The late-October air stalked Nora into the parlor, where she dropped into the oldest chair in front of the hearth, the usually delicious smell of dank woodsmoke filling her only with foreboding. Despite the fidgety flames, she couldn’t warm herself.
Chapter 18
Nora moved through the routines of the clinic the next day, recording pulse rates and tongue color, chest sounds and pupil size. She changed bandages while carrying on short conversations with Julia but remembered none of them. Work pulled her past tea and into the soggy autumn evening.
By eight, gas lamps burned in the surgical theater, the precisely angled mirrors directing the steady light onto a nervous patient with a stiff chin, wrapped tightly in a robe. Miss Rawly had insisted on waiting until after factory hours for her surgery so she wouldn’t lose additional pay. Now her eyes riveted on the tumultuous evening sky, visible through the high windows. Each flash of lightning cutting through the dark made her flinch.
There were reasons why Nora scheduled most surgeries for daytime—other than better light. The hoots of pigeons and ruckus of the busy street outside reassured patients with their mundane normalcy; the patter of rain on a black window and the noise of distant thunder did not.
“I know the table is hard, but you’ll be sleeping soon and won’t notice,” Nora reassured her. Daniel had agreed days ago to administer the ether for tonight’s procedure. Though he’d been present at Horace’s lecture last night, they’d each keptto their own sides of the room. Once Miss Rawly was unconscious, they’d be alone together for the first time since their quarrel. But for now, he waited outside in the hall.
“We’ll remove the robe, and I’ll inspect the tumor once again before we begin.”
“It doesn’t cause much pain,” Miss Rawly said, her finely lined skin in contrast to her thick sheet of hair, as if her body couldn’t decide whether to remain in youth or sink into age.
“I know,” Nora said, probing the red streaks in her left breast above the tumor. The size of an almond and just as hard. She used a wet charcoal stick to mark lines to guide her cuts. “But it is much safer to remove it now. I’ve treated too many women who never did.”
It was a delicate dance along a spider’s web to convince a patient of the need for treatment without terrifying them. As she settled Miss Rawly onto the table, Nora silently worked ahead, choosing the angle of incision. “I’ll go get the other surgeon now. He’ll be administering the ether.”
The patient’s eyebrows sank in dismay. “Will the other surgeon be doing the cutting?” The hope in her voice did nothing to bolster Nora, who drew in a breath.
It was always worse when women doubted her.
Nora forced a smile. “I’ve done many surgeries. And I’m as careful with my stitches as you are sewing in the factory.”
Miss Rawly supported herself by sewing men’s trousers day in and out. Slightly comforted, her brow loosened.
“She’s ready,” Nora whispered to Daniel through the curtain.
He swept in quietly, arranging the vaporizer on the small table at the woman’s head. He’d tipped a kettle of boiling waterinto the steel basin to keep the ether warm and the vapors consistent. “This will be much easier than some people say,” Daniel reassured her.
Nora looked away, trying to ignore the petulant flame in her stomach when the woman turned trusting eyes on her husband. Whateverhesaid, she took as gospel.
Daniel coaxed and explained as he lowered the mask to Miss Rawly’s face. Nora had to admit his bedside manner was meticulous and authoritative, yet unfailingly soft and cajoling. She could do the exact same if patients didn’t look at her the way they looked at the floating eyeballs in Horace’s specimen jars.
Miss Rawly never even coughed as the ether overtook her. Daniel increased the fumes so slowly she noticed nothing except the eventual shuttering of her eyes.
“Well done.” Nora couldn’t help but praise.
“Thank you.” So stiffly polite, like nervous colleagues.
Nora probed the lump with her fingers and laid the scalpel to the charcoal line. The skin parted, globules of yellow fat blooming as she drew the blade nearer to the offending tumor—encapsulated in tough, stringy fibers but clearly outlined from the healthy tissue.
“It will take a minute to free it from this web.” She adjusted her head so she wouldn’t block the light. Before his stroke, Horace would have extracted this tumor before Nora had even breached the subcutaneous tissue. She never understood his speed. But then, thanks to ether, she’d never operated on a screaming, pleading patient. For better or worse, ether had slowed down operations considerably.
Daniel left the vaporizer to sponge the wound and hold the retractors for her as she ligated a blood vessel in the way. “I can see the lesion,” she said. “But it’s buried deep.”
“Just keep tying off the blood vessels and working your way down,” he coached. She hated to admit she would rather operate with Daniel than work alone. Was she as bad as her patients—unconsciously seeking reassurance from the presence of a male doctor?
When she finally freed the mass, she drew it out, trying not to worry over the copious flow of blood.
Daniel gave a low whistle. “That’s a large one. It looks like a river rock.”
Nora dropped it into a bowl for later examination as Daniel swiftly sponged and ligated the severed veins. “Look how smooth it is,” he marveled. “The last one I extracted was a mess of tissue.”
“Did the woman survive?” Nora asked.
“Hale and hearty today.” Daniel smiled, almost erasing the past twenty-four hours with one dimple in his chin. “But then, the surgery was only a week ago.”
