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This time Dr Turner could be seen behind his desk, his consultation door open. He was an older gentleman dressed in an immaculate uniform, and out of the corner of her eye Isla was aware that he’d stood up as soon as she’d entered with Jaleel.
She kept her focus on her patient. No doubt the medical team would all be a little uncertain of her, as a new arrival, but the better she performed here, the quicker she proved herself as a valuable member of the team.
‘Jordanna, can you go ahead and ready some gauze swabs to staunch the bleeding once I remove this towel from Jaleel’s face, and a suture kit, please?’
‘Sure, Dr Sinclair.’
‘And some local anaesthetic,’ added Isla.
She busied herself checking over Jaleel’s neck once more, before she finally removed the collar. Then, as Jordanna laid out all the equipment for her, she glanced at Jaleel’s colleague and smiled gently.
‘Can you warn him that the needle will need to go as close to the edges of the wound as possible, so it’s going to be uncomfortable?’
She waited for Jaleel to nod his confirmation, and then she lifted the syringe.
‘Okay, here we go.’
A few moments later, as the anaesthetic began to kick in, she picked up a small probe.
‘I just want to check there is no debris in there. No metal from the machine or anything. He might feel his cheek moving elsewhere, but he won’t feel any pain.’
As his friend translated, Jaleel gave them both a weak nod. It occurred to Isla that a significant proportion of his—and his friend’s—anxiety might have more to do with the fact that he wanted to get back to work. It was widely acknowledged that the laundry was one of the locations on the ship where sickness was least tolerated.
Picking up the needle and sutures, Isla began one tiny stitch after another, working slowly and methodically to draw the edges of the wound together, trying to make it as neat and unobtrusive as possible. With a facial wound this deep, she would have preferred it to have been left to a plastic surgeon—but that wasn’t an option out here. All Jaleel had was her, so she would be damned sure she made it as good a job as possible.
By the time she was finished, Jaleel had reluctantly allowed himself to be talked into twelve hours’ observation, his colleague had shot off to try to catch up on the mountain of laundry that no doubt awaited her, and the report logged in the computer system, Isla looked up to see Jordanna, Dr Turner and a couple of other medical staff approaching her.
‘Nice job, Dr Sinclair.’ Jordanna smiled welcomingly.
‘Isla,’ she corrected instantly, relieved that her first impression had apparently gone down so well.
‘Isla,’ the nurse echoed happily.
‘Yes, very competent,’ the senior doctor commended in a cut-glass accent.
She’d assumed he’d been happy enough when he’d left her to it as she’d started cleaning up the wound, but the confirmation was nice all the same.
‘And you’re also the doctor who stepped in to look after our rather hot-headed crewman yesterday?’
‘I just happened to be on scene.’ Isla smiled again.
‘Well, I’m glad you could change ships and step into our medical team at the last minute. Hestia’s loss is Cassiopeia’s gain indeed.’
‘Thank you,’ Isla replied sincerely. Her fears about being seen as a cuckoo in the previous doctor’s nest were appearing unfounded.
At least they were with the medical team. The same wouldn’t necessarily be said for Nikhil.
Nikhil.
Isla shut down the unbidden thought and concentrated on her new colleague.
‘Welcome to our ship’s medical centre, Dr Sinclair,’ the older man continued. ‘I’m Dr Turner, as I’m sure you’ve deduced. When appropriate, you can call me Reginald.’
Presumably appropriate would be situations like now, when it was just the medical team, or when it was just officers. Nevertheless, Isla decided that the first time she addressed him should also be more official.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Dr Turner.’ Isla smiled warmly, eying his outstretched hand for a fraction of a moment before shaking it confidently.
Her training had taught her that shaking hands on board was discouraged, but she imagined that Dr Turner was old school and didn’t care much for such regulations. It was his way of getting the measure of his colleagues, and Isla felt a punch of triumph when he gave a tacit nod of approval, before turning to one of the other nurses who Isla had yet to meet.
