by Aimée
She had thought she would probably never see the sisters again, but life takes unexpected paths. Two weeks before she was due to go back to England, one of the wheels of a local bus exploded – the driver tried to keep it upright, but the bus rolled over and ended up lying on its side. Like most of Kenyan buses at the end of market day, it had been crowded with women, children, poultry and various bundles. Two passengers died immediately, but the remaining twelve were brought to the British hospital unit. The medical team tried to prioritise the more badly wounded, but most of the casualties were severe. To add to the crisis, the air conditioning, already less than efficient at the best of times, had broken down completely, and the heat in the two operating theatres was fast becoming unbearable. Greyson had started the day with a migraine, and she felt very unsteady – what she really wanted was to lie down in a cool dark room, but this was obviously not an option. The nurses could take care of the lighter cases, but she was one of the only three doctors available, where five or six would have been needed.
One of the women on the bus had been pregnant, and the accident had induced early labour. Greyson and one of the nurses brought her into theatre, and Greyson tried to get the baby out, but she soon realised that she would have to perform an emergency caesarean. Rather slowly but efficiently, she opened the patient’s abdomen and got the baby out – for a minute they all froze, as the little girl didn’t cry out, but after a few taps on the back and bottom she yelled her heart out and the team sighed in relief. Maybe it was the noise – maybe the unrelenting heat, maybe the migraine, maybe the smell of blood and sweat – she would never know. All Greyson knew was that as she was still holding the bloodied scalpel, she swayed, felt a searing pain in her hand and passed out.
When she came to, she was lying on one of the hospital beds, with a very worried Richard hovering over her. As soon as he saw she was awake, one of her colleagues, Dr Gwyn Evans, hurried towards the bed, also looking very apprehensive.
“What happened?”
“You fainted, Greyson.”
“The patient?”
“She’s all right – the little girl too.”
“Then why are you looking so worried? I’m all right now – I promise I won’t make a habit of fainting.”
She saw the two men looking at her hand. She gave them a wry smile: “It’s only a notch – I’ll live.”
Richard swallowed audibly and Gwyn Evans took a deep breath: “Greyson – you don’t understand. You hurt yourself with your scalpel – it pierced your glove and went quite deep in your palm…”
“And?” Greyson was beginning to feel impatient - they were making her anxious.
“That woman – we know her – she’s a prostitute – works in a brothel in Nairobi. She came here a few months ago – she didn’t dare go to her own doctor, she was afraid of judgement. Greyson – have you heard of Aids?
“Well, yes, of course – a little, in med school…”
“Greyson”, Gwyn Evans said gently, “the woman you operated on is HIV-positive.”
Greyson’s eyes, already huge from exhaustion, opened even wider and she stared at him: “You mean …You mean…”
“Yes – I’m afraid that’s what I mean. We need to take your bloods immediately and we’ll send them to Nairobi – the main lab there can do that kind of test.”
Greyson blanched, and she hadn’t been already half-lying on the bed she would probably have collapsed. It couldn’t… Surely it couldn’t… She tried frantically to review in her head what she had been told in med school about HIV – about Aids…The only thing that came to mind, that glared at her from her hazy memories was that it was a death sentence. Not only that, but also a long agony and a painful end.
Of course, they didn’t allow her to treat patients while they were waiting for the test results – the “Western Blot test” – what a terrible name for a test … They might even try to get her a new-generation test - these tests could register antibodies sooner — within approximately four to six weeks of infection. An eternity when you had a Damocles sword over your head. She had nothing to do, and nowhere to be. She didn’t want to go back to England – there was no one there – she certainly didn’t want to go and stay with her parents – she hadn’t told them anything. She couldn’t go back to training in a hospital. Her friends… She didn’t have a lot of those, and they were either working or serving abroad like her. She could have stayed on the base but she couldn’t bear the fake cheerfulness of her colleagues around her, nor the glances of pity they threw at her when they thought she couldn’t see them.
