Chapter 12

Dana had spent her entire morning in the sluice room. The first-year nurse who had started her first day on the ward had fainted twice. She had survived the first faint unscathed. The second, however, had required two stitches in her chin due to a collision with a trolley, and after a spell in casualty and much wailing for her mother, she had been sent back to the nurses’ home and its housekeeper, Mrs Duffy, leaving Dana to finish her chores.

Dana had left the high sash windows open, despite the cold damp weather, to dilute the smell in the room – a tip she wished she’d passed on to the first-year nurse at report earlier in the morning. In addition to ensuring there was plenty of air circulating, Dana wore her mask tight around her face and made sure she breathed through her mouth. She’d also borrowed a few drops of aftershave from one of the patients, which she’d dabbed on to the mask.

Despite all of the precautions, she still felt nauseous. Three faints on the ward in one morning would probably be a record.

Pammy Tanner called into Dana’s ward on her way to morning coffee and found her leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked as she popped her head around the sluice door.

‘Oh God, it’s been a bad morning for the bedpans,’ said Dana. ‘The worst ever. They’ve taken one nurse down and I’m only just about still standing. I’m not lying when I say it’s much worse on men’s medical than on women’s.’

Pammy wrinkled her nose. ‘Come on, let’s go for coffee. Have a milky coffee and a bacon barm to settle your stomach. You do look peaky.’

Dana slotted the last bedpan into the warming rack and unfastened her rubber apron. She began to wash her hands and arms and flicked off the taps with her elbows to shut off the constant flow of cold running water, which for some strange reason also helped with the smell. ‘Pass me my cuffs, would you. They’re on the clean trolley outside the door.’

Five minutes later they were walking towards the greasy spoon. After filling her lungs with fresh air and the pungent aroma of clean-smelling Lysol, Dana felt restored. ‘Do you know what, Pammy, I don’t think I have had a holiday… well… since I last went home. I think I might ask Matron can she spare me for a couple of weeks. That last patient of mine who died, so soon on top of nursing Dr Marcus, it’s taken it out of me. He was a lovely man, he was. We thought he was in for weeks, but he gave up all hope almost as soon as he was admitted. He told me that his wife was a battleaxe and that he was the mouse, but he missed her so much he just gave up. I feel so tired out – it’s such hard work on men’s medical.’