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There were cots for the littlest patients—two large rooms, each containing four cots. Then there were eight side rooms that would house a cot or a bed, depending on the patient’s age. Finally there were three large four-bedded rooms, filled with children of various ages.
‘Though we do try to keep ages similar,’ Lisa said, ‘sometimes it’s just not possible.’ She pointed out the crash trolley, the drug room, and two treatment rooms. ‘We try to bring the children down here for dressings and IV’s and things like that.’
‘So they don’t upset the other children?’ Annika checked.
‘That, and also, even if they are in a side room, it’s better they have anything unpleasant done away from their bed. Obviously if they’re infectious we can’t bring them down, but generally we try to do things away from the bedside.’
Annika was offered a tabard to replace her navy one. She had a choice of aprons, all brightly coloured and emblazoned with cartoon characters, and though her first instinct was to politely decline, she remembered she was making an effort, so chose a red one, with fish and mermaids on it. She felt, as she slipped it over her head, utterly stupid.
Annika started with the obs. Lunches were being cleared away, and the ward was being readied for afternoon rest-time.
The children eyed her suspiciously—she was new and they knew it.
‘What’s that for?’A mother demanded angrily as her first patient burst into tears when Annika went to wrap a blood pressure cuff around her arm.
Lisa moved quickly to stop her.
‘We don’t routinely do blood pressure,’ Lisa said, showing her the obs form. ‘Unless it’s stated on the chart.’
‘Okay.’
‘Just pulse, temp and respirations.’
‘Thank you.’
The little girl wouldn’t stop crying. In fact she shrieked every time Annika tried to venture near, so Lisa quickly took her temperature as Annika did the rest of the obs. In the room, eight sets of eyes watched her every awkward move: four from the patients, four from their mothers.
‘Can I have a drink?’ a little boy asked.
‘Of course,’ Annika said, because that was easy. She checked his chart and saw that he was to be encouraged to take fluids. ‘Would you like juice or milk…?’
‘He’s lactose intolerant!’ his mother jumped in. ‘It says so above his bed.’
‘Always look at the whiteboard above the bed,’ Lisa said. ‘And it will say in his admission slip too, which is clipped to his folder.’
‘Of course.’ Annika fled to the kitchen, where Cassie was warming a bottle.
‘Told you!’ Cassie grinned when Annika told her all that had happened. ‘It’s like landing on Mars!’
But she wasn’t remotely nervous about a sullen Luke. She knew he had no relatives with him, and was glad to escape the suspicious eyes of parents. It was only when she went into the side ward and realised that Ross was in there, talking, that she felt flustered.
‘I can come back.’
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘We’re just having a chat, and Luke needs his obs done.’
‘I don’t want them done,’ Luke snarled as she approached the bed.
That didn’t ruffle her either—her extra shifts at the nursing home had taught her well, because belligerence was an everyday occurrence there!
‘I will come back in five minutes, then,’ Annika said, just as she would say to Cecil, or Elsie, or any of the oldies who refused to have their morning shower.
‘I won’t want them done then either.’
‘Then I will come back five minutes later, and five minutes after that again. My name is Annika; it would seem that you’ll be seeing a lot of me this afternoon.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Every five minutes, in fact.’
‘Just take them now, then.’
So she did.
Annika made no attempt at small talk. Luke clearly didn’t want it, and anyway Ross was talking to him, telling him that there was no question of him going home, that he was still extremely ill and would be here for a few weeks—at least until the ulcer on his leg was healed and he was compliant with his medication. Yes, he would take the catheter out, so long as Luke agreed to wee into a bottle so that they could monitor his output.
Luke begrudgingly agreed to that.
And then Ross told him that the way he had spoken to the cleaner that morning was completely unacceptable.
‘You can be as angry as you like, Luke, but it’s not okay to be mean.’
‘So send me home, then.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
Annika wrote down his obs, which were all fine, and then, as Ross leant against the wall and Luke lay on the bed with his eyes closed, she spoke.
‘When the doctor has finished talking to you I will come back and sort out your room.’
‘And I’ll tell you the same thing I said to the cleaner.’
She saw Ross open his mouth to intervene as Luke snarled at her, but in this Annika didn’t need his help.
‘Would you rather I waited till children’s nap-time is over?’Annika asked. ‘When you feel a little less grumpy.’
‘Ha-ha…’ he sneered, and then he opened his eyes and gave a nasty sarcastic grin. ‘Nice apron!’
‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘Wearing it is a bit demoralising and…’ She thought for a moment as Luke just stared. ‘Well, I find it a bit patronising really. If I were in cots it would maybe be appropriate. Still…’ Annika shrugged. ‘Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.’ She replaced his chart. ‘I’ll be back to clean your room shortly.’
Ross was at the nurses’ station writing notes when she came over after completing the rest of the obs. He grinned when he saw her.
‘Nice apron.’
‘It’s growing on me!’Annika said. ‘Tomorrow I want to wear the one with robots!’
‘I can’t wait!’ he replied, and, oh, for a witty retort—but there wasn’t one forthcoming, so instead she asked Lisa where the cleaning cupboard was and found a bin liner. She escaped to the rather more soothing, at least for Annika, confines of Luke’s room.
It was disgusting.
In the short time he had been in the room he had accumulated cups and plates and spilt drinks. There were used tissues on the floor. His bed was a disgrace because he refused to let anyone tidy it, and there were loads of cards from friends, along with all the gadgets fifteen-year-olds seemed to amass.
Luke didn’t tell her to leave—probably because he sensed she wouldn’t care if he did.
Annika was used to moods.
She had grown up surrounded by them and had chosen to completely ignore them.
Her father’s temper had been appalling, though it had never been aimed towards her—she had been the apple of his eye. Her brothers were dark and brooding, and her mother could sulk for Russia.
A fifteen-year-old was nothing, nothing, compared to that lot.
Luke ignored her.
Which was fine by Annika.
‘Everything okay?’