excerpt

The circulating nurse in Theatre Three opened a package of suture
material and dropped the sterile contents onto Tyne’s scrub table.
“Better hurry, Tyne, Doctor Bentall is already scrubbing up. And he
has an intern with him, so you’ll probably have to hold the new boy’s
hand as well as Doctor Bentall’s.”
“Oh, Marjory, no one has to hold Doctor Bentall’s hand.” Tyne
chuckled as she secured the suture needle onto a holder.
“Maybe not, darn it. But a lot of us would like to, eh?” Marjory
Andrews’ eyes sparkled above her gauze mask as she opened a sterile
pack of sponges and handed them to Tyne.
“Not me,” Tyne said.
“Oh no, of course not you. You’re too wrapped up in that farmer
boy back in … where is it? Emblem?”
Tyne felt the colour rise in her cheeks, and was thankful for the
mask that covered most of her face. Pain stabbed at her chest, a pain
she had experienced daily since graduation night. Only during working
hours could she exorcise the ghosts that plagued her with every
thought of Morley. And now, Marjory had to remind her – right at
the start of a major scrub. But the circulating nurse could not know
about the break-up. Only Moe was privy to that information.
Tyne took a pack of abdominal sponges from Marjory. “Okay, let’s
do the count,” she said briskly, putting an end to the frivolous talk.
For the next few hours all the concentration of the two nurses, as
well as that of the student nurse who would soon be joining Tyne at
the scrub table, would be centred on the patient, the surgeon and the
procedure upon which he was about to embark.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068