|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 22
The little patient herself, Hattie, hardly into her teens, remembered
Lloyd at once. Before she went to sleep Lloyd contrived to spend an hour
in the sick-room with her, told her as much as was necessary of what
was contemplated, and, by her cheery talk, her gentleness and sympathy,
inspired the little girl with a certain sense of confidence and trust in
her.
"But--but--but just how bad will it hurt, Miss Searight?" inquired
Hattie, looking at her, wide-eyed and serious.
"Dear, it won't hurt you at all; just two or three breaths of the ether
and you will be sound asleep. When you wake up it will be all over and
you will be well."
Lloyd made the ether cone from a stiff towel, and set it on Hattie's
dressing-table. Last of all and just before the operation the gauze
sponges occupied her attention. The daytime brought her no rest. Hattie
was not to have any breakfast, but toward the middle of the forenoon
Lloyd gave her a stimulating enema of whiskey and water, following it
about an hour later by a hundredth grain of atropia. She braided the
little girl's hair in two long plaits so that her head would rest
squarely and flatly upon the pillow. Hattie herself was now ready for
the surgeon.
Now there was nothing more to be done. Lloyd could but wait. She took
her place at the bedside and tried to talk as lightly as was possible to
her patient. But now there was a pause in the round of action. Her mind
no longer keenly intent upon the immediate necessities of the moment,
began to hark back again to the one great haunting fear that for so long
had overshadowed it. Even while she exerted herself to be cheerful and
watched for the smiles on Hattie's face her hands twisted tight and
tighter under the folds of her blouse, and some second self within her
seemed to say:
"Suppose, suppose it should come, this thing I dread but dare not name,
what then, what then? Should I not expect it? Is it not almost a
certainty? Have I not been merely deceiving myself with the forlornest
hopes? Is it not the most reasonable course to expect the worst? Do not
all indications point that way? Has not my whole life been shaped to
this end? Was not this calamity, this mighty sorrow, prepared for me
even before I was born? And one can do nothing, absolutely nothing,
nothing, but wait and hope and fear, and eat out one's heart with
longing."
There was a knock at the door. Instead of calling to enter Lloyd went to
it softly and opened it a few inches. Mr. Campbell was there.
"They've come--Street and the assistant."
Lloyd heard a murmur of voices in the hall below and the closing of the
front door.
Farnham and Street went at once to the operating-room to make their
hands and wrists aseptic. Campbell had gone downstairs to his
smoking-room. It had been decided--though contrary to custom--that Lloyd
should administer the chloroform.
At length Street tapped with the handle of a scalpel on the door to say
that he was ready.
"Now, dear," said Lloyd, turning to Hattie, and picking up the ether
cone.
But the little girl's courage suddenly failed her. She began to plead in
a low voice choked with tears. Her supplications were pitiful; but
Lloyd, once more intent upon her work, every faculty and thought
concentrated upon what must be done, did not temporise an instant.
Quietly she gathered Hattie's frail wrists in the grip of one strong
palm, and held the cone to her face until she had passed off with a long
sigh. She picked her up lightly, carried her into the next room, and
laid her upon the operating-table. At the last moment Lloyd had busied
herself with the preparation of her own person. Over her dress she
passed her hospital blouse, which had been under a dry heat for hours.
She rolled her sleeves up from her strong white forearms with their
thick wrists and fine blue veining, and for upward of ten minutes
scrubbed them with a new nail-brush in water as hot as she could bear
it. After this she let her hands and forearms lie in the permanganate of
potash solution till they were brown to the elbow, then washed away the
stain in the oxalic-acid solution and in sterilised hot water. Street
and Farnham, wearing their sterilised gowns and gloves, took their
places. There was no conversation. The only sounds were an occasional
sigh from the patient, a direction given in a low tone, and, at
intervals, the click of the knives and scalpel. From outside the window
came the persistent chirping of a band of sparrows.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|