had given one to one care to Jack running up the corridor. Instantly, Fionnuala felt a shiver run down her spine. There was only one reason why it was acceptable for a nurse to run at full pelt down a hospital ward and they all knew what it was. Fionnuala threw open the office door, as Nurse Sands’ voice screamed, ‘Get the crash team, he’s arrested!’
‘Holy Mother,’ said Sister Joyce under her breath. ‘A sixteen-year-old lad on Christmas morning,’ and within seconds she was on the telephone and dialling 111, the shortest dial and the emergency number of the hospital switchboard.
‘Send the on-call doctors,’ she said, in a voice which betrayed not a shred of her dismay or concern. ‘It’s a cardiac arrest on ward two.’
Fionnuala and Helen ran down the ward and bustled Joe and the tea trolley to one side, then Sister Joyce opened and fastened back the ward doors wide, to make room for the on-call medical team and to clear a straight run through and down the ward to the one little room which was used for the sickest of patients.
Fionnuala was the first in to join the exhausted night nurse. It was only her second cardiac arrest since beginning her nurse training. The first had been on a post-operative man in his late seventies. The fact that this was such a young boy made her more nervous than she otherwise would have been.
‘Get the foot of the bed off,’ barked the night nurse, as she removed the pillows from under the young boy’s head and threw them outside the curtains.
Helen had both hands on the footboard and now she lifted it clear with one tug, and carefully manoeuvred her way out through the curtains with it.
‘Here, help me,’ the nurse said to Fionnuala, as she climbed onto the bed with one knee and placed her hands under the heavy bed head. Fionnuala copied her and did the same on the other side, but the bed head refused to move.
‘Just what we need now,’ said Nurse Sands. ‘Let’s do it together. Are you ready? On three – one… two… three.’
And with that combined effort, the bed head lifted clear from the frame and banged against the wall, the weight of it almost pulling both of them off the end of the bed. In a second, both Fionnuala and Nurse Sands were on the floor at the side of the bed.
‘Ready, Nurse Windsor, brake off.’
‘Yes, Nurse Sands,’ Helen replied. ‘Right, let’s go.’
The three of them moved the bed into the middle of the room, so as to give the doctors some space at the head of the bed when they arrived, and as Helen slammed the brake on at the foot of the bed, Nurse Sands said to Fionnuala, ‘You start, I’ll do mouth to mouth.’
Fionnuala immediately lifted her raised fist, gave one hard thump on the young boy’s sternum and began to compress his chest up and down. The three nurses counted out loud together.
‘Where the hell are the doctors?’ Nurse Sands said out loud, after her second bout of mouth to mouth.
Then they heard the crashing of metal trolleys against walls and the familiar sound of heavy feet running towards them.
*
When it was all over, Fionnuala found it hard not to cry. The sixteen-year-old boy, who had been sent up a frozen scaffold on Christmas Eve, had died.
Joe was in the kitchen and had made a large metal jug of milky coffee and placed it on the desk in Sister Joyce’s office, with six regulation issue, pale green cups and saucers.
Sister Joyce looked at him in amazement.
‘Ah, away wi’ ye, Sister, ’tis Christmas Day now, the wee girls are upset, so they are. Let them have a coffee. The few patients we have on the ward are upset, too. They are all in the day room, having a ciggie, and the women on the other side are coming over to visit; they know now, as well.’
‘And who told them, Joe?’ Sister Joyce stood upright and stretched every inch of her five feet and two inches. She fixed her withering gaze on Joe, who looked sheepish.
‘Ah sure, news flies round these wards, does it
‘Holy Mother,’ said Sister Joyce under her breath. ‘A sixteen-year-old lad on Christmas morning,’ and within seconds she was on the telephone and dialling 111, the shortest dial and the emergency number of the hospital switchboard.
‘Send the on-call doctors,’ she said, in a voice which betrayed not a shred of her dismay or concern. ‘It’s a cardiac arrest on ward two.’
Fionnuala and Helen ran down the ward and bustled Joe and the tea trolley to one side, then Sister Joyce opened and fastened back the ward doors wide, to make room for the on-call medical team and to clear a straight run through and down the ward to the one little room which was used for the sickest of patients.
Fionnuala was the first in to join the exhausted night nurse. It was only her second cardiac arrest since beginning her nurse training. The first had been on a post-operative man in his late seventies. The fact that this was such a young boy made her more nervous than she otherwise would have been.
‘Get the foot of the bed off,’ barked the night nurse, as she removed the pillows from under the young boy’s head and threw them outside the curtains.
Helen had both hands on the footboard and now she lifted it clear with one tug, and carefully manoeuvred her way out through the curtains with it.
‘Here, help me,’ the nurse said to Fionnuala, as she climbed onto the bed with one knee and placed her hands under the heavy bed head. Fionnuala copied her and did the same on the other side, but the bed head refused to move.
‘Just what we need now,’ said Nurse Sands. ‘Let’s do it together. Are you ready? On three – one… two… three.’
And with that combined effort, the bed head lifted clear from the frame and banged against the wall, the weight of it almost pulling both of them off the end of the bed. In a second, both Fionnuala and Nurse Sands were on the floor at the side of the bed.
‘Ready, Nurse Windsor, brake off.’
‘Yes, Nurse Sands,’ Helen replied. ‘Right, let’s go.’
The three of them moved the bed into the middle of the room, so as to give the doctors some space at the head of the bed when they arrived, and as Helen slammed the brake on at the foot of the bed, Nurse Sands said to Fionnuala, ‘You start, I’ll do mouth to mouth.’
Fionnuala immediately lifted her raised fist, gave one hard thump on the young boy’s sternum and began to compress his chest up and down. The three nurses counted out loud together.
‘Where the hell are the doctors?’ Nurse Sands said out loud, after her second bout of mouth to mouth.
Then they heard the crashing of metal trolleys against walls and the familiar sound of heavy feet running towards them.
*
When it was all over, Fionnuala found it hard not to cry. The sixteen-year-old boy, who had been sent up a frozen scaffold on Christmas Eve, had died.
Joe was in the kitchen and had made a large metal jug of milky coffee and placed it on the desk in Sister Joyce’s office, with six regulation issue, pale green cups and saucers.
Sister Joyce looked at him in amazement.
‘Ah, away wi’ ye, Sister, ’tis Christmas Day now, the wee girls are upset, so they are. Let them have a coffee. The few patients we have on the ward are upset, too. They are all in the day room, having a ciggie, and the women on the other side are coming over to visit; they know now, as well.’
‘And who told them, Joe?’ Sister Joyce stood upright and stretched every inch of her five feet and two inches. She fixed her withering gaze on Joe, who looked sheepish.
‘Ah sure, news flies round these wards, does it
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