She was on her bunk bed reading – the only thing which sometimes allowed her a little respite from overthinking her situation - when a small slip of paper slipped from the book. As she reached down for it, she smiled. Sister Elisabeth had given her their address and she’d promised to send a postcard from England. Half an hour later, she was in her CO’s office, detailing her plan. He could have said no – after all, she was still in the Forces – but he didn’t – of course he didn’t – how could he refuse a condemned woman? And the next day, she was dropped off at the Emmanuel Sisters dispensary. She hadn’t phoned – she had trusted them to make her feel welcome. And so they did.
She ended up staying two months with them – she’d asked for a leave and it had been granted. During those two months, they kept her busy. She wouldn’t have had it any other way – she had foisted herself on them, the least she could do was pull her weight. She didn’t know anything about children, and not much about religion, so she didn’t participate much in the literacy classes or evangelisation activities, but by being almost maniacally careful she undertook light medical duties, and she did her fair share of scrubbing floors, cleaning lavatories and cooking. That last task proved quite a challenge, as she was quite a novice in the kitchen, and had never cooked for more than two people. However, the sisters ate mostly like the locals, and as one of the sisters remarked cheerfully, “People say that English food is mostly boiled and overboiled stuff, but the Kenyans beat us hands down.” Greyson learnt how to make ugali, the national staple, cornmeal added to boiling water, which they ate at most meals, and as it was supposed to be heavy, stodgy and brick-like, there was nothing much she could do to spoil it… Nor could she really overcook irio, the green peas and mashed potatoes which you had to boil before you added the kernels of maize. If the sauces were too spicy, you could always sooth your palate with fruit …Not that Greyson herself had any appetite – if it hadn’t been for the sisters coaxing her, she couldn’t have swallowed a thing – she was just living on borrowed time, and she didn’t see the point of eating. She had become so thin that Sister Elisabeth even sent to Nairobi for Cadbury’s milk chocolate, which she almost force-fed her.
The sisters had told her she didn’t need to attend the services or the prayers, but she went nonetheless, as she joined them when they assembled around the radio to listen to the news on BBC World. The routine helped to keep her alive. So did the more intellectual tasks she set herself, like learning a few words of Swahili or participating in the readings of religious texts or of the bible. She didn’t see the point, really – if she was going to die, what use would it be to her? But at least it kept her mind occupied. The nights were the worst – when she managed to fall asleep, she woke up shaking and drenched in sweat in the middle of the night– she couldn’t get used to those terrible recurring nightmares – they entrapped her, invaded her sleeping brain remorselessly. And when she couldn’t find sleep, the same thoughts went round and round… I’m going to die – I’ll never have a chance to have a real marriage - I’ll never have children of my own, never become a real doctor. I’ll die alone - a virgin both in body and soul.
When Sister Elisabeth or another sister heard her tossing and turning, they usually came into her room to comfort her, and it did help a little. But the limbo lingered, and the not knowing gnawed at her. As the six-week period came to an end with still no news from the base, she began to lose the little
flicker of hope she had left. When she heard the familiar roar of the army jeep in the yard, she went outside and stared at it resignedly, as if she was staring at the scaffold. Her commanding officer jumped out, and she tried to read into his eyes, but they gave nothing away.
Greyson invited Colonel Patrick inside, and mechanically offered him a cup of tea. It didn’t matter anymore. She knew.
He sat down in the kitchen but Greyson remained standing. She waited for him to speak, but he sipped his tea and didn’t seem in any hurry to. She supposed it wasn’t easy for him, but she couldn’t stand the silence. Finally, she blurted out: “So what do I do now, Sir?”
“What do you do? Well – you pack your things, and you come back to the unit with me, Lieutenant. Unless you were planning on taking perpetual vows?”
Greyson closed her eyes and took a deep breath – so they weren’t going to talk about it. Fine – she was dying anyway, so why bother?
“With respect, Colonel…I…I don’t know how long I’ve got left, but I’m not sure I want to go back to the hospital. I don’t see how I could be of use anyway.”
