Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [9]
‘There’s a problem with his preening gland. Either an infection or …’ I hesitated not wishing to alarm her unduly. But it had to be said. ‘It could be a tumour.’
Miss McEwan gripped the edge of the consulting table, her bony knuckles blanched. Her voice dropped to a soft twitter. ‘Oh dear. That sounds rather serious. Can anything be done about it?’
I gave a slight shrug and tried to inject some confidence in my reply. ‘The gland can be removed. But it would mean major surgery.’
Miss McEwan peered into the cage. ‘Oh dear me … dear me … my poor Cedric.’
The mynah cocked his head. ‘Poor Cedric,’ he replied, his tone solemn.
I explained that we had to do something otherwise Cedric would continue to peck at the gland and make the problem worse. I was in full flow, sounding confident, sounding sure of my facts, when Miss McEwan interrupted me.
‘Have you operated on a bird before?’
Crash. I was instantly floored. I could feel myself going bright red. Me? A new graduate. Operated on a bird? My hesitation was enough for the wily old bird in front of me.
‘You haven’t, have you?’
I quickly reassured her that Cedric would be in the best possible hands. Dr Crystal Sharpe’s hands to be precise. She of cutting fame, an expert in all things surgical. I just prayed an Indian Hill mynah’s rear end came within that remit. Miss McEwan was relieved when I told her.
‘Could I leave Cedric with you now then,’ she went on. ‘It would be much easier than taking the cage all the way home and then back again. What with these …’ Her hands did their hallelujah wave again.
Oh Lord. Just what was I letting myself in for?
The rest of the morning was punctuated by a piercing monologue echoing up from the ward as Cedric repeatedly shrieked, ‘What’s your name? My name’s Cedric.’
Mandy was very put out that I’d booked an operation for later that day without first having consulted her. ‘Really, Paul. It’s not an emergency. It could have waited.’ She stood there, arms folded over her generous bosom. Her damson eyes flashed. She was cross. Oh dear, I had sinned – a naughty novice in her nunnery. She frowned as Cedric let rip with an unholy raspberry. At least he seemed to be on my side. ‘So what time do you propose doing it?’
I opened my mouth but she butted in before I had a chance to say anything. ‘I suggest two o’clock. Crystal will have finished her list by then.’ She looked up from the ops book, pen poised over the page. ‘OK?’
‘Er … well … I was rather hoping Crystal might do it.’
Mandy straightened up. ‘Crystal?’ The name hung in the air. Holy Mary, Mother of God. What had I said?
‘Yes, Crystal,’ I faltered, the words a mere whisper. Her disgusted look made me feel as if she’d discovered some dirty habit of mine. I fought the urge to genuflect. Oh me of little faith in myself.
‘I hardly think so,’ said Mandy in a very superior (no trace of mother in it) tone of voice. She scribbled my initials in the book and marched away with a brisk snap of her uniform. Did she know something I didn’t? Apparently so.
When Crystal returned from her visit to Lady Derwent, I broached the subject. She planted a hand firmly on my shoulder, fixed me with her steely blue eyes and said in her precise, clipped voice, ‘There’s one thing you have to learn here, Paul. You follow through your own cases. I’m sure it’s something you’d wish to do anyway.’ The hand stayed clamped to my shoulder. ‘Am I right?’
‘Well, it’s just that I thought …’
The hand dug in tighter.
‘Yes, of course.’
The hand relaxed. ‘Good. See it as a challenge.’
I saw it as a potential disaster.
At 2.05pm, I was in the operating room, gowned up, boots on and, despite the warmth of the room,