Doctor Ryder and Son

Book 8: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

Since his wife had divorced him, unable to cope with their son Sean?s severe leukaemia, Dr Luke Ryder had held women at bay. But when he saw Sister Kate Storm with her small patients he knew that she could give his mother support and help in caring for nine-year-old Sean. Kate needed a break, and Sean was in remission, so looking after the boy would be more holiday than work. Kate knew that Luke was the one for her, and Luke clearly found her equally attractive-but how could she convince him to trust again ??

Release date: July 31, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 163

Sample

Chapter One

The white-coated doctor smiled at the figure lying on the bed and said, ‘You’re a Sister, aren’t you? I don’t know whether medical people are better or worse patients.’           

Kate Storm smiled back. ‘I could be prejudiced, but I think nurses make good patients and doctors make bad.’

 ‘That’s entirely possible. Doctors don’t like to think they’re vulnerable, even to disease. Now, how’s the local anaesthetic working? Any feeling there at all?’ The doctor turned to his trolley.

‘It all feels quite numb.’

 ‘Good. Now, I know you know what we’re going to do but you don’t want to watch, do you?’

Kate shook her head, and the nurse hovering in the background carefully erected a little screen immediately below her chin. Kate could just see the doctor’s head as he bent over.

There was no pain but a vague feeling of pressure on her sternum and then a jerk as the needle broke through.She knew what was happening; as a cancer nurse she’d assisted at this many times herself. Perhaps it was a good thing for a nurse to be a patient once in a while.

The doctor was thrusting a needle into her breastbone and drawing out a sample of bone marrow. He wouldn’t have enough for any kind of therapy, but just enough so that her marrow could be typed.

Increasingly, patients with leukaemia were being given allogeneic transplants – healthy marrow injected into them from a donor. But finding a suitable donor was often difficult; bone marrow wasn’t as easy to match as blood.

‘Right, Miss Storm, we’ve finished.’ The doctor’s smiling face reappeared. ‘When this has been typed it’ll be entered on our database. I don’t need to tell you that there’s only a small chance of our wanting to harvest your bone marrow. But it’s good of you to volunteer. Someday you may help someone who desperately needs what only you can give.’

 ‘I’m happy to do it,’ she said. But later, as she walked away from the clinic, it struck her that she didn’t really feel pleased about what she had done. She felt indifferent.

She was tired – not physically but spiritually. It wasn’t as bad as the complete burn-out suffered by some, and it could happen to any nurse. But a nurse working in a paediatric cancer ward was more at risk than most.

Sister Kate Storm had thought that she was on top of her job. She had thought that she was mistress of the necessary combination of sympathy and detached professionalism. It seemed that she might have been wrong.

It had crept up on her gradually. No longer did she have the same sense of joy when she walked onto Aladdin Ward. She didn’t have the same feeling of satisfaction at the end of each shift. She’d made one or two tiny mistakes – nothing important, of course, but it was worrying. And her personal life – well, she didn’t really have one. The hospital was her life.

It was half past three in the afternoon and one of those rare quiet times when she felt happy taking a rest. Her patients were settled and comfortable, her staff had jobs that they could cope with, her paperwork was finished.

She poured herself a coffee and sat in her office easy chair. Bliss! For fifteen minutes she could close her eyes and think of nothing.

Of course, someone had to tap on the office door.

‘Come in,’ she called, half surprised at the sharpness of her voice and the unreasoning annoyance that flooded through her. But, after all, this was the first real break she’d had all day.

Then her face cleared as a middle-aged man with spiky grey hair and half-moon glasses popped his head round the door. ‘Mike!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d finished for the day.’

‘I wanted to come back to see my favourite ward sister. I need a favour.’ Dr Mike Hamilton, consultant oncologist on Kate’s ward, walked into the office. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a spare coffee for me?’

‘Of course!’ Kate moved to stand up but Mike put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and pressed her down again.

‘Don’t get up. Everything’s quiet on the Western Front outside. I’ll pour my own and we’ll sit here and have a pleasant and civilised chat.’

She relaxed into her chair with a sigh as Mike filled a mug and looked mournfully in her biscuit tin. ‘Chocolate digestives are in the drawer,’ she said. ‘I bought you another packet.’

 ‘You’re the perfect nurse. You anticipate my every need – be it scalpel, suture, or chocolate digestive biscuit.’

Kate smiled. ‘Every nurse on this ward knows the way to your heart is through a packet of biscuits.’

 ‘It’s sad to be so transparent,’ he said, opening the packet with precise, surgeon’s movements. ‘But on the other hand it has its good points.’ He sat opposite her and for a while there was a companionable silence between them. All the staff on Aladdin Ward called each other by their Christian names. They thought of themselves as a team, with each member’s contribution being valuable and recognised. Kate knew how much of this camaraderie came from Mike’s leadership.

