Lakeland Nurse

Book 10: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

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

Synopsis

She had dreams?and he had secrets? Nurse Zanne Ripley was devastated to discover that her application to go to medical school had been unsuccessful- and all because of Dr Neil Calder. He?d taken an instant dislike to her at her interview, and now she had to work side by side with him at the Mountain Activities centre in the Lake District! But his charm soon broke down Zanne?s defences, and she knew she was falling in love. But Neil had a secret and devastating plan which could all but destroy Zanne?

Release date: August 1, 2013

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 144

Sample

Chapter One

For Zanne the day had started with a shock.

When she’d come down that morning her mother had, as usual, made breakfast for her. Zanne had long ago given up arguing; her mother said that she was perfectly able to cook in her own kitchen now that it had been specially adapted for wheelchair use. Besides, it kept her active and Elizabeth Ripley hated not to be busy.

But that wasn’t the shock. ‘You’re doing what?’ Zanne asked incredulously.

Elizabeth smiled. ‘I’m going to Canada for six months. Joe’s brother’s family have invited him over to stay, and he’s said he’ll go if he can bring me.’

‘But how will you …? Just the two of you … I mean you’re not …’

Elizabeth’s bright blue eyes sparkled. ‘It’s mothers who are supposed to say that to daughters, not the other way round,’ she said mischievously. ‘It’ll all be perfectly proper; we’re going to get married. How d’you fancy being a bridesmaid?’  

‘Oh, Mum!’ With tears in her eyes, Zanne leaned over the steel arm of the wheelchair and hugged her mother’s erect figure. ‘I think it’s wonderful!’

Her mother had met Joe Oldham two years ago when he’d come to the wheelchair dancing club that she had set up. Like Elizabeth, Joe had found himself confined to a wheelchair after a fall. Again, like her, he had determined not to let it ruin his life. He’d kept his garage business going and had a car specially adapted so that he could still drive.

Zanne had noticed that the two had been seeing quite a lot of each other, visiting theatres, concerts, and restaurants, but she hadn’t realised that things had gone this far.

 ‘I think Joe’s a marvellous man.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Someday I hope you do as well, my dear. Marry a man like Joe, I mean. When your father died, and you were so small, I doubted that I’d ever look at another man. But I have and I’m happy. Now –’ Elizabeth pointed at the plate ‘– eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for work!’

 ‘I hope Joe knows what a slave-driver he’s marrying!’ Zanne grinned and picked up her knife and fork.

An hour later her delight was still with her, but tucked away in the back of her mind. Time to start work on Ward 17 – Male Orthopaedics. As ever, there was that feeling of exhilaration and anticipation. What would the day bring?

 The first thing she saw as she hurried down the corridor was Mickey Dent, a seventeen-year-old clad in jeans and a lurid T-shirt. Mickey was making slow but definite progress on his crutches.

‘How about this, Zanne?’ he shouted as she drew near. ‘Another twenty feet travelled today.’

 ‘You’re doing well, Mickey,’ she replied, ‘but don’t push too hard. Stick to what the doctor says you are to do and you’ll be out quicker.’

‘That’s me. I’m bored stiff here; I want to get back to work. Don’t forget, you promised to come out with me on my bike when I can walk.’

‘I did no such thing!’ she protested, smiling. Mickey and his motorbike had hit a kerb at seventy miles an hour. The bike was, unfortunately, undamaged. Mickey had been knocked unconscious, had suffered abrasions to his upper torso and had sustained comminuted fractures to both tibia and fibula. It had taken a long, patient session in Theatre before Mickey’s bones had been put together adequately.

‘I’ll come for a ride with you if you buy a car,’ she offered.

‘Ah, Zanne, you sound just like my ma.’

Zanne grinned. One of the good things about working on an orthopaedic ward was that she often saw impressive results. She remembered seeing the X-rays of Mickey’s leg and thinking that no surgeon could ever put it together. But one had.

Mickey, surprisingly, had been a model patient, suffering obvious pain with fortitude and never trying to take his misery out on the staff. She wished that all patients could be like him. She also wished that he would sell his bike.

‘Morning, Zanne,’ her friend, Sister Mary Kelly, said. ‘We’re one short again. Student nurse off with flu.’

Zanne grimaced. There was never enough cover. If a nurse was off then the rest of the staff would have to work harder. ‘We’ll cope,’ she said. ‘Tell  –’ she broke off as the buzzer sounded. They both looked at the board.

