"What have we here?" Mr Rose boomed, entering casualty, his pipe momentarily out his mouth.
Gordon looked up from the patient. "Car crash victim, flail chest, internal bleeding, possible ruptured spleen."
"Take her through and get her anesthetized." He began to walk off but turned around when there wasn't an immediate response. "Well chop chop! I've got a round of golf with Barney McGee from Ashfordly this evening."
Gordon rolled his eyes at Mr Rose's retreating back as Nurse Davenport and Alun promptly wheeled the bed towards theatre.
Matron entered as soon as they left. "Do we have a name Doctor?"
"Erm..."
"She's Mrs Mavis Sullivan." PC Bellamy was the next to enter, looking at his notebook. "Next of kin has been informed; a Mr Ted Sullivan, her husband."
"Thank you constable." Matron said as Phil tucked his book into his breast pocket. "Is he coming?"
As Matron and the constable continued their conversation, Gordon made his excuses and rushed off to theatre. He scrubbed up and slipped on his theatre clothes, as did Nurse Davenport, Alun and Mr Rose, a well-practiced routine that was done quickly but thoroughly.
"How does it look?" Gordon questioned Mr Rose who was stood beside him, drying his hands.
"I'm not sure. Get a better idea when I open her up. Now hurry up and get her anesthetized." He tossed his towel in the awaiting laundry basket and strode off through the doors, leaving Gordon turn and share a look with Stella and Alun, a look passed often between occupants of the operating theatre, both in amusement and despair of the surgeon's manner.
"She's gone."
Mr Rose ripped off his gloves and made his way to the sinks, not another word passing his lips.
With a heavy heart, Gordon disconnected the oxygen, switched off all the machines, signalling the end of a life laid before him. And what heartbreak lay in its wake, Gordon didn't yet know.
He stood up and stretched, though he hadn't really been in that position for too long. They knew it was hopeless as soon as Mr Rose had started, but they'd persevered; as long as the patient was alive, there was hope. But the miracle they'd all been hoping for hadn't happened, and Mavis had slipped away.
Gordon took one last look at her before moving to join Mr Rose whilst Stella set about 'tidying' her up. It sounded such a crude word for it, as if not relating to a person at all, but 'tidying' was in effect what it was. Something Gordon didn't envy the nurses for one bit.
A few moments later, out of this scrubs, he exited theatre, meeting Matron straight away. A simple shake of his head was all it took, no words were needed. Matron's face turned to one of sorrow, and sympathy to those left behind, mirroring Gordon's own.
"Her husband's in my office. Do you want me to...?"
"No, no, I'll do it."
What was to come was part of the job he hated. He had delivered similar news countless times before, but it never got any easier. Sometimes it caused him to question whether he wanted to continue being a doctor, but then an event would happen, or someone would say something -most times Jill- and he would again rediscover his passion. However, despite remembering this, the task facing him now wasn't any easier.
Both he and Matron arrived at her office and entered. A man shot up from his chair as soon as they entered. His eyes were red, his demeanour agitated, his hair sticking up in all places, an obvious result of nervous, fidgety hands running through it.
"Mr Sullivan," Matron addressed him, her voice calm but sombre. "This is Doctor Ormerod."
He turned to stare at Gordon, his eyes a mixture of fear, hope, dependence and despair. "How is she?" His voice shook as he spoke, his emotions threatening to overcome him.
"I'm so sorry."
Gordon knew he would never be able to forget the look on the man's face, nor forget the sickening, heart-breaking noise he emitted, half scream, half sob, before he descended into hysterical crying.
Gordon had slipped out, leaving Matron to care for Mr Sullivan. Rarely did Gordon cry, but he did for that man, so small and lost in the world.