Yes Sister, No Sister Read online

  So don’t drive so fast, is our warning.

  ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ is the tune for the surgeons’ song. One verse is:

  Oh, way down in the cellar

  You’ll find the ENT

  Syringing in the darkness

  We have Consultants three.

  Tom, Oliver and Peter are such a jolly crew

  It gives us all great pleasure

  To clean out ears for you.

  Of all the songs, I enjoy the verse about Matron the best. To the tune of ‘Quartermaster’s Store’, we hear:

  In navy blue, blue, the new girl takes her pew

  Sitting there, in Matron’s chair.

  In a while, while, we may even see her smile

  And she’ll lose that icy stare.

  I wish I could have seen her face.

  Two nights later, the housemen retaliate and their show has a printed programme.

  LOOK BACK IN ANGER

  Or

  THE ATOMIC PILE

  Part the first:

  1. Good Fairy Mason

  2. When in Casualty do as the Romans do

  3. Dr Benghatti impersonated by Dr H. Imam

  4. FLASH for inner cleanliness

  5. From here to Maternity

  6. I’ll be sewing you

  INTERMISSION

  Part the second:

  1. Dance: Staphs and Streps Forever by the Corpses des Ballet

  2. The RMO’s Lament: It had to be flu

  3. Myxoedema Madness

  4. It’s spleen a long, long time

  5. Old Man’s Liver

  6. Thanks for the Mammaries

  7. Dance Macabre

  Produced and written by Alan and Dick

  BROWN appears by kind permission of the night sisters.

  IMAM appears by kind permission of President Nasser.

  WICKHAM appears without permission.

  The housemen traditionally perform one of the dances from the sister’s pantomime wearing the same costumes. Of course they dance to ‘She Wore An Itsy-Bitsy, TeenyWeeny, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’. The itsy-bitsy bikinis are stretched to breaking point but they just manage to prevent the show from becoming pornographic.

  Christmas celebrations at LGI end with a grass hockey match between the housemen and sisters and perms. As many as possible play and the rules are ill-defined and flexible. Not everyone has a hockey stick but we rob physiotherapy of its walking sticks and use them. There is often more than one ball.

  Running up and down a field in the fresh air is just what we all need after the intense activity of the last few days. We know the hospital will fill up so we make the most of our leisure. I go home glowing from the exercise and thinking that although our social activities are restricted to the hospital, we have much more fun than those outside it.

  Chapter 25

  3B Rosemount Crescent

  Leeds

  15 January 1959

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Very many thanks for the cheque. I’m saving it for my holiday in Norway next month. A group of housemen and trained staff are going to a youth hostel there. It is in the middle of nowhere I believe, so all there is to do is ski.

  I had a wonderful Christmas and it sounds like you did too. How did you enjoy being Father Christmas, Dad? I was on duty but we have such a good time no one wants to be off duty except the very new nurses. I hope I am not on nights this coming Christmas, as I want to be in the pantomime.

  The scooter is running well though it has let me down a few times and it’s looking a bit battered now. Can’t think of anything else to say.

  Love Jenny

  3B Rosemount Crescent

  Leeds

  4 March 1959

  Dear Judith,

  I’m writing this at the Ida where I’m relieving Milbury’s nights off. She’s stuck with being up here because she’s the junior and as no one plans on leaving, she’ll be here for a while. Ha ha!

  I had a super time in Norway. Our party of 16 took over the youth hostel though there were one or two others. Eight housemen, five sisters and three perms went. We skied from the door but there was no lift so we had to walk up the hill to ski down. You should see my muscles!

  As everyone was so exhausted when we arrived, we slept for several days and they thought we were the dullest lot that had ever been there. When we recovered, they changed their minds! We had to make our own entertainment but with people like Philip Brown and Hamid Imam, that wasn’t difficult. They’ve all finished in the house now and are off in all directions. Philip is going into general practice in York, Hamid is going home and Paul Wickham wants to be a surgeon. I shall miss them. I am sure the next lot will be dull by comparison.

