Assignment: Single Father

‘Pretty much.’

He paused, then said cautiously, ‘May I ask why?’

No, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Instead she shrugged. He had to know, in case it happened again. ‘It just happened one day. I just froze up,’ she said bluntly. ‘I suppose if you want a technical term for it, you could call it burnout. Whatever, I couldn’t do it any more, and after a few days, I had to stop.’

He nodded his understanding. ‘I’m sorry, that’s tough. It does happen, though. In all branches of medicine, I suppose, but especially on the front line. Sometimes it just gets too much, doesn’t it?’ he said, and suddenly she found herself telling him all about it, about the blood and the waste of life and the endless failures, day after day, even though it was never their fault.

‘We had a run of fatalities,’ she told him. ‘One after another, all young, all foolish, all so unnecessary. I just realised between one patient and the next that I couldn’t go and talk to another set of bereaved parents and try and make sense of it for them where none could be made. I just couldn’t do it any more.’

‘So what happened?’

‘My boss sent me home, but the next day wasn’t any better, or the one after that, so he told me to go away and think about it, and he’d have me back when I was sorted, if ever. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to go back, though. It’s only ten days ago, but it feels like a lifetime, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again. And now I just feel so lost. I thought I knew what I was doing with my life, and now suddenly I don’t, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.’

She shrugged again, just a tiny shift of her shoulders, but he must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye because he shot her an understanding smile.

‘It’s hard when everything seems to be going smoothly and then fate throws a spanner in the works. I know all about that and the effect it can have on you.’

She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Oh, what an idiot! ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s nothing like as bad as what’s happened to you and your children, and I didn’t mean to imply—’

‘You didn’t. It was me that drew the parallel, and it does exist. In my case it was a bit more dramatic, but yours is no less valid. Life-changing moments are usually pretty drastic, by definition. Let’s just hope we aren’t going to find one here.’

He swung into a driveway and cut the engine, and Fran followed him up the path of a neat little bungalow. The front door was open by the time they reached it, and the elderly woman waiting for them was wringing her hands with worry.

‘Oh, Dr Giraud,’ she said, clutching his arm. ‘Oh, he’s worse. He looks all grey and waxy—come in.’

Fran followed them down the hall to a bedroom at the back. An elderly man was lying in bed, his skin every bit as grey and waxy as Mrs Donaldson had said, and Fran took one look at him and her heart sank. He was obviously hypovolaemic and shocky, and his condition was all too familiar.

Please, no, she thought. Don’t let him bleed to death. Not the first patient I’m involved with.

‘Mr Donaldson, tell me about the pain,’ Dr Giraud said, quickly taking his blood pressure and pulse, scanning him with eyes that Fran sensed missed nothing.

‘It’s just here,’ he said, pointing to his midsection. ‘So sore. It’s been getting worse for days.’

‘Any change in bowel habits? Change of colour of stools?’

‘Black,’ he said weakly. ‘I read about that somewhere. That’s blood, isn’t it?’

Xavier nodded. ‘Could well be. I think you’ve got a little bleed going on in there. Fran, could you get a line in for me?’ he asked, turning towards her and giving her a reassuring smile. ‘A large-bore cannula and saline to start. I’m going to phone the ambulance station and bring the oxygen in from the car. Are you OK to do that?’

‘Sure,’ she said, quelling her doubts, and found the necessary equipment in his bag. Part of her interview, or just another pair of qualified hands? Whatever, within moments the line was in, she was running in the saline almost flat out and checking his blood pressure again with the portable electronic monitor.

‘What is it?’ Xavier asked, coming back in just as the cuff sighed and deflated automatically.

‘Ninety over fifty-two.’ It had been ninety over fifty-six before, she’d noticed, so it was falling too fast for comfort.

He frowned. ‘OK, I’ve told them to have some O-neg standing by. We’d better take some blood for cross-matching and a whole battery of other tests while we wait for the ambulance, because once they start the transfusion it’ll be useless. Could you do that for me? There are bottles in my bag.’

