A Change Of Heart. Alison Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ on one hand. The admission must have been just before he’d turned up in her office with her remaining belongings and that stupid rose. So that was what she’d been taking out on him—her frustration at being unable to provide the treatment her patient needed so desperately. Understandable. Commendable, even. But it didn’t excuse her earlier rudeness or that cutting remark about library books. Lewis Tanner may well have soured her opinion of newcomers but it was still inexcusable to act on it so blatantly.

      ‘You’ve got his hypertension under good control,’ he commented, picking up the case notes. ‘And coronary perfusion’s not looking too bad.’

      ‘Surprisingly,’ Lisa agreed. She started the projector. ‘We got these shots this morning.’

      They both watched the screen—the shadowy background of the heart pumping, the outline of the main arteries and their filigree of branches darkening clearly as each dose of dye was injected.

      David grunted. ‘Not pretty.’

      ‘No,’ Lisa agreed quietly. ‘It’s not.’

      They went through the film twice. David held the catheterisation report in his hand the second time, checking the diagram that documented which arteries were damaged and to what extent. ‘We’re looking at a quadruple graft here,’ he murmured. ‘Should keep me out of mischief for the morning.’

      ‘Would you mind if I stood in for a while? If I get the chance, that is.’

      ‘Not at all.’ David deliberately gave his tone a professional detachment. Scrutiny was only to be expected as a newcomer, and David had never suffered from nerves due to an audience. This time yesterday his pulse rate would have jumped at the thought of being observed by Lisa but he was delighted to find himself unmoved today. Sure, the woman was physically attractive but his initial reaction had been ridiculous. She was a colleague. One who had advertised her ability to be antagonistic and would therefore need to be treated cautiously. The idea that she might be anything other than a colleague had fortunately vanished completely. He was no longer remotely interested despite Mike Foster’s advocacy of her virtues and suitability. That teenage-like surge of testosterone had been nothing more than part of the excitement of starting a new job and the pleasure of renewing old friendships. The novelty had worn off amazingly fast.

      The theatre team was fantastic. David was delighted to find that the anaesthetist was Gerry Greene, a contemporary and one of the old party crowd. Now married with three children, he was still keen to arrange a get-together. The nursing staff were welcoming and the selection of CDs for some relaxing background music was surprisingly good. David’s choice of Dan Fogelberg was met with general approval. By the time Alan Bennett slipped in to observe, David had opened the chest, separated the sternum, retracted the ribcage and was carefully opening the membranous sac of the pericardium which enclosed Desmond Knight’s heart. His registrar was doing a very competent job of harvesting the leg veins required for the grafts.

      ‘I’m about to cannulate for bypass with aortic arterial and venous RAIVC lines,’ David informed Alan.

      The transfer to bypass on the heart-lung machine was smooth, and by the time David applied the cross-clamp and stopped the heart by injecting the cardioplegic solution he was thoroughly enjoying himself. David loved surgery. Politics were non-existent. The goal was defined, everybody was working on the same side and he had the skills to lead them and deal with any complications. It was a dramatic occupation. David had often thought ‘theatre’ was a very appropriate name for the room. It was also often highly stressful, especially when unforseen difficulties presented themselves, but David thrived on the pressure.

      ‘7.0 Prolene, thanks.’ David handled the floppy section of empty vein gently as he sutured one end of it carefully into place. ‘OK. Let’s check the run-off.’ The adjustment of the clamp allowed blood volume to move through the graft and David nodded with satisfaction, before turning his attention to attaching the other end of the graft to the wall of the aorta.

      He stood back and stretched some time later but the break in the long procedure was brief. ‘Let’s move on to the anterior descending, folks. We’re doing well.’

      Lisa did not appear in Theatre until the last graft was being attached to the aorta. It would have been easy to miss her arrival, due to the number and activity of the theatre staff, but something made David glance up. The brown eyes were magnified by being the only exposed part of her face. Even by themselves they were remarkably expressive. David dismissed the faint jolt the recognition gave him but acknowledged Lisa’s presence with a slight nod.

      ‘Let’s get this cross-clamp off and check out the plumbing,’ he suggested, his smile hidden by his mask. David knew quite well that he’d done an excellent job. Even Lisa should be impressed. Alan and the theatre staff certainly were. Desmond Knight was weaned from bypass uneventfully and his heart restarted spontaneously.

      The atmosphere in Theatre relaxed progressively as David wired the sternum back together and closed the chest. Gerry Greene’s plans for a dinner party had been finalised and other staff members were talking excitedly about an upcoming cardiovascular conference in the South Island tourist mecca of Queenstown.

      ‘Will you be going, David?’

      ‘I doubt I’ll be eligible for conference leave for a while.’

      Alan laughed. ‘I forgot to tell you—we’ve got you down as one of the speakers. I don’t think leave will be a problem and it’s only for a weekend.’

      David grinned. Speaking at a national conference on short notice shouldn’t be any problem and could only speed up his acceptance. It sounded great. Unconsciously, he found his gaze searching for the cardiology registrar, wondering whether she would be attending the conference. But Lisa had vanished and David merely shrugged mentally. It was of no great importance after all.

      ‘No! You musn’t do that, Donald.’

      Both David and Jane Maddon turned at the sound of the alarmed protest. The familiar pink candlewick, wedged between the bars of the walking frame, was quivering ominously.

      David’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t tell me that’s Mr Judd.’ He eyed the pencil-thin, late-middle-aged man with some awe.

      ‘Sure is,’ Jane whispered. ‘He absolutely adores her. He comes in every day to look after her and do her washing.’

      ‘So I see.’ David was just as awed by the size of the pair of knickers Mrs Judd was pulling from her husband’s hands. Her voice had quietened due to the exertion of her protest but was still quite audible.

      ‘If you put them in the drier they’ll shrink, and then what’ll I do, Donald?’

      David grimaced at Jane. The alternatives didn’t bear thinking about.

      Jane smiled. ‘We have a laundry where patients and relatives can take care of their nightwear and smalls. Donald Judd uses it more than anyone.’

      ‘Smalls?’

      Jane glanced at the item of clothing Mrs Judd had now draped over the bar of her walking frame. She elbowed David as she cleared her throat. ‘What can we do for you, Mr James? Are you on the hunt for new patients? I hear Mr Knight is doing very well.’

      ‘He is, indeed. I like the set-up in the post-surgery intensive care unit. Very impressive.’

      Jane was watching Donald Judd hovering anxiously near his wife as she rolled СКАЧАТЬ