ON THE FLOOR                                                                     APRIL 29, 1888

I heard a glass crash on the floor, the highly polished oak floor. That’s what jarred

me from my deep sleep. As I opened my eyes, the soft voice of a young nurse,

Nurse Nichols was apologizing for waking me so abruptly. As I gazed into her

sapphire blue eyes, I tried to smile politely.

That’s quite fine Miss. I was already awake.

Ma had taught me to be polite, use my manners, and especially to defer to

a comely young woman. Nurse Nichols had a slender build and her deep crimson

hair framed her delicate face. She wore a white apron, hat, cuffs and collar, all

crisply starched over a light grey dress, that rustled across the highly polished oak

floor. A leather belt cinched in her waist and dangling from it was a little pouch

with necessary sharp implements.

When she placed her cool hand on my forehead, the painful events of yesterday

came flooding back.  I was crossing Lauriston Place, in front the new Royal

Infirmary when a speeding carriage cut me down. A grey-haired gentleman leaped

from the carriage, wrapped a blanket around me, and conveyed me into the

hospital.

I was informed later; this was Doctor Beaton and due to his quick actions and

his associate’s, Doctor Lister, they were able to save my leg from amputation.

I apologize, Mr. Jackson for startling you. Your bandage must be changed.

Very gently the blood-soaked gauze was removed. And I was able to gaze on

the perfectly spaced thirty stitches down the front of my thigh sewn with white,

reddish thread.

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It was swollen and sore but the art and skill of the work was

amazing. I longed to acquire this mastery. To view inside a human and to

close their wounds, these are a surgeon’s joys.

I drifted back to sleep.

Next, I opened my eyes to a dark ward, except for a small lantern on a table

beside the door. The three other beds were empty.

Another creature all in white, was standing at the end of my bed reading my chart.

It slipped from her hand and crashed on the floor, the highly polished oak floor.

Nurse Chapman said she would bring my tea directly.

She was taller, more robust than Nurse Nichols, but she wore the same crispy

starched uniform and had a charming Glaswegian accent. As she faded into the

shadows, two men in white approached me, Doctors Beaton, and Lister, as they

introduced themselves to be.

Do not be concerned about the expenses, Mr. Jackson. It has been taken care of.

As Doctor Lister was examining my incision, he dropped his silver scalpel on the

floor, the highly polished oak floor.

Healing well, young man.

I thanked them both profusely and stated I would like to train to be a

surgeon. The men in white smiled knowingly.

All in good time, young man.

They were condescending.

 

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Since I was eight, I worked at my uncle’s butcher shop in Leith. I have already

practised many skills a surgeon needs. By the age of thirteen I had dissected, rats,

cats, dogs and even recently a bat. That one was difficult, as the little beast bit me

before I severed a major artery.

I will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow. I’m stable.

I have had enough of Edinburgh, though I must admit the care, treatment and

surgery at the Royal Infirmary has been exemplary.

I am focused on a career in medicine which I will pursue further south In London.

My dear Uncle James Jackson, whom I’m named after has found me an

occupation, lodgings, and a reference to apprentice with a local physician in

Whitechapel.

Let me introduce myself. Friends just call me Jack.