  The youth hostel had amazing bedding – great big down-filled bags in white covers that kept you so warm. Why we can’t get them in England, I don’t know. And they had central heating. Why are we so backward?

  Are you getting on any better with your tutor? He sounds trés formidable. Write soon.

  Love Jenny

  3B Rosemount Crescent

  Leeds

  1 June 1959

  Dear Judith,

  Good luck in your exams. I am sure you will do well, as usual.

  Yes, I’m still on nights. I’m getting tired – never do sleep well during the day. Sandy and I have had nights off together for a while now and we have been hiking in the Dales a lot. Busby is still around and Milbury has finally come down from the Ida. She has improved, has stopped sucking up to Buzz and although I don’t like her, I can tolerate her.

  Did I say the next group of housemen would be dull? I was wrong. Their favourite antic was trolley races down the main corridor with one of them on the trolley, until the RMO [Resident Medical Officer] put a stop to it when someone fell off and was admitted with a head injury. Then Sam Spooner got drunk one night, passed out and the others put stitches in his abdomen. They told him he’d had his appendix out. He believed them until he realised there was no incision.

  You remember that bust of a famous surgeon halfway up the main staircase? Well, the housemen kept chalking eye patches and noses on it so Management protected it with a round glass cover like a porthole. How they did it, I don’t know, but the housemen managed to fill it with water and put goldfish in it. Funniest sight I’ve seen for a long time – fish swimming around Lord M’s physog.

  I did a round with a junior the other night and she was so nervous, her notes shook. I don’t know what to do so they aren’t scared of me. Not everyone is mind you. I had done my 3am round on a ward but forgot something. When I went back, a nurse was carrying a tray of tea and a fry-up into the ward. She looked at me, said, ‘Whoops’ and whirled back into the kitchen. I suppose I should have said something but I didn’t. It’s neglect of patients that I scream about, not things like eating on the ward. I did my nut when I found the GU (genito-urinary) ward with all the lights on at midnight. The nurse had put them on to change the drainage bottles. Can you believe it? Instead of using a torch, she woke everyone up.

  The one thing I hate about nights is having to give the report to Matron every morning. We take it in turns because the last one in doesn’t get off duty until 9am. She is such a cold fish but somehow I sense that she would like to reach out only she doesn’t know how. I think she believes that if she lets down her guard she will lose our respect. The only time she was human was when Bates rubbed her eyes and her contact lens fell on the floor. They were both on their knees looking for it!

  I am so looking forward to seeing you when you come home in the hols.

  Love Jen

  3B Rosemount Crescent

  Leeds

  19 August 1959

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Guess what? I have bought a new Lambretta. I was able to trade in the old one and with the money you sent for my birthday and some savings, a gleaming, beautiful scooter sits in the driveway. It has much better brakes, starts easier and has a better windscreen.

  Judith was h
ome for a few days. I went over to see her on the new scooter and we had several runs out as the weather was wonderful. She did really well in her exams as I thought she would. She really is very bright and deserves to be at Cambridge. She and Alan seem to be happy enough though they don’t see much of each other as he has a busy practice and she is studying all the time.

  Sandy started on days as ward sister on the skin ward on 1 August. It is just the ward she wanted. I shall apply for the next ward that comes up as I’m tired of nights.

  Love Jenny

  3B Rosemount Crescent

  Leeds

  24 September 1959

  Dear Judith,

  I have now spent three years of my life on night duty and I’m only 25. But not for much longer. Meet the next ward sister of Ward 1 – a female medical ward you may recall. It will be much easier at home with us both on days. Sandy misses the scooter rides.

  The housemen are still up to their tricks. The flower ladies had an edifice built in the front hall to hold large bunches of flowers. It’s ghastly. Made of bricks and looks like a fountain. It starts with a sort of moat and then a pillar rises from it to hold a large, metal bowl. One night the housemen all peed in it. I must say I agree with their opinion.