The Colonel frowned: “How long you have left? Well, no one knows that, Walsden – it doesn’t mean we have to stop working and living.”
“Do you really want a HIV-positive doctor in your unit, Colonel?”
“HIV- positive?! But my dear girl …didn’t you get the letter?”
“The …letter?” replied Greyson in a small voice.
“Yes, the letter – from Nairobi! From the lab – when I phoned them, they told me they’d sent you a letter.”
“I didn’t get any letter”, said Greyson weakly. “You mean …you mean…”
“You’re clear! Well … About 98% clear – you’ll have to take another test in six months, but…You are going to be okay!”
“I… When I saw you, I thought…”
“I came myself because I’ve known Sister Elisabeth for a long time, and I haven’t been here for ages, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. But it never occurred to me you didn’t know. I’m sorry, Walsden.”
Greyson sank down in a chair, speechless. She was clear …she was going to live. It didn’t quite sink in. The Colonel looked at her expectantly: “Lieutenant?”
She couldn’t answer – she just sat there motionless – she had been given her life back, and it was almost too much. Her eyes moistened but she blinked back the tears – she wouldn’t cry. Sister Elisabeth coming into the room broke her immobility and she slowly rose and threw herself in the older woman’s arms. The sister patted her back, murmuring: “That’s all right – it’s over – it’s all over.”
But it wasn’t – because she had never forgotten those terrible anguish-filled weeks, not the kindness and childlike enjoyment of life of the sisters. Seeds had been sown – she didn’t believe in instant conversions, but what she had experienced felt very much like a road to Damascus experience. It had taken her a long time, but that time had only strengthened her resolve. And maybe one day she would be able to visit the community again – as a servant of God herself. But right then, she had only thought of one thing – life was too short not to try and live it to the full. A month after her return to England, she had asked George for a divorce.
Chapter 11
At least, 't is mutual risk,—
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life,
— each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.
Emily Dickinson
Greyson had an uneasy night – Emily Jones and Angela Arlingham both haunted her dreams – the former appearing in a crowded ward in Kabul, the latter sitting silently in an empty church, staring at her as she mumbled and fumbled her way through the service, coming at the end to slap her with a few words: “Why didn’t you save my daughter?” This woke Greyson up in a sweat, and since it was already 7am, she decided she might as well not go back to sleep. She had a full day ahead of her at the clinic, plus her essay to finish and two pastoral visits to make. She also ought to make good on her promise and try to contact Angela, but she had no idea what to say. Of course, she could always say she wanted to see if her goddaughter had fully recovered, but she hated subterfuge. As she had two full hours before she had to leave, so she decided she may as well try to get on with her essay, but not before a cup of hot and strong coffee. When she discovered she had once again forgotten to buy said coffee, all her good resolutions flew out of the window – surely no-one could be expected to concentrate on “The infallibility of the Bible – contradictions” with a pounding migraine and no coffee...
By the time she arrived at the clinic, her migraine not improved by sitting in traffic for nearly an hour, she wanted nothing more than to go back to bed. Or to scream, but that wouldn’t have been good for her head. She made a beeline for the coffee machine – if she could get past the taste of the coffee down throat and swallow the full cup, she might make it to her first appointment. Turning around, she bumped into someone and watched in horror as the contents of the cup splashed all over a cream jacket. Stunned, she watched the dark liquid seep into the wool. Then her eyes went from the sleeve to the woman’s face and she blushed. Of all the scenarios she had imagined for seeing Angela again, spilling coffee on the headteacher was definitely not one of them. Angela cursed under her breath and snarled: “You couldn’t possibly look where you’re going, could you?”