Beside every bed there was an emergency buzzer, which signalled in the sister’s office. Most patients used it with consideration, knowing that the staff was hard pressed. Some did not.

       ‘Edgar Grant,’ Mary said. ‘We both know there’s nothing wrong with him.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Zanne. ‘Let’s see what Edgar is bored with now.’ Edgar Grant had tripped, coming out of a pub, late one night. He was half-drunk. He had fallen, stiff- armed, and had suffered a fracture of the left humerus. After reduction, the surgeon had put the arm in traction.

Edgar wasn’t in any pain but the traction was inconvenient and Edgar didn’t like being inconvenienced.

‘Nurse, this sling is causing me no end of pain. Can’t you do anything with it?’ In fact, there was nothing that Zanne could do because she knew that he had no pain. However, she rearranged her patient so that he would suffer minimum irritation, tidied his bed and smoothed his pillow.

‘If you can just lie like this, Mr Grant, you should find things get easier.’

‘I hope so. My solicitor’s coming to see me this afternoon, Nurse. We’re going to sue, you know.’ Mr Grant smiled self-importantly. ‘People don’t fool with me.’

‘I’m sure they don’t, Mr Grant.’ Zanne fled.

‘Sometimes I think I’d like to transfer to gynae,’ Zanne grumbled to Mary as they reviewed the day’s work. ‘The mums have something to occupy their minds – new babies. The trouble with this ward is that everyone gets bored.’

‘That’s Orthopaedics,’ Mary agreed philosophically. ‘What we need is more ill people.’

It was a problem on their ward. Many of their patients weren’t actually ill – they’d just broken bones and so had to lie still. And some, especially the younger ones, didn’t have the inner resources to cope, so they took it out on the staff. Zanne and Mary had learned to deal with this. Their little grumble wasn’t serious – it was just a way of dealing with the pressure.

After breakfast there was the drug round. Mostly the patients needed painkillers – though some needed treatment for conditions other than broken bones. This was a good chance for Zanne to have a friendly word with everybody. She noticed as she passed Mr Grant that he was no longer lying in the position she had suggested.

Then there were dressings and inspection for bedsores. Because patients had to lie still so long bedsores were a particular danger in this ward. Zanne rubbed a couple of suspect areas with lanolin cream, ordered pads for a pensioner’s spine and elbow and put a granuflex patch on a sore coccyx. They had just one patient on an airflow bed and she gently checked his condition. He was comfortable.

‘Staff, could you help me with Mr Aston, please?’ An occupational therapist appeared behind Zanne. ‘He seems a bit reluctant.’

 Mr Aston was another pensioner who had just had a hip replacement. This was to be his first attempt at putting weight on his new joint. Zanne appreciated his concern – it didn’t seem long since he had been in Theatre.

Carefully the two manoeuvred him so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then they eased him upright. He was obviously nervous, but Zanne encouraged him. ‘We don’t want you going for a run, Mr Aston – at least not yet. Now, we’re just going to let go of you – don’t worry, we’re right here. OK? How does that feel?’  

A great smile spread over the old man’s face. ‘It doesn’t feel too bad nurse – not too bad at all.’

‘We’ll have you in a marathon yet. But, now, just a couple of steps and then back into bed.’

Occasions like seeing Mr Aston smile made Zanne’s job worthwhile.

In the middle of the morning there was a new admission, one that Zanne had been dreading. Jimmy Prenton, aged sixteen, came in with his mother. He had osteosarcoma of the lower end of the femur. Bone cancer. Zanne knew that the limb would have to be amputated and then there would be a programme of cytotoxic drugs to inhibit any possible spreading of the cancer. Even so, the prognosis wasn’t good.

She completed the necessary admissions procedure, noting Jimmy’s valiant attempt to keep cheerful. Then she took his mother to the sister’s office for a talk.

They would be seeing a lot of each other.

It had been a hard morning but satisfying – typical, in fact. At lunchtime she decided not to go to the canteen. She would have a coffee and a biscuit in the sister’s office. She slipped off her shoes and rested her feet on Mary’s chair.

There was a knock on the door; her heart sank. If you were in the office you were on duty. It was her own fault; she should have gone to the canteen. Then the door opened and a blond head and handsome face appeared. Zanne’s heart lurched a little. It was Charles – never Charlie – Hurst. He was, she supposed, her boyfriend. Charles was a stickler for proprieties on the ward and right now his unsmiling face indicated that he was being a doctor, not a lover.