‘What is this favour you want?’ she asked after a while.

He looked slightly sheepish. ‘This morning I checked the nursing roster. Apparently you’re off on Friday.’  

   She nodded. ‘It’s my long weekend.’

‘Have you got any plans? Going away, visiting anybody?’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘Nothing planned at all. Why?’

‘I’ve got Sally Vincent coming back in – complete with family, of course. You’re the only person I know who can handle them.’

Kate tried to suppress a grin. It was nice that the Vincent family doted on eight-year-old Sally. Unfortunately they did so loudly and emotionally. It often took all her persuasive powers to ensure that there was just a little peace near Sally’s bed.           Then she calculated and the smile slipped. ‘Sally’s not due back in for treatment for another month.’

 ‘She’s had a relapse,’ Mike said bleakly. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

‘I see.’ Kate remembered the solemn little girl. She had A.M.L. – acute myeloid leukaemia. It had seemed to respond well to treatment – but no treatment was ever certain.

‘There’s no problem,’ she said to Mike. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to swap with Denise Cowley.’

‘Thanks, Kate. I truly appreciate it.’

But even as he spoke Kate was conscious of a lowering of her spirits. She could have done with a full three days’ break. She loved her work; she knew that she was good at it. But recently it had seemed to stretch in front of her with no possible end.

‘How old are you, Kate?’ It was a personal question, but Mike was a friend; he was entitled to ask.

‘I’ll be twenty-six in a couple of months.’

 ‘Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you look older.’

Now, that was hurtful. But she knew that Mike was a kind and considerate person. He went on, ‘You live in a hospital flat. And you’ve worked on this ward for the past two years.’

‘Yes.’ Kate felt uneasy. She didn’t know where these questions were leading.

‘How long since you had a fortnight’s holiday – say in Spain or somewhere like that?’

‘I’ve never been abroad. But last summer I had four days walking in the Lake District,’ she said defensively. Anyway, I don’t need holidays. The hospital is my life.’    

‘Quite. And before you started on this ward two years ago you had an unpaid year’s leave of absence. You stayed at home to nurse your father. He died of lung cancer.’

‘My father brought me up after my mother died,’ Kate said thinly. ‘He made sacrifices. What I did for him was little enough.’

 ‘So after he died you wanted to do more. You applied to work on a paediatric cancer ward – possibly the toughest kind of nursing there is.’

Kate had had enough. She snapped, ‘I don’t see the point of these questions, Mike, and I don’t like them. My personal life is my own. Let’s keep it that way.’

 He smiled gently. ‘When I first saw you on the ward I wondered if you’d last. You had your arms round a little girl who was crying, and you looked near to tears yourself. You so obviously felt for her that I thought you’d never be able to take the pain that this job can bring. But that sweet face of yours is deceptive, Kate. There’s steel underneath. I think you’re probably the most competent nurse I’ve ever worked with.’

It was a rare compliment and she appreciated it. But she still felt apprehensive. ‘What are you getting at, Mike?’

He paused before answering and then said simply, ‘Sometimes you look exhausted.’

 That was ridiculous. With a short laugh she said, ‘Sometimes we all look exhausted. But I’m the hospital ladies’ squash champion. I swim four times a week. I eat well and I sleep well. If every nurse was as fit as me there would be fewer days lost through illness.’

 ‘There’s exhaustion of the spirit as well as the body, Kate.’

When she made no answer he went on, ‘Is there any special man in your life?’         Now this was too much. She was about to tell him angrily that it was none of his business when he lifted a defensive hand and said, ‘Please answer, Kate. You know I’ve got your best interests at heart.’

Gruffly she said, ‘There’s no man in my life, special or otherwise. I wish I could say there was but I just never seem to meet the right sort.’

 ‘I see. The reason I –’ There was a sudden muted buzz. From his pocket Mike took his pager and looked at it in disgust. However, he was a professional. Kate passed him the telephone and listened to the kind of conversation she heard so often.

‘Yes … He’s what? Look, it’s probably nothing but I think I’ll come and have a look anyway … You have the X-rays? I’ll be there in five minutes.’

Hastily he swallowed the rest of his coffee and grabbed another chocolate biscuit. ‘Mother Goose Ward,’ he muttered to Kate. ‘Dr Norman has a problem – again.’ It was rather unprofessional of him to say that but Kate knew exactly what he meant. Dr Arthur Norman was the one piece of grit in a smooth-running machine.

‘Look, Kate,’ Mike went on, ‘I want to have a serious talk with you some time soon.’

 ‘I’m all right,’ she said soothingly. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

 ‘I do,’ he said, and left.

A second later the door opened again and his head popped through. ‘I completely forgot to mention it,’ he gasped. ‘Got an old friend dropping in tomorrow.

