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Authors: Gill Sanderson
Tags: Medical
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obvious faults.’
‘He was the father of the child you didn’t have? Your miscarriage?’
‘He was. He seemed to take the miscarriage well, didn’t show many signs of grief. At the time I thought he was being strong for both of us. Later I decided…he was relieved.’
Alice made herself lie back in her chair and relax, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Ben caught her mood, realised she didn’t want him to speak.
‘Sean was very good-looking, apparently good at his job and I was besotted with him. And both of us were very busy. Perhaps that was why I never really discovered what he was like. Anyway…I was working on a children’s ward, he was there with me. A child had an epileptic fit. There was a new drug that had just come onstream. Sean said we’d try it, sent me for it then held the child and told me to inject fifty mil of it. And I did. As I said, we were very busy so I did as I was told, which meant I didn’t follow protocol and enter the dose in the child’s notes. Sean said he’d do it.’
This was the hard bit. Alice realised she had leanedforward in her chair, was gripping the arms so tightly that her fingers were white. But she saw Ben’s face, his expression calm and yet sympathetic—and it gave her strength. She leaned back again.
‘The child calmed at once and Sean left the ward. Five minutes later the child was having much worse convulsions—so bad that I didn’t call Sean, I sent for the consultant. He was horrified.’
Somehow she had to calm herself. But the tears ran unchecked down her face. ‘The child was brain-damaged and the parents sued the hospital. It was the drug that was the problem—I should have injected ten mil, not fifty. Sean swore that he had told me ten mil. And when we looked at the notes that he had filled in, it did say ten mil. He had filled in the notes while I was still on the ward! Protecting himself!
‘And, Ben, sometimes at night I dream of that poor little child. I remember the convulsions and I wake up feeling guilty. I should have checked the dose! It was my job, not Sean’s.’
‘No, it wasn’t your job and you know that! Alice, you did nothing wrong!’
Now, as always, she was angry. ‘He appeared sympathetic. But he told everyone that he knew I was overtired, said he knew I had been suffering because of the miscarriage, he had been worried about my behaviour for a while. I had just made a mistake and part of the blame was his because he should have acted on this. I said I hadn’t made a mistake. But who do you believe—a concerned senior doctor or an overtired nurse? I was known to be good but he was senior. Nurses can makemistakes, registrars do not. There was an inquiry and I was found to have been at fault. I was told quietly not to make too much of a fuss, it could only do my career harm. I was reprimanded, he was let off. I had trusted him, both as a medical colleague and as my lover. So much for trust! I felt betrayed, both by the hospital system and by Sean. And one poor little mite was brain-damaged. Can you imagine what it feels like to be blamed for that?’
And then, as it always did, the anger passed. All that was left was deep sadness. ‘The parents were very good. They sued but they weren’t angry at me. And they said that Sean had been a great comfort to them. Sean, a comfort! That did hurt.’
Her story was more or less over and she fell silent. After a while, Ben asked, ‘So you came to Scotland looking for a sanctuary?’
‘Yes. Just for a year. I did have one friend, a consultant who believed in me. He told me that there was nothing that could be done now, to go away for a year and there would be a job waiting for me when I came back. I’m looking forward to that.’
‘Soalay will heal you,’ Ben said. ‘When I saw you first, on the ferry, you looked…wounded. And wary. As if you could trust nobody.’
‘I was wary and I still am. I needed a haven, somewhere where I could work in peace—and where I
‘He was the father of the child you didn’t have? Your miscarriage?’
‘He was. He seemed to take the miscarriage well, didn’t show many signs of grief. At the time I thought he was being strong for both of us. Later I decided…he was relieved.’
Alice made herself lie back in her chair and relax, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Ben caught her mood, realised she didn’t want him to speak.
‘Sean was very good-looking, apparently good at his job and I was besotted with him. And both of us were very busy. Perhaps that was why I never really discovered what he was like. Anyway…I was working on a children’s ward, he was there with me. A child had an epileptic fit. There was a new drug that had just come onstream. Sean said we’d try it, sent me for it then held the child and told me to inject fifty mil of it. And I did. As I said, we were very busy so I did as I was told, which meant I didn’t follow protocol and enter the dose in the child’s notes. Sean said he’d do it.’
This was the hard bit. Alice realised she had leanedforward in her chair, was gripping the arms so tightly that her fingers were white. But she saw Ben’s face, his expression calm and yet sympathetic—and it gave her strength. She leaned back again.
‘The child calmed at once and Sean left the ward. Five minutes later the child was having much worse convulsions—so bad that I didn’t call Sean, I sent for the consultant. He was horrified.’
Somehow she had to calm herself. But the tears ran unchecked down her face. ‘The child was brain-damaged and the parents sued the hospital. It was the drug that was the problem—I should have injected ten mil, not fifty. Sean swore that he had told me ten mil. And when we looked at the notes that he had filled in, it did say ten mil. He had filled in the notes while I was still on the ward! Protecting himself!
‘And, Ben, sometimes at night I dream of that poor little child. I remember the convulsions and I wake up feeling guilty. I should have checked the dose! It was my job, not Sean’s.’
‘No, it wasn’t your job and you know that! Alice, you did nothing wrong!’
Now, as always, she was angry. ‘He appeared sympathetic. But he told everyone that he knew I was overtired, said he knew I had been suffering because of the miscarriage, he had been worried about my behaviour for a while. I had just made a mistake and part of the blame was his because he should have acted on this. I said I hadn’t made a mistake. But who do you believe—a concerned senior doctor or an overtired nurse? I was known to be good but he was senior. Nurses can makemistakes, registrars do not. There was an inquiry and I was found to have been at fault. I was told quietly not to make too much of a fuss, it could only do my career harm. I was reprimanded, he was let off. I had trusted him, both as a medical colleague and as my lover. So much for trust! I felt betrayed, both by the hospital system and by Sean. And one poor little mite was brain-damaged. Can you imagine what it feels like to be blamed for that?’
And then, as it always did, the anger passed. All that was left was deep sadness. ‘The parents were very good. They sued but they weren’t angry at me. And they said that Sean had been a great comfort to them. Sean, a comfort! That did hurt.’
Her story was more or less over and she fell silent. After a while, Ben asked, ‘So you came to Scotland looking for a sanctuary?’
‘Yes. Just for a year. I did have one friend, a consultant who believed in me. He told me that there was nothing that could be done now, to go away for a year and there would be a job waiting for me when I came back. I’m looking forward to that.’
‘Soalay will heal you,’ Ben said. ‘When I saw you first, on the ferry, you looked…wounded. And wary. As if you could trust nobody.’
‘I was wary and I still am. I needed a haven, somewhere where I could work in peace—and where I
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