Greyson began to apologise profusely: “I’m so sorry, Angela – here – let me try to…” She fished in her bag for tissues and tried to dab ineffectively at the stain, stopping abruptly as her hand brushed the redhead’s breast. When she spoke again, Angela’s voice had notably softened: “I hope you’re not that clumsy with your patients, Doctor…”
Greyson bit her lips, painfully aware of her flaming face – the first time she’d met the woman, she had almost bitten her head off and then made a scene with her goddaughter. And now, she looked like a klutz and had probably ruined what seemed to be an expensive cashmere jacket. Greyson knew that the previous night’s nightmares and the migraine had etched all too visible pain lines on her face and even after only one sleepless night her eyes were bloodshot and underlined with black. She had no wish to explain, however, and she forced a small smile: “Err- I’m not usually. I – wasn’t paying attention. Just… Well, I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Doctor?”
Greyson stiffened: “I thought we’d agreed on Greyson. And yes – I’m fine – just a headache.”
“Ah! And you’re self-medicating with coffee… Are you sure you should be at work?”
“Last time I checked, Angela, I was the one with a medical degree…”
Angela held up her hands in surrender: “Hey – I was just – you know, I’m the one who should be mad…”
Greyson looked down at her hands, her eyes once again catching the coffee-stained sleeve: “You have every right to – I’m sorry – I’m just…”
“You’re tired, and ratty – I get it – happens to me once in a while too. What about I buy you another coffee – I was much too early for my appointment anyway.”
Greyson checked her phone: “Actually, I’m a little early too. Let’s go to the corner of the street – the coffee there is much more drinkable than that dishwater. But I’m buying – it’s the very least I can do – well, that, and pay for the dry-cleaning, obviously.”
The two women headed to the coffee shop and Greyson insisted on buying both of them extra-large coffees as well as a Danish. The conversation turned naturally to Angela’s students and to Julie. Greyson was relieved to know that the drug incident had been a one-off and that on the whole, Julie was a pretty decent kid, bright, bubbly and artistic. She would have been even more relieved if her goddaughter’s choice of A Levels had not been Applied Arts, English, History and Textiles, but who knew? Maybe the girl really was talented. Greyson waited to see if the other woman would mention her daughter but she did not and Greys
on was reluctant to push. After about ten minutes, Angela stood up and said she would have to go back for her appointment and Greyson realised that she had relished the moment and wouldn’t mind doing it again. Of course, it wasn’t exactly what Emily Jones had asked her to do, but maybe if she could get to know Angela a little better she would manage to mention God at one time or another. Anyway, just before they went into the surgery, Greyson impulsively turned towards the redhead: “Would you like to have a drink sometime? Or maybe dinner?” Then, thinking that she might sound desperate, she added: “I just haven’t met many people here since I left the army. Colleagues, yes, but… Anyway, you don’t have to, I guess you’re busy, and you’ve got other friends, and…”
“Stop right there. I’d love to have a drink or dinner. Truth is, I haven’t gone out much lately, after the…” Angela’s face darkened and she swallowed hard before continuing: “I’d enjoy a little adult conversation – I have colleagues too, but it can be hard not to talk shop when we are together. And anyway, most of them are busy with their own lives. I’ll give you my number, and we can arrange something – maybe at the weekend?”
Greyson grinned and nodded as she entered the number in her phone. Before going on to her own office, she glanced again at Angela’s sleeve – she doubted the ruined jacket would ever be cream again, but the consequences of the whole incident could have been much worse. Moreover, her headache had almost entirely lifted, and her mood had also considerably improved. She greeted Maisie, the receptionist, with a smile and noted that the girl sported a new tattoo on her wrist – some kind of intricate symbol with circles and arrows. Despite an unconventional appearance that had taken Greyson some time to get used to – after the Army’s requirements for the clean-shaven, wholesome look, Maisie’s numerous tattoos and piercings had been quite a shock – she had soon recognised the girl was extremely good at her job. If at first she had wondered if Maisie’s looks didn’t scare off some of the older, more conservative patients, she had soon been reassured. Apparently the patients liked that she didn’t gossip, always tried to ensure the doctors held to their schedules and had the knack to come up with the most random facts at any time - that distracted them from their ailments. Her smile was returned with an admonishment – her first patient’s appointment “was at 9.00 and it was already 9.03”. Duly chastised, Greyson hurried towards her office without taking the time for another stop at the coffee machine.