  Another one did a round on a bicycle in the middle of the night. Apparently one of the patients said to him the next day, ‘I don’t rightly knows what’s in them pills tha’s giving me doctor, but they’re making me see things. I thought I saw you on a bicycle in t’night.’

  Had a letter from Marie not long ago. She had a baby boy you know but she had to have it in Africa. She’s pregnant again and this time wants to come home for the birth. They’ve never been back since they went and that’s over three years ago.

  Love Jenny

  Chapter 26

  Dear Sister Ross,

  It gives me great pleasure to write and inform you that your appointment as sister-in-charge of Ward 1 was confirmed at the meeting of the House Committee yesterday. Your appointment will commence on 1 October 1959.

  I hope you will be very happy working in Ward 1.

  Yours sincerely,

  Ann Wilks, Matron

  AWARD SISTER AT last! As I walk to my ward on the first morning, I think of all the sisters who have influenced me. I want to emulate Busby, BB and Howes. I do not want to be like the Dragon, the Sod or Jenner. My ward will be interesting for the student nurses, a place where they can learn and grow. I see my job as fostering them and in turn, they will nurture the patients. Lockers will be wiped once a day only. Teaching will be as routine as bedmaking and teaching sessions will be held daily. Each student will be allocated a patient and she will be expected to study the condition, medical treatment and nursing care of that patient. In fact, she will give the nursing care. Because we go round the ward doing all treatments, all medicines, all TPRs and so on, it is difficult for students to see the entirety of the nursing care provided.

  I am aware that a ward reflects the character of the sister. Rigid, rule-bound sisters create wards where the bed-tables are lined up, the counterpanes are even and the patients almost breathe in and out in unison. Student nurses are fearful, and as a consequence, lack confidence. Liberal wards, on the other hand, are not regimentally tidy, nor are they disorderly. Students are free to use judgement and so take more interest in their patients.

  I plan on making several changes and when I heard I’d got the ward, I told Buzz some of the things I want to do. ‘It’s ridiculous that the work list is made out according to seniority. That means the junior nurses never learn to give out medicines or do treatments. Nor do the seniors learn to be in charge. When they finish, one day they are a student and the next a staff nurse, who, without any preparation, is expected to take charge. I intend to make out the work list so I am doing kitchen and bedpans sometimes – that should shake them!’

  ‘I am sure your ward will be exciting, but Jen, a word of advice. Don’t go waving a broom to make a clean sweep. Take your time. Wait two or three months and then introduce changes very slowly.’ Buzz had poured herself a cup of tea and settled back in her chair before continuing. ‘People don’t like change and if you start off by making major reforms, they will resist and wear you down. So take it slowly. Get your staff nurses particularly on your side before doing anything.’

  I am thinking of her words as I enter the foyer of Ward 1 to find Joan Sutcliffe, the perm, waiting for me. I dropped by one morning last week to introduce myself and tell her I would be starting on 3 October as it is a Saturday and the weekend gives me time to know the patients before the consultant’s rounds.

  ‘Good morning, Sister,’ she says.

  ‘Good morning, Joan. Please call me Jenny or Jen. Shall we go in?’

  The nurses are already gathered around the centre table waiting for me to say prayers. My experience on Ward 5 allows me to proceed with confidence. After prayers we move to the desk to receive the report from the night nurse. I notice that Brenda McFarlane, the staff nurse, does not join us. Well, that’s one change I’m not waiting for. ‘Brenda, please come and take report.’ How can a nurse be expected to take charge of the ward if she’s not up-to-date with what is happening? ‘Also, you are to have coffee in the sideward with us, in case that’s not what you usually do.’

  When we’ve had the report I ask Joan to take charge so I can spend the morning getting to know the ward and doing a thorough round of the patients. It is a 34-bed, female medical ward specialising in rheumatology and neurology but with the usual medical complaints such as chronic bronchitis. I have five consultants, the two prominent ones being Jack Hartman, a rheumatologist, and Hugh Dingwall, a neurologist.

