Chapter 5

Hannah's disagreements with 'Left Ward' in general and Dr. Hamilton-Smythe in particular came to a head on Friday of that same week. She was tending to one of her small charges - a tiny, tiny boy - whose not-so-young parents were both present. On Hannah's urging they kept an almost constant vigil. Hannah had come to like them very much and the feeling was mutual. In fact, they adored her. Unlike most of the rest of the staff, the doctor in particular, this sweet and pretty Australian nurse had instilled them with hope that their son had a chance not only of survival but also of getting a good and normal life. Hope they needed after a fifteen year horror story of late miscarriages, still births and neonatal death. They did not need to be told of the risks of severe physical and mental disabilities, but that was essentially all they heard. Except from Hannah. Dr. Hamilton-Smythe was once more outlining the risk of blindness from the oxygen the baby had been given and at the same time arrogantly running the hand over Hannah's back and playing with her bra-strap. Hannah snapped. Swinging around and waving the surgical scissors in close proximity to the doctor's crotch, she exploded. "The threat to little Alexander's retinas is minimal; the oxygen level was closely monitored. And I insist you keep your hands off my body!"

Almost jumping backwards, Dr. Hamilton-Smythe was about to launch into some angry retort when his pager sounded an emergency and he retreated muttering threats under his breath. Hannah completed the procedure and then told Alexander's mother it was OK to touch him again. She looked at Hannah in gratitude but also feeling worried. "Will you be in trouble?" she asked.

"I don't know," Hannah said - exhaustion clear in her voice. "Quite possibly. But enough is enough."

"I say!" Alexander's father said. "And if anyone's going to be in trouble it should not be you, but that sexist prick!"

Hannah excused herself and carried on with other tasks - she had another 4 hours to go on her shift. Her professionalism meant that her work remained first class, but she was worried that her explosion would have consequences. So when the shift finally ended, she requested an interview with the chief matron. Only, the matron wasn't there; she was working from home on administrative matters. Never being one to be shy, Hannah knocked on the glass door to the professor's office. He was on the phone, but looked up and waved her in. He motioned her to sit down while he finished the call and then looked at Hannah. "Yes, Nurse Westlock?" he inquired.

"Professor Rutherford," Hannah started. "I fear I have behaved in an unprofessional way this morning."

"Yes," the professor said in a neutral voice. "That is what Dr. Hamilton-Smythe tells me." Hannah's heart sank. The bastard had gotten there first. "However," the old man continued, "that is not the impression I got from Mr. Phillips." Hannah looked up. Mr. Phillips was baby Alexander's father. And the professor's tone of voice had changed. "Mr. and Mrs. Phillips think the world of you. Besides caring for their tiny little boy so well, you have given them real hope, they said." The professor paused for a moment. "They could well need that," he added heavily.

Hannah didn't say anything, but there was a clear question in her eyes. "Oh, I know them quite well. I went to school with Mr. Phillips' father," the professor said. "Alistair Phillips is my god-son. Besides, Mrs. Phillips' father is on the Hospital Board."

All of a sudden Hannah felt a lot better. Perhaps she wouldn't get sacked. "I still shouldn't have behaved the way I did," she said. "That wasn't professional."

"According to Mr. Phillips, your reaction was perfectly justified. He is a solicitor, you know, and he said - and I quote verbatim," the professor said - checking a piece of paper over his half-glasses, "yes, here it is 'If she wants to sue the prick for sexual harassment then tell her my chambers will represent her for free. I shan't take the case myself as I will want to appear as a witness'. Quote-unquote."

Hannah looked stunned. "But still..." she started.

"Yes," the professor said. "I have to remind you that you are not licensed to perform surgical procedures. That is for doctors only. If anything needs to be done to Dr. Hamilton-Smythe's crotch with a pair of surgical scissors then leave that to me." He paused. "It might be a good thing too!"

The little jest was delivered in a crackling dry voice, completely dead pan. Hannah, despite her worry and fatigue let up a pearly girlish laugh. The professor, almost old enough to be Hannah's grandfather, felt refreshed and rejuvenated in her presence.

"That aside, the only other thing in Dr. Hamilton-Smythe's litany of your sins that needs my attention was one of subordination," the professor said. The wording startled Hannah, but the professor's tone of voice was still reassuring. He elaborated. "With respect to oxygen treatment it seems you overruled his decision and did 'something else'. Now, our consultant neonatal ophthalmologist has just reported to me that baby Alexander's retinas look fine and all his neurological data are perfectly normal. So whatever this 'something else' was, it worked. Tell me about it!"

Hesitant, Hannah started. "It's not like it's something I invented, but back home we're mindful that many of the very smallest we save end up blind or nearly blind, so a lot of work has gone into preventing that." The professor was naturally perfectly aware of this curse of the otherwise successful saving of the lives of the very smallest premature babies. In fact, he led an international research group on the matter. He grunted encouragingly and Hannah continued. "Well, we were taught to monitor the oxygen saturation very, very closely for the first couple of days while the lungs are hormonally matured. Making sure there is enough oxygen for the brain, but absolutely no more. Keeping it at the minimal safe level is the key."

The professor nodded. "Sound advice. And you are all taught that?"

"Yes," Hannah said. "Every nurse working in neonatal knows that."

"Very well," the professor said. "Back to Dr. Hamilton-Smythe, do you wish to launch a formal sexual harassment complaint?"

Hannah hesitated. "Not really," she finally said. "If I could just get him off my back somehow."

'As in off your bra-strap, ' the professor thought to himself - definitely not too old to appreciate Hannah's bodily perfection. His answer was however completely professional and certainly pleasing. "I think that can be arranged. I was on the 'phone to the chief matron just now. We have agreed that you take a couple of days off beginning now and start in 'Right Ward' in the day shift on Monday at nine."

Professor Rutherford waited respectfully while the young nurse finished crying with relief. The proffered handkerchief was used and duly returned to him with a kiss that left him in deep thoughts for a little while. He had only disdain for young Hamilton-Smythe's unacceptable behaviour, but he certainly understood the attraction.