DEATH IN THE JUNGLE

“Bedsores are nasty things, and if you’re lucky, your patients won’t get them,” nurse Tamira O’Sullivan informed a group of eager, would-be nurses as they toured ‘C’ ward. Relying on “luck” to ward off bedsores was not what head Nurse Jane Corpus had in mind for her trainees, and when she overheard this statement, she snorted in disgust and interrupted, pushing Tamira aside. “You have told these new girls absolutely nothing of value, she declared, shaking her finger in Tamira’s face. Addressing the group Jane declared, “You are all to read your Nursing Manual, chapter four, page thirteen, on the avoidance and treatment of bedsores before you dare treat a patient who is unfortunate enough to have one. This includes you, Miss O’Sullivan.” Tamira, an easily controlled and strangely dimwitted girl, stared at her white nurses’ shoes, nodded, and resumed the procession, leading the girls down the brightly lit hallway. Nurse Jane, who was expected upstairs in two minutes for a meeting of people of prominence, hospital directors and the like, huffed, snorted again, and strode off toward the elevator. How in the world, she wondered, did someone of Tamira’s caliber advance to any position of leadership over others? Jane cringed, thankful she did not have to deal with the girl often. There was a breakdown somewhere in the hospital’s hierarchy, and Jane intended to root it out. She would certainly bring up the problem to the attendees at her meeting. Her recent marriage to Dr. Hubert C Corpus, Hospital Director and head of Oncology, had elevated her status among her peers and given a wider range to her voice, hence the invitation to participate today. Dr. Corpus was a good and kindly man, a brilliant physician, and an attentive husband who worshiped his new wife. Jane, despising mediocrity, was determined now to use his prestigious name to advance her protocols, which, she felt, would benefit the hospital overall. Jane Jones had run ‘C’ ward, the cancer unit, outstandingly for eight years, and she intended to continue doing her job, making decisions, and saving lives. She felt professionally and morally obligated to speak up about a nitwit like Nurse O’ Sullivan, whose willingness to impart meaningless drivel threatened to contaminate a batch of fledgling nurses whom the hospital desperately needed. As she recounted the incident she had just witnessed, the prominent people shook their heads and grumbled in disgust, deciding there and then to elevate Nurse Jane to a hastily created position of supervisor of ‘Quality Control.’ This designation, in addition to her regular duties as head of ‘C’ ward, would call for unscheduled visits to various locales in the hospital whereupon she would check up on staff, observe procedures, and make sure people were doing what they were supposed to be doing and doing it correctly. While this assignment was more or less perfunctory, Jane would hopefully gain satisfaction in knowing she had increased clout around the place. She was given authority to take any direct action she felt necessary in order to remedy a situation that compromised patient care or jeopardized the hospital’s liability. She would report back to the board at their scheduled meetings and any conflicts between her findings and personnel would be subject to mediation. She was, as Dr. Corpus said admiringly in bed that night as they snuggled under the covers, “The Man.”