He turned to the patient. ‘Right, Mr Donaldson, let’s put this mask on your face and give you some oxygen, it’ll help you breathe more easily.’

Once that was done he sat on the edge of the bed and explained to them what was happening and what Fran was doing.

‘The ambulance is on its way—Mrs Donaldson, could you find him some pyjamas and wash things to take with him? They’ll be here in a minute and you don’t want to hold them up.’

‘Of course not. I’ll get everything ready.’

She started going through drawers, clearly flustered and panicked, and Mr Donaldson watched her worriedly.

‘Betty, not those, the blue ones,’ he said as she pulled out his pyjamas, and while he was distracted Fran caught Xavier’s eye.

‘I’ll check his BP again,’ he murmured, and while she labelled her blood bottles he repeated the test. It was eighty-seven over forty-eight, and he winced almost imperceptibly. Only a slight drop, but in a very short time, she thought, so the fluids weren’t holding him stable.

‘Open it right up,’ he said quietly, indicating the saline with a slight movement of his head. ‘I’ll call the ambulance station again, ask them to hurry. I’ve spoken to the surgical reg on call and told him to stand by, but there’s not much else we can do here.’

An endless five minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Mr Donaldson and his worried wife were whisked away, leaving Fran and Xavier standing on the drive watching them go.

They didn’t speak. There was nothing much to say. They both knew it was touch and go, and Mr Donaldson was already weakened from the slow and steady blood loss he’d suffered over the last few days.

Reaction set in, and Fran’s legs started to tremble. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but once they were in the car and driving back towards Woodbridge, Xavier shot her a weary smile.

‘Bit close for comfort, eh?’ he said softly, and she swallowed and nodded.

‘I thought it would be easier—less cutting edge.’

‘It is—or your part of it is under normal circumstances. Don’t forget, you wouldn’t usually have been there. Still, I’m glad you were with me. I needed that extra pair of hands, and you got the line in amazingly fast considering his low pressure. Thanks for that. Thanks for all your help, in fact, you were great.’

Odd, how those few words of praise and thanks could make her feel so very much better. She’d done nothing she hadn’t done hundreds of times before, but to have gained his approval was somehow extraordinarily uplifting.

She put Mr Donaldson firmly to the back of her mind, settled back against the seat and let the tension drain away. ‘So where to now?’ she asked after a minute.

‘My house. We can have coffee without interruption, I can show you the accommodation which goes with the job and if we get really lucky we might even find time for some lunch.’

‘Sounds good,’ she said, realising she was starving hungry.

‘And then,’ he added with a grin, ‘if I still haven’t managed to put you off, you can meet the children.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE house was wonderful. It was situated in one of the best parts of town, the gateway set in a high brick wall, and as Xavier swung in off the road, Fran’s breath caught in her throat.

The house was Georgian, built of old Suffolk White bricks that had mellowed to a soft greyish cream, and with a typically Georgian observance of symmetry it had a porticoed front door in the centre and tall windows each side. Across the upper floor, just like a child’s drawing, were three more windows nestled under the broad eaves of the pitched and hipped roof, but unlike a child’s drawing the proportions were perfect.

Despite the elegance of the house, it wasn’t so grand that it was intimidating. It looked homely and welcoming, the garden a little on the wild side, and the fanlight over the front door was echoed in the sweep of gravel in front of the house on which he came to rest.

One thing was sure, she realised. It might not be intimidatingly grand, but he hadn’t bought this house on a doctor’s salary, not unless he had a thriving and possibly illegal private practice!

He ushered her through the door into a light and gracious entrance hall, and Fran tried to keep her mouth shut so her chin didn’t trail on the ground. It was gorgeous.

The floor was laid in a diamond chequer-pattern of black and white tiles, and on the far side the staircase rose in a graceful curve across a huge window that soared up to the ceiling on the upper floor.