Name’s Ryder. If he gets here before me, make him comfortable.’ The door slammed a second time. Something sparked in her memory but she couldn’t think what.

       Kate poured herself another coffee and noticed that her hand was shaking slightly. Mike’s comments must have upset her more than she’d realised. It was good of him to think about her – but, of course, his ideas were completely wrong.

As ever, she was late leaving the ward. She had to hand over to Mary Castle, the night sister, and they seemed to spend quite a time discussing their patients.

After a light meal in the canteen she went back to her room and read for a while. She found that reading the necessary nursing and medical magazines kept her up to date. There were a couple of ideas on nursing care that she thought she’d bring up with Mike.

At eight that night she had a squash match. She changed into her whites, walked down to the gym and had three hard, fast games. Afterwards she had a single glass of white wine in the bar and an hour’s hospital gossip with her colleagues. Then to bed.  As usual, it had been a full day. Just before she went to sleep she thought about Mike Hamilton’s warning. It was nice of him to be concerned about her, but he was wrong.

Next morning she wasn’t so sure. She woke early and lay in bed for a while, her eyes wandering round the hospital room that was her home. It was comfortable enough and there were personal touches – books, pictures, flowers – to make it individual. But basically it was just a hospital room, pleasant but characterless.

She showered and dressed. It was felt that the children who were their patients might be a little overawed by the traditional nurses’ uniform so Kate wore a pastel smock with pictures of elephants and giraffes.

Before she left for breakfast she checked her appearance in the mirror. Did she look exhausted? Her body, she knew, looked well. She had been born slim and long-legged and exercise had kept her trim and supple. The smock she wore hinted at the generous feminine curves of breast, waist and hip. Her body was fine.

What about her face? She sighed. There was a saying that your face is your fortune, but too often Kate’s face had been her misfortune. Her dark hair she now kept cut short; it was neat and convenient. Sometimes she wished that her face could be as practical. But it wasn’t. Wide eyes and ready smiling lips made her look sweet, guileless and totally innocent. Children were attracted to her.

So were men, but they tended to think that her naive expression somehow reflected her character. It didn’t.

Kate sighed again. Perhaps she was getting a little cynical. Her experiences with men hadn’t tended to be happy. And perhaps there were faint fatigue lines round the corners of her eyes.

After breakfast she walked briskly over to Aladdin Ward. There were the usual routine tasks and then, in the middle of the morning, a new child to be admitted.

Jamie Bartlett, a woebegone seven-year-old, clutched his mother with one hand and his teddy with the other. His parents looked as white-faced as Jamie did.

The family was met and welcomed by Judith Doyle, the senior registrar, with Kate discreetly in attendance.

The first few minutes were all important. If a child could be made to feel comfortable and happy in the little ward, then the treatment would be so much easier. Jamie’s mother was going to stay with him; she also had to be reassured.

While Judith took the parents for a coffee and a chat to explain what was happening Kate took Jamie’s hand and showed him round. This was where she excelled.

Children automatically liked and trusted her. She helped Jamie into his pyjamas, stuck his pictures on the wall and tucked Teddy up into bed. Then she stayed chatting until Judith came.

Jamie had already had a blood count and his white-cell count was so high that his GP was practically certain that he had leukaemia. However, a bone-marrow test     would offer more information and determine whether he was suffering from lymphoblastic leukaemia or the rarer and more dangerous myeloid form.

Judith started the long induction process. While Kate kept Jamie’s attention she carefully inserted a needle with a plastic tube attached into one of the veins on the back of Jamie’s hand. Then she withdrew the needle so that the catheter was in place for any drips or injections that might be needed. This was the first hurdle. Jamie’s lip trembled because it was quite a painful injection, but he didn’t cry. Both Judith and Kate felt relieved.

The rest of the battery of tests followed quickly. There were measurements of height and weight, specimens and swabs to be taken, temperature, pulse, blood pressure, a trip to have his chest X-rayed. His blood was tested twice. And all the time Kate had to reconcile the necessity of the tests with the fact that Jamie was a half-terrified small boy. It was absorbing, rewarding work but it was physically and emotionally draining.

Finally they were finished. Jamie was dozing in his new bed and a slightly reassured mother was lying on her bed nearby, watching as if the very intensity of her gaze would help cure her son. Kate took Judith back to the office for a coffee.

‘Thanks, Kate. I don’t know how, but you seem to make the work go easier. I wish all the nurses had your touch with the kids.’

Kate shrugged. ‘It’s just a question of taking time. If they know and trust you … no trouble.’

 ‘You make it sound simple. I’ve got two kids of my own and I know it’s not. Anyway …’ Judith yawned and stretched .’I’ve got somebody to . . .