went through the tortures of the damned.
A hospital isn’t such a terrible place after all, if one learns to take it philosophically. It is quite a good place in which to study human nature. And while Jack was naturally a quiet chap, he was by no stretch of imagination a morose sort. During the succeeding days, he took the opportunity of studying not alone his fellow-patients, but also the nurses, and decided that all the angels were not in heaven. After a few weeks he came to know the fineness of spirit possessed by these women, and had nothing but admiration for them.
There is a peculiar attraction about a face, above the collar and uniform of a nurse, the tenderness and patience, showed to one and all in their care; not all were good-looking, but a sweetness of character was reflected in the faces of these splendid women, some from refined homes, performing the menial tasks which attendance on hospital cases entails.
Amongst the patients there were many characters. The gloomy one who was afraid he was incurable, although the doctors were continually assuring him, that if only he’d clear his mind of miserable thoughts, he would recover in a month. The optimist who tried to mend and couldn’t. The young man that only lived for visiting day, so he could see his wife and baby, and always kept their photograph under his pillow. The blunt and kindly quarryman in with a broken leg, whose jokes kept the whole ward alive. Oh, they were delightful, and Jack loved them all, especially the optimist. Nurse or patient, nobody was secure from his attacks.
There were also the usual hospital visitors, especially the religious ones, both amateur and professional. The wise ones left theology alone, and confined themselves to matters of interest to the patients. An enquiry about the progress one was making, and with a few cheery words of this sort would do good. The unwise ones reminded them that “in the midst of life we are but in death,” or that disease is an affliction sent to try us. Usually they were tolerated, but sometimes they would receive a much-deserved rebuke.