My new redheaded friend was staring after Tom, looking slightly dazed. I knew the feeling.
‘Jesus,’ she muttered as he left the office. ‘I would walk through hellfire to drink his bathwater,andto top it all off he actually mends broken hearts for a living.’ I rolled my eyes, but fortunately she was still too focused on the door to notice. ‘Hey, this is cool,’ she continued, once she had snapped out of her Tom-induced lust-coma and turned her attention back to me. ‘I’m Dr Williams’ CT1, so we’ll both be working for interventionists. Think we’ll get to go to the cath lab?’
‘I sincerely hope not,’ I replied in horror. She gave me a questioning look. ‘Too much like theatre for me I’m afraid, and theatre and me donotmix.’ I had passed out in a variety of theatre situations in the past. It was a reaction to the heat of being in a gown and the claustrophobia I felt when I was scrubbed.
Thankfully during my surgical house job I had finally hit upon a way to prevent my pathetic swooning. Unfortunately, though, it involved taking off my socks before donning the theatre crocs, then taking my feet out to stand barefoot on the cool theatre floor once the surgery was in full swing. Although this prevented fainting, it also involved running the risk of my feet getting covered in blood and other gore, which happened more than once by the end of the tortuous six months. It was safe to say I would avoid the cardiac catheterization lab at all costs.
‘I’m Rosie by the way,’ Redheaded Girl put in as we turned to leave. I noticed that she, like Lou, had eschewed the standard core trainee uniform, and was immaculately turned out in a pencil skirt and pinstripe blouse.
‘Frankie,’ I replied, smiling at her. ‘Do you know how I get to CCU, Rosie?’
Luckily Rosie seemed to know the hospital like the back of her hand, having done most of her training there. She was only in the first year of her core medical rota but she already seemed pretty set on cardiology, and was scarily excited about starting this job. Having no interest in cardiology as a career myself, I couldn’t quite share her enthusiasm.
I found CCU more than a bit intimidating. It was relatively large, with beds running down each side, and a central area with note-trolleys, computers and monitors arranged around a large island. I approached one of the nurses when I arrived; she was skinny and blonde, with a sour face, and looked to be about my age.
‘Hi, I’m Frankie, new CT3,’ I told her, feeling nervous but still managing a small smile.
‘You Dr Longley’s junior?’ she snapped.
‘Um … yes. I’m looking for Dr Hadid?’ I noticed that she didn’t offer her name and I felt instantly homesick for the hospice. Maybe it was a bit weird to be homesick for a hospice, but I’d just spent six months working in one, and palliative care was my chosen specialty. In my opinion their atmosphere is a hundred times more warm and friendly than hospitals.
‘He’s not here yet,’ she replied. ‘But you could make yourself useful.’ I recognized the gleam in her eyes, and my heart sank. ‘There are four cannulas that need doing. Treatment room is over there.’
A cannula is a small flexible tube which you insert into a patient’s vein using a needle, and leave there so they can take medication and fluids directly into the bloodstream.
I knew that nurses on CCU could do cannulas. Doctors were only called if they were too difficult to insert, and the first patient she had pointed out to me was a young man with veins like drainpipes. But Papa always told me that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I could either argue with this nurse and lose (I was not the most skilled in confrontations), or just shrug and do the blinking cannulas, which would probably be quicker. I wanted to cruise these six months, keep my head down, and then get out, finally.
I gave her a bright smile.
‘Terrific,’ I said, like the prospect of stabbing people’s arms was the height of entertainment. ‘See you in a bit.’ Weirdly I caught a flash of surprise and hint of panic crossing her face as I turned to go.
I was busy putting the third cannula into a feisty eighty-two-year-old who, despite his crashing heart failure, seemed perfectly capable of a spot of flirting.
‘Once they unhook me, darling, I’ll show you around, seeing as you’re new to town,’ he informed me (slightly brokenly, as his breathing was laboured).
I smiled up at him in the bed whilst I secured a dressing over the cannula and attached the drip. ‘I’ll look forward to that, Bill.’
‘Surprised a pretty nurse like you hasn’t been snapped up by one of these docs.’
I laughed and didn’t bother to correct his assumption. Lots of people made this mistake, and I was partly to blame, as I always introduced myself as Frankie and not Dr Rossetti.
‘Nobody’s rushing to snap me up, Bill, believe me,’ I told him. ‘But don’t worry, I have a plan. I’m going to get myself some ferrets, start with one or two and then breed them – bit more original than cats. People will know me as the mad ferret lady in my old age.’ Bill was wheezing and trying to laugh at the same time, and the sound was slightly alarming.
‘What is going on here?’ I heard a deep voice with a slight Arabic accent say from behind me. Spinning around, I was confronted by a beautiful, tall, lean, olive-skinned man standing at the foot of the bed. His dark eyes looked angry.
‘Dr Hadid?’ I asked, and he nodded, extending his hand.
‘My name’s Ashraf, Ash for short. You must be Frankie. Welcome to the team.’ I smiled at him and his face softened. ‘Frankie, can I ask why you are cannulating half the ward?’ Shrugging, I noticed the skinny blonde nurse scurrying away into the treatment room. Ash gave a short nod.
‘Wait here,’ he said, and stormed in the direction of the ward sister. I could see Skinny Blonde poking her head out looking slightly sick. She had obviously expected me to argue and refuse to do the cannulas, not happily whizz round and do them all in fifteen minutes. So now she was going to get in trouble with the sister, who looked pretty intimidating. I took a deep breath, shook off my shyness, trotted after Ash and put my hand lightly on his arm to stop him.
‘Hey, stand down, big guy,’ I said softly. ‘I volunteered, okay, no drama.’ Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blondey give me a relieved smile and mouth ‘Thank you.’ The sister was also looking at me approvingly, having heard our exchange. It looked like I had made a couple of useful allies.
Ash (who had taken all this in) turned to me and smiled. Crikey. Ash smiling was drool-worthy.
‘ “Wisdom is the anticipation of consequences,” ’ he proclaimed.
‘Oh … kay,’ I said slowly, a bit confused.
