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Authors: Maggie Bennett
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twice daily dose of methyldopa to slow her down, keep her in bed and control her blood pressure.’
‘I’ll speak to Mr Kydd tomorrow,’ said Shelagh briefly, irritated by the sister’s self-assumed role of diagnostician and prescriber of medicine.
‘And let’s get an intravenous pyelogram done before the old man’s ward round on Thursday,’ added McDowall. ‘Can you book one for tomorrow morning, Tanya?’
‘An IVP? – when we try to avoid X-raying pregnant women?’ Shelagh queried.
‘Do you want me to try to get one done tomorrow, Leigh?’ asked Tanya, ignoring her. ‘If we say it’s urgent, they’ll probably fit her in.’
‘Yeah, speak to them in your most seductive tones, Tanya,’ he grinned.
‘Whatever for? There aren’t any signs of renal failure,’ objected Shelagh.
‘I think there may be more to Trish’s problems than meets the eye,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Just a hunch. Put her on four-hourly temperature as well as blood pressure, and a fluid balance chart. We’ll see if anything comes up. All right by you, Dr Hammond?’
She nodded assent, hardly able to contradict a medical registrar, and she knew that Mr Kydd respected his opinions. But the smile exchanged between him and Tanya infuriated her.
‘Good. Then I’ll go over to Gynae,’ she said, and as she walked away she could hear them conversing in low, intimate tones. Such damned lovebirds were no asset on the team!
On Gynaecology her mother had wonderful news. ‘Shelagh – oh, Shelagh me girl, wait till I tell ye! I’ve had a letter sent here from me sister Maura, and what d’ye think she says? She’s comin’ over to stay for a bit – isn’t that grand? Just till I get back on me feet, like. It’ll save ye a lot o’ worry, Shelagh, bein’ as busy as ye are!’
Shelagh was moved to see how her mother’s pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at the prospect of seeing her sister again and being reunited after so long. At least
some
good had come out of this sad situation.
‘I’ve just got to show you this cutting from the
Daily Mail
, Phyllis,’ said Mary Whittaker over coffee. She took from her handbag a full-page story headed
Our Little Princess
, which showed a fortyish couple looking fondly upon a little girl of about four, holding a pet rabbit.
‘This couple suffered disappointment year after year, Phyllis, and then they saw a documentary on TV about the number of children in care due to neglect – alcoholic parents, fathers in prison, all kinds of social deprivation – and there was a social worker looking for couples wanting to adopt or foster with a view to adoption. This middle-aged couple agreed to enquire further, and look, they’ve got this little girl, they’ve called her Sally, and they’re
so
happy – look at the picture, isn’t she a little sweetie? Phyllis, call me an interfering old busybody, but my dear, this is what your Jenny and Tim should do, give a good home to a child who needs one.’
‘I’d never call you an interfering busybody, Mary, but – Tim’s parents are dead against adoption. They say you don’t know what you’re getting, and they don’t think they could ever love a child that wasn’t Tim’s actual son or daughter,’ said Phyllis sadly.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about Tim’s parents, but they have no right whatsoever to inflict their opinions on a young couple like your Jenny and Tim,’ said Mary Whittaker firmly. ‘As for not knowing what you’re getting, do
any
of us know how our children aregoing to turn out? Look at poor Jeremy North and
their
three – the elder girl has presented them with a fatherless child, the boy – or rather man – has been thrown out by his wife for drinking, so he doesn’t see his child at all, and I hear the younger girl has become so out of control that Jeremy’s sent her to stay with his sister and brother-in-law, just to get her out of Everham for a bit. No, Phyllis, you show this to Jenny, make her read it, and
‘I’ll speak to Mr Kydd tomorrow,’ said Shelagh briefly, irritated by the sister’s self-assumed role of diagnostician and prescriber of medicine.
‘And let’s get an intravenous pyelogram done before the old man’s ward round on Thursday,’ added McDowall. ‘Can you book one for tomorrow morning, Tanya?’
‘An IVP? – when we try to avoid X-raying pregnant women?’ Shelagh queried.
‘Do you want me to try to get one done tomorrow, Leigh?’ asked Tanya, ignoring her. ‘If we say it’s urgent, they’ll probably fit her in.’
‘Yeah, speak to them in your most seductive tones, Tanya,’ he grinned.
‘Whatever for? There aren’t any signs of renal failure,’ objected Shelagh.
‘I think there may be more to Trish’s problems than meets the eye,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Just a hunch. Put her on four-hourly temperature as well as blood pressure, and a fluid balance chart. We’ll see if anything comes up. All right by you, Dr Hammond?’
She nodded assent, hardly able to contradict a medical registrar, and she knew that Mr Kydd respected his opinions. But the smile exchanged between him and Tanya infuriated her.
‘Good. Then I’ll go over to Gynae,’ she said, and as she walked away she could hear them conversing in low, intimate tones. Such damned lovebirds were no asset on the team!
On Gynaecology her mother had wonderful news. ‘Shelagh – oh, Shelagh me girl, wait till I tell ye! I’ve had a letter sent here from me sister Maura, and what d’ye think she says? She’s comin’ over to stay for a bit – isn’t that grand? Just till I get back on me feet, like. It’ll save ye a lot o’ worry, Shelagh, bein’ as busy as ye are!’
Shelagh was moved to see how her mother’s pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at the prospect of seeing her sister again and being reunited after so long. At least
some
good had come out of this sad situation.
‘I’ve just got to show you this cutting from the
Daily Mail
, Phyllis,’ said Mary Whittaker over coffee. She took from her handbag a full-page story headed
Our Little Princess
, which showed a fortyish couple looking fondly upon a little girl of about four, holding a pet rabbit.
‘This couple suffered disappointment year after year, Phyllis, and then they saw a documentary on TV about the number of children in care due to neglect – alcoholic parents, fathers in prison, all kinds of social deprivation – and there was a social worker looking for couples wanting to adopt or foster with a view to adoption. This middle-aged couple agreed to enquire further, and look, they’ve got this little girl, they’ve called her Sally, and they’re
so
happy – look at the picture, isn’t she a little sweetie? Phyllis, call me an interfering old busybody, but my dear, this is what your Jenny and Tim should do, give a good home to a child who needs one.’
‘I’d never call you an interfering busybody, Mary, but – Tim’s parents are dead against adoption. They say you don’t know what you’re getting, and they don’t think they could ever love a child that wasn’t Tim’s actual son or daughter,’ said Phyllis sadly.
‘Listen, I’m sorry about Tim’s parents, but they have no right whatsoever to inflict their opinions on a young couple like your Jenny and Tim,’ said Mary Whittaker firmly. ‘As for not knowing what you’re getting, do
any
of us know how our children aregoing to turn out? Look at poor Jeremy North and
their
three – the elder girl has presented them with a fatherless child, the boy – or rather man – has been thrown out by his wife for drinking, so he doesn’t see his child at all, and I hear the younger girl has become so out of control that Jeremy’s sent her to stay with his sister and brother-in-law, just to get her out of Everham for a bit. No, Phyllis, you show this to Jenny, make her read it, and
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