Authors note: There is a truism regarding nurses and hospital doctors; namely that a large number of nurses deliberately set out to catch themselves a doctor to marry and guarantee a comfortable life for themselves and future children. This is untrue and besmirches most nurses unfairly as gold diggers. Whilst some individuals do marry for money and status, I prefer to think that most of us marry for love. If large numbers of nurses and doctors do end up forming long-term relationships it is a consequence of the long hours they spend together when working in what is often a high-pressure environment.
This story is set in a hospital Intensive care unit and by necessity and to add authenticity some medical terms are used. If you don't understand them don't worry, just read past them. It won't interfere with the flow of the story.
This is first and foremost a romance. Although the ending is erotic this story does not have multiple descriptions of wall-to-wall sex. They would have been inappropriate. If this is what you are looking for do not read on. I have authored other stories which might be more to your taste or there are many other excellent alternatives on this site.
As usual, any errors in editing are mine and mine alone. I make the familiar plea. Please take the time to comment constructively. Without feedback, a writer can't improve, and positive feedback encourages most of us to write again.
In 1990 I was working as an anaesthetist in an intensive care unit (ICU) in a university hospital situated in a city in the English Midlands. The job was an extremely busy one and I worked shifts opposite two colleagues; for six days followed by six nights and six days off. The shifts were each twelve hours long and there was never much time to rest whilst involved in the care of twelve critically ill patients on ventilators and with a myriad of serious medical problems. If you do your sums, the shift pattern I worked was equivalent to fifty-six hours a week. Every one of those fifty-six hours was busy
.
I started to work in the ICU at the end of the summer. The morning I started I went to the senior sister's office and introduced myself to the pretty blond but painfully thin woman sitting behind her desk. We shook hands and observed the formalities and then Faith Gordon, for that was her name, explained how the unit was run, when individual consultants made their rounds, and other practical matters. Faith was in her mid-thirties, and I guessed a couple of years older than I was. It was apparent that she was a no-nonsense individual who took her job seriously, and I listened politely to everything she said.
I had already learned that good relations with a ward sister were an invaluable thing. Often the consultant on the ward will ask the sister their opinion of medical staff and a good report is invaluable, and senior nurses have a wealth of practical experience and clinical knowledge that a young, even moderately experienced doctor would do well to learn from.
When Faith had finished talking she asked me a little about my training, and then as I got up to go onto the ward, she called after me before I had opened her office door.
"Dr James."
"One last thing. I don't sleep with doctors."
It passed through my mind to make an equally blunt statement. Maybe, " What makes you think I'd want to?" or perhaps, "you should be so lucky." Instead, I made a neutral reply. I needed her as an ally.
"I already have a girlfriend, Sister Gordon."
In truth, she was not my type and neither did I have a girlfriend.
The reality was that I didn't want one and was quite happy to sleep around for the moment, not wanting any long-term entanglements, and there were plenty of young women happy enough to accommodate me.
Over the next few weeks and as I worked my first twelve shifts I was on my very best behaviour. When a doctor starts work at a new post he is scrutinised by the doctors and nursing staff who are already there. Your prescribing and clinical skills are all closely watched until a picture of your degree of competence emerges and until people feel they can trust you or not.
Within a few months, I had settled in and had become part of the team. Faith and I became good friends although our relationship was entirely platonic. I learned that Faith had been warning me off because she was gay. She went out with doctors but only if they were ladies and I found out later her last relationship had not ended well.
In April, Heather joined us. I had come back from my six days off and had arrived at the unit just before eight am when the handover of care was due. Standing and talking to Faith was a tall, well-rounded, dark-haired, and extremely pretty nurse whom I did not immediately recognise.
Faith introduced us. "This is nurse Heather Watson who will be joining us. She will be a valuable addition to the team. She has experience on the Cardiac ICU and the renal dialysis unit. Nurse, this is one of our registrars, Dr James."
"Hello," I said and offered her my hand.
She hesitated, took my hand, and loosely shook it. "Hello Doctor, "she said impassively and with no eye contact, and then she rapidly stood away.
More recently I have seen the same body language in my thirteen-year-old daughter when it was often associated with her uttering the word "whatever." The impression that Nurse Watson gave at that first meeting was that she wanted nothing to do with me even though I had never seen her before in my life. Faith must have noticed Heather's attitude because I saw her frowning thoughtfully as Heather walked back to the nursing station.
"Have you met before?" she asked.
"No. And I would have remembered. I haven't done anything to upset her of which I can think. I haven't developed a bad reputation around here just yet, I said smiling. But I'm going to work on it."
***
Heather turned out as Faith expected. She was an excellent nurse; punctual, disciplined, efficient, and caring. But there was something else. She was quiet and demure, and very serious. She gave the impression that something was troubling her and rarely smiled. I saw her smile just once when a young patient who had been expected to die was taken off life support and spoke for the first time in months. When she smiled her face lit up and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Our relationship was cordial and professional, but outside of the ward, we did not interact. Not even to sit at the same table in the staff canteen for lunch or supper. Nor did we ever have any conversation other than for work-related reasons.
They say that we desire most what we can't have, and soon I began to hope that Heather might start to think differently and warm a little to me. In the meantime, I admired her from afar. Her movements were precise and measured. Her nurse's tunic, deliberately designed to hide any hint of sexuality, could not conceal her lithe body. She was kind and considerate to her patients. Although she was respected by her colleagues she continued to keep herself to herself and studiously ignored me.
About three months after Heather had joined the team I was talking to Faith in her office when Heather poked her head around the door.
"Excuse me, Sister," she said. "If you're busy I'll come back later." Then she was gone.
"She's a good nurse," I said. "But somethings eating her, and she's taken a real dislike to me. Goodness only knows why?"
Faith looked at me. It was a long hard look and she appeared to be thinking about what to say next before she broke her silence.
"Alex, what I'm going to tell you is in strict confidence, Nurse Watson and I had a long talk a few weeks back when her mood seemed particularly low, and I asked her what was troubling her. It may explain a few things. I know you like her. I've seen the way you look at her and it must be very difficult for you. Whilst I didn't say our talk was in confidence I think she thought it was, so do not repeat what I'm going to tell you. Please."