  Before I start my round I go out to the kitchen to pay attention to the domestic staff. Ignoring them can spell trouble as they have many ways to make my life a misery. Although each of the three has her own supervisor, I am responsible for the day-to-day operation of the ward and for the part they play in it. I find Eva, the non-nursing orderly, Mavis, the cleaner, and Francesca, the maid, beginning to wash up the patient’s breakfast dishes. I ask if they can stop for a minute.

  ‘I’m Sister Ross,’ I say. ‘I wanted to introduce myself and find out if there’s anything you need or anything I can do to help you.’

  ‘I’m Eva,’ the orderly says. She is a thin, haggard, middle-aged woman with wispy bleached hair springing out from her blue cap. ‘And this is Mavis and that’s Francesca. Francesca doesn’t speak much English but she’s a right hard worker.’

  I say hello to Mavis, a short, solid woman with thick legs who could, without trying, play the role of a typical Yorkshire working-class woman, and to Francesca, a young dark-haired, dark-eyed, pretty Spanish girl. They all smile at me.

  ‘There’s one thing tha’ can do,’ says Mavis. ‘Tha’ can see to it that there’s more staff on on Wednesday afternoons when it’s our cleaning day. If we had more ‘elp from t’nurses, we’d be that much faster.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I say.

  One afternoon a week, the domestic staff push all the beds into the centre of the ward, splat polish over the wooden floor, spread it with a special mop and buffer it with a heavy, padded polisher. Nurses hate cleaning afternoons. They can’t reach the patients without stepping in polish or climbing over chairs. Although it is not a nursing duty to help with the cleaning, if everyone pitches in, it is over quickly. If nurses do not help, the domestic staff take all afternoon, making it impossible to proceed. I know that some sisters take a two-five on cleaning day. I intend to be one of them. After all, there has to be some advantage to being a sister. But I will make sure the nurses help.

  I go back into the ward where many curtains are closed because a bedpan round is in progress. I start my round with Dr Hartman’s patients who are in beds 1-13. The first patient is a lively woman with silver hair and severe rheumatoid arthritis, particularly of her hands. I introduce myself.

  ‘So you’re the new Sister, are you? Well, you’re a bonny
lass but you don’t look old enough to be a sister.’ She leans forward to look across to the next bed. ‘Mabel, this is t’new Sister. Better looking than the last one, eh?’

  A weak voice comes from Mabel’s bed. ‘Aye, she is that. But she’s awful young. Does tha’ think she knows owt?’

  ‘Time will tell, time will tell.’ The silver head shakes from side to side.

  I read Mrs Deakin’s notes and then pull the curtains so I can examine her joints. ‘How are you, Mrs Deakin?’ I ask as I bend her fingers backwards and forwards.

  ‘Pain’s less, Sister, but I wish I could move more. I’m not used to doing nowt.’

  Her poor hands are gnarled and bent, the joints swollen and shiny, and she has very little motion in them. She is on gold sodium thiomalate so she is in hospital for the supervision of this toxic treatment.

  ‘T’doctor says I never will be able to move my fingers so I must make t’best of it. I’ll have to learn to use my toes.’ She gives me a wan smile.

  ‘Have you seen the physiotherapist?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet, but I’ve only been in two days.’

  I make a note in my book to refer her to physio. The TPR book is an essential working document. Patients’ names are listed on the left page and columns are drawn for recording temperature, pulse and respiration twice a day. There’s a space to note whether there has been a bowel movement and what laxatives or enemas are given. The right-hand page records all tests to be ordered or other tasks to be done. These are ticked when finished. A glance at this page, and previous pages, tells us what requisitions to send, what phone calls to make and, where there are no ticks, what to follow up. I write ‘Ref. physio.’ beside Mrs Deakin’s name and move on.

  At nine o’clock half the student nurses leave for a half-hour break while Joan, Brenda and I go into the sideward to enjoy the coffee and biscuits that Eva has set out for us. I note with satisfaction that the coffee is good and there is a decent selection of biscuits. I must make sure that Eva is content.