Chameleon by Ken McClure Read Free Book Online Page A

darkness despite the fact that her pain seemed to be getting worse not better. She did not want to bother the nurses again but it was becoming really bad. Perhaps if she thought some more about children it would take her mind off the pain or maybe even if she concentrated on the sound of the rain outside.
    Sally liked the sound of rain. For some reason it always made her think of a time many years ago when she had gone camping with the Girl Guides. They had gone to the Forest of Dean and it had rained non stop for the entire week. They had spent hour after hour lying in their tents just listening to the sound of the rain on the canvas while their leader thought up endless variations on word games to keep them amused.
    Sally had been glad to escape the games by being sent each morning to collect fresh milk from the nearby farm. Her wellingtons had squelched through the mud and the rain had pattered on the hood of her anorak just like it was pattering on the awning below her window.
    A new stab of pain shot through her and wiped out all thoughts of rain and children. It made her gasp and reach out for the buzzer. Her fingers closed round it like a claw as the pain seemed to seek out the most sensitive nerve ending in her body. Her back arched in a sub conscious attempt to escape it but this only put unfair pressure on the stitches in her lower abdomen. Sally Jenkins added to the call of the buzzer with a scream.
     
    The night staff-nurse in charge of Princess Mary ward called out the duty houseman who was reluctant to come at first for what he felt sure was probably normal post-operative discomfort but the nurse insisted. She won with a veiled threat to call Mr Thelwell directly. 'I think it might be another problem case,' she said.
    'But it can't be,' insisted the houseman. 'Mr Thelwell used one of the orthopaedic theatres today. There's never been any trouble with infection in orthopaedics.'
    'Well maybe there is now,' said the nurse, putting down the phone as another scream tore the air and wakened the rest of the ward. Sleepy voices were seeking reassurance as she hurried to Sally Jenkins' assistance. 'Nothing to worry about Mrs Elms ... It's all right, Mrs Cartwright, we're dealing with it ... Go back to sleep Mrs Brown, Nothing to worry about ...'
     
    The houseman, white coat pulled on over a hastily donned shirt which still had three buttons undone, arrived within five minutes and ran his fingers through tousled hair while the nurse briefed him. A cursory examination, established that Sally Jenkins' temperature was touching one hundred and two and she was showing all the classic signs of bacterial septicaemia. If this had been an isolated incident, he might have prescribed the normal front-line antibiotics and felt confident of their efficacy but with the current problem-infection in the unit he was reluctant to do this.
    If there was a chance that the Pseudomonas was responsible for the infection then penicillin, always the safest drug to prescribe because of its safety and lack of side-effects, would have no effect. On the other hand, none of the other drugs at his disposal had had much effect on the bug in the previous cases. The houseman swithered for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons of seeking assistance. It was now after midnight but the desire to pass the buck on this one was overwhelming. He called Thelwell at home. Thelwell's wife answered.
    'I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour Mrs Thelwell but could I possibly speak to your husband. It's Graham Dean at the hospital. I've got a bit of a problem.'
    'I'm sorry Graham, Gordon isn't home yet. He's been attending a dinner this evening. Would you like me to give him a message?'
    Dean gave Marion Thelwell a brief outline of Sally Jenkins' condition to relay to her husband when he came home and said that he would try to contact Thelwell's number two. After reading the number from the chart on the wall behind the phone, Dean called Thelwell's senior registrar,