A Dublin Student Doctor Read Online Free PDF Page B

student nurse who was taking the patient’s blood pressure.
    Donal muttered something but did not open his eyes.
    O’Reilly noticed the pallor of Donal’s cheeks, that his breathing was shallow. “What’s his pulse rate, Nurse?”
    “One hundred, Doctor, but it’s strong. His temperature is only ninety-three degrees.”
    O’Reilly was sure his own pulse had speeded up. Donal’s condition had worsened, not dramatically, but he was concerned. “Mister Gupta?”
    O’Reilly waited patiently until the senior registrar finished his neurological assessment. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but your patient has a mild cerebral contusion. Nothing terrible, but I want him on the neurosurgical ward.”
    “Fair enough.” Donal would not be going to the observation ward where he’d have spent the night if it looked as though he had suffered only a mild concussion.
    Mister Gupta frowned. “I think there’s a bit of relatively mild bruising of the cerebral cortex, but I can’t completely exclude compression, squeezing of the brain because of bleeding.”
    “Go on.” O’Reilly folded his arms across his chest and stroked his chin.
    “He’s got a bruise over his right temporal bone. That could mean a skull fracture and a possible tear to the—”
    “Middle meningeal artery. Damnation.”
    Mister Gupta said, “I hope it’s not, but to be on the safe side I’m going to arrange skull X-rays, the routine blood work and cross match in case he needs a transfusion, and we’ll do an ultrasound once we get him admitted to ward 21. Unless you have some questions, Doctor O’Reilly, I’m going to get those tests ordered.”
    O’Reilly nodded. “Thank you, Mister Gupta.” This young man clearly had everything under control and Donal was in good hands. O’Reilly looked at the unconscious face of Donal Donnelly, his freckles standing out against his pallid skin, the tips of his buckteeth barely visible. God, O’Reilly thought, he looks so young. He dropped into a chair beside the trolley and waited until the curtains parted and Mister Gupta reappeared. “Everything’s organised, and I’ve had a word with Mister Greer. He’s at home. He agrees with our plan—”
    O’Reilly was flattered by the “our.”
    “He says to say hello.”
    “We were students together,” O’Reilly said.
    “And to call him if things get worse. Your patient might need surgery if they do.”
    “A craniotomy?”
    Mister Gupta nodded. “Perhaps. If it’s only a small bleed I can do a burr hole under local, drill through the skull, and let the blood out, but if it’s a bigger bleed or doesn’t stop, Mister Greer will remove more bone, drain the clot, and tie off the artery.” He smiled. “I honestly don’t think either will be necessary.”
    “Jesus,” O’Reilly said softly, “I hope you’re right. When I was a student, the mortality rate from brain surgery was fifty percent.”
    The senior registrar smiled. “We’ve come a long way, sir, and your friend Mister Greer is one of the people who’s brought us to where we are today.”
    It was hard to imagine today’s pillar of the medical establishment as the irresponsible young Charlie Greer of O’Reilly’s student days. He shook his head. “How long before you’ll have the tests done?” He took another look at Donal.
    “About an hour.”
    “And you’re sure—as sure as any of us can be—that Donal’s not going to get worse?”
    “Pretty sure.” Mister Gupta stepped aside for two orderlies.
    “All right if we take your man here ’til ward 21, sir?”
    “Please,” said Mister Gupta.
    “Right,” said the first orderly to his mate, “take you that end, oul’ hand, and away we go.” The rubber-tyred wheels squeaked as the trolley began to move. “Thon axle could use a wee taste of oil,” he remarked.
    O’Reilly put his hand on Donal’s clammy arm. “You’re going to be all right, Donal,” he said quietly, and hoped he was right.

4
    A Memory of Yesterday’s