‘Ah, Staff. Having a coffee, I see.’ It was curt and unnecessary; he knew that this was her lunch-break.

But she’d learned to live with his little ways.

However, she was careful not to rise or put her feet down. ‘Can I help you, Dr Hurst?’

‘We’ve come to see Lewis Ellis. Could you get his case notes?’

 Just for a moment she was tempted to say ‘when I’ve finished my coffee’ but she didn’t. She found the notes and stepped into the corridor.

Lewis Ellis was a young man of eighteen, a fanatical keep-fit enthusiast. He was a runner and a weight-trainer. He’d been running when a car, driven by two joy-riders, had smashed into him. His leg had been broken and was now in traction.

There was another man in the corridor, also in a white coat. Zanne looked at him and then turned and looked at Charles until he was forced to mutter, ‘This is Dr Calder, Staff. He’s interested in Ellis’s case.’

Since this appeared to be the only introduction that Zanne was likely to get she extended her hand and said, ‘Staff Nurse Ripley. Pleased to meet you, Dr Calder.’

He had a firm, but not brutal, grip. A tiny quirk at the side of his mouth indicated that he had noted the byplay between her and Charles.

For a moment Zanne stood and looked at the two men in front of her. Charles was fairly tall; Calder was taller. Charles’s blond hair was burnished and carefully cut; Calder had short, dark hair and a widow’s peak. Charles was fantastically good-looking  – had he been a woman he would have been called beautiful. Calder’s face was striking, rather than handsome. He had high cheek-bones, heavy brows and a muscular jaw. His lips were tight, and only his grey eyes hinted at humour or softness.

Perhaps it was the set of his shoulders or the directness of his unsmiling gaze, but there was an aura of hardness about him. This man would get what he wanted.            Certainly he appeared to dominate Charles.

With a jerk she realised that he’d just spoken to her.

His voice was what she might have guessed – deep and controlled. And musical. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch-break, Staff, and I know you’re busy. But if it would be possible to look through the notes and then have a word with this young man, I’d be very grateful.’

 ‘There’s no need for you to come down, Staff,’ Charles put in.

That’s me put in my place, she thought.

But Dr Calder said, ‘I have a couple of questions which a nurse can answer best, if you don’t mind. How is this young man coping with missing his exercises?’      

‘With great difficulty. He hates to be still. He worked out some arm and chest exercises, but we had to stop him doing them as we thought he was shaking his leg.

‘When we told him he was slowing his rate of recovery he stopped at once. Now he spends all his time thinking about what he’s going to do to the two joy-riders who knocked him down. I hope it’s all fantasy.’

Dr Calder smiled and it altered his face completely. The forbidding look disappeared and there was some-one who was – well, very attractive.

Zanne hoped that he might be coming to work on her ward.

‘Would you say that his rate of recovery is faster than, say, a non-exercising youth?’

‘Definitely. Not only has he a very positive attitude but his body seems to heal more quickly.’

 ‘That’s very interesting. Thank you, Staff.’ This time she was dismissed. She wondered who he was. He didn’t seem like a doctor, which she knew was silly. It was something to do with the way he walked.

She watched the two talking to Lewis Ellis and wondered what they wanted. She thought that Charles might have managed to have a quick private word with her, but he didn’t.

When the two had gone she walked over to talk to Lewis.

‘Nice chap, that Dr Calder,’ Lewis said. ‘Knows an awful lot about exercise. Said he’d look up some breathing exercises I could do, and suggest them to the Consultant.’

‘Good of him,’ Zanne said, ‘Did you …’

‘Staff, Mr Grant wants you – urgently.’ It was the student nurse.

‘I’ll bet he does,’ groaned Zanne, and strode away.

At half past two that afternoon Mary poked her head round the curtains of a bed and had to order Zanne to leave. ‘You’ll barely have time to change, as it is. And, Zanne – ’ Mary winked merrily ‘ – you can do it. I know you’ve got it in you.’

‘I don’t know, Mary, I really don’t. But I’m going to try.’ Zanne swept her long-legged way down the ward, forcing herself to ignore the controlled urgency around her. Just for once she had to think solely of herself.

  In the little cloakroom she wriggled out of the blue uniform and kicked off the sensible pumps. She only had time for the shortest of showers, and then from her locker she took a crisp . . .