She knew they were probably not going to be best mates, or anything like it. More than anyone, Bel reminded her of a ferocious math teacher who had once petrified her in high school, but she had a mission to get the woman well again, and she was determined to succeed.
“What would you like me to do first? Or what do you need doing most urgently? “She asked.
“I need the bathroom,” muttered Bel. “I’m trying to make it to the loo during the day, and just use the commode at night.”
“Right you are.”
She wheeled the chair into the bathroom, grateful there was room to turn it round, and helped the older woman shakily stand on her one good leg. She wore a long kaftan like dress, with one arm in a three-quarter length plaster cast which went above the elbow, and the other strapped in front in a rigid straight full cast. She had the functional use of neither arm, which made her naturally unbalanced, and caused her to wobble dangerously as she stood up.
Bryony held her up as gently as she could, while pulling her underwear down as quickly as possible and then helping her sit on the toilet. To be so dependent on others for so long, must have been very hard for such an obviously proud and self-sufficient woman.
Bryony’s medical training had taught her to see other people’s bodies as objects, things which functioned, or didn’t, not embodiments of personality or sex appeal, or anything personal. But it must be different for Bel, and difficult not to be embarrassed to be half naked and vulnerable in front of a complete stranger.
However, her own complete lack of being fazed, or even seeming to notice Bel’s body as anything more than a battered machine, helped them both deal with the essentials. Bryony was relieved to be able to rearrange the woman’s clothes afterwards, get her back in the chair and out into the living room without either hurting her or being snapped at too much. At least she’d achieved something. She could unpack the suitcases and arranged the books and papers later.
“What now? Would you like to eat something?”
“No, not at all. I want to make a start on the book first. Now you’re here. Are you going to be up to this job, do you think? As you can clearly see, I’m a difficult patient and a demanding employer.”
“Bit late for second thoughts, surely? My lift to the station won’t be back for another week. No, if you can put up with me, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I like projects. And you’re giving me a great one.”
“Oh, yes, and what is that?”
“Getting you back on your feet, so you can take off and run whatever it is you run again. And helping you write your book.”
“How do you know I run anything?”
“Oh, all that natural authority must be used for something. You must be CEO of a large company or something.”
“Nothing like that. Look me up on Google if you must. Now I have a very tight deadline to meet. I need to complete 150,000 words with footnotes, by September 1st. That’s only eight weeks away, so we need to achieve 20,000 words a week. I’ll be aiming for at least 3,500 words a day, six days a week, which should give you ample time to type up, edit and correct over the weekend.”
“This seems to be very ambitious. Please don’t forget I get Fridays off.”
“Oh! No, I suppose we’ll have to allow that, so we’ll work Sundays through to Thursday, then use Saturday as an editing day.”
“What’s the book about?”
“The end of the world as we know it.”
Bryony pretended not to be shocked, and smiled professionally at her obviously mad patient.
“Ah, right. Then I see your point about urgency. I had better get my laptop ready. Do you have a password for the WiFi?”
Bel indicated the modem on the bookcase close to her chair, and Bryony went to open her lap-top and get connected. She could already see the black clouds over Bel’s head beginning to disperse now that she was talking about her work, and her own tiredness and hunger retreated somewhat. They could afford to work for an hour or more before the next round of medication was due, and she could then maybe rustle up some scrambled eggs for supper.
She parked Bel by the kitchen table, and sat at right angles to her. She opened her lap-top, checked that it was almost fully charged, and connected it up to the internet. Despite the remote location, the signal wasn’t bad, which was a relief.
If things were lonely and difficult here, then she could still Skype with her friends, listen to a podcast or favorite audio book and maybe even watch her own preferred movies. It also meant she could call up a doctor or even an ambulance if Isabel suddenly took a turn for the worse, or had an attack.
She knew she had cracked ribs and a compound fracture of her lower leg and ankle, so anything was possible. The responsibility of her position began to impinge on her confidence. There was really no-one else here, to help. She decided to key in some emergency contacts into her phone before anything terrible happened.
“Are you going to take all night setting up?” Bel seemed ridiculously impatient, and lacking in empathy. It was almost as though she wanted Bryony to dislike her.
“Do not let her upset you!” Bryony told herself firmly. “She is just a patient, in pain. Just treat her as you would someone in the hospital. Remember, it’s not personal. She doesn’t know you.”
“I’m ready now. You can dictate to me, and I’ll follow with typing it straight onto the lap-top. Then I’ll sort out the grammar and spelling later. I’ll try to keep up. Right...one, two, three, let’s go!”
Bel leaned back as far as she was able, and closed her eyes. Then she started to speak, slowly but in fully formed sentences, and in a very musical low voice completely unlike her earlier snapping and snarling. It was rather easy to follow and transcribe, and Bryony felt her fingers tripping lightly over the keys.
The clear voice and the gentle clicking kept going, and chapter one of what was obviously going to be a profound, even ground-breaking, book began to take shape.
The subject matter of the book, the imminent threat of climate change, sounded very compelling, in fact something anyone could become absorbed by, but of course the opening paragraphs were mainly based on setting the scene and the parameters for Bel’s arguments. Her thesis rested on the universally recognized premise that the whole earth was at a point of crisis, a tipping point of global warming which within their lifetime might be irreversible. What Bel had to offer were many case studies where the rising sea levels, droughts, floods and general climatic catastrophes had direct negative impact on the lives of the poorest, in particular women, who grew the bulk of the world’s food on the poorest soil.
Bryony kept her head down and concentrated on the words rather than their meaning. As Isabel spoke, she could just about keep up with her. The woman certainly knew how to dictate efficiently to someone who didn’t know shorthand.
Bryony liked to think she was as environmentally aware as the next girl, but her degree course and further training had been so focused on the physical construction of the human body, and its medical needs and issues, that she had had hardly any time to consider global issues or politics.
She read articles mainly in the British Medical Journal, and just caught the news headlines first thing or last thing at night as she crawled into bed, and set her alarm for ridiculously early calls. She had no time to be out there protecting the environment. This sudden shift of emphasis, this new use for her IT and manual dexterity on a keyboard was astonishing Bryony, not least because of the feeling of mental fresh air it was blowing through her brain cells.
She was only worried that Dr. Bridgford would overdo it. She looked quite fragile, and at times her eyes stared wildly into the middle distance, as she fought to find the right words. The summer evening faded from gold into a soft purple duskiness all around the isolated cottage and the song of the birds faded. It was even later when Bel finally fell silent, her voice almost dried out with fatigue; Bryony already had well over three thousand words in front of her on the screen.
“There you are
, ma’am, you’ve achieved more than your first day’s target. Three thousand four hundred and fifteen words.”
“Humph. I will see tomorrow how good a fist you’ve made at typing in what I’ve written and not making a complete dog’s dinner of it. And don’t Ma’am me please. My name’s Bel.”
Bryony stood up and stretched her aching shoulders. “Yes, that’s something I wanted to ask. Isn’t your name really Isabel? Would you mind very much if I called you Isabel? Bel sounds like a dog’s name. It doesn’t feel respectful. And I also had a favorite doll once I called Isabel. It’s much prettier.”
“Hmm, you have hardly been here ten minutes and already you want to change my name to make it prettier? What nonsense! Anyway, no-one has called me Isabel since my parents died. How fixed are you on this bizarre notion?”
“It’s not bizarre, I think if I stay with you for the next eight weeks, do all your washing and ironing, cook edible meals and get you out of all that plaster then I believe I’m allowed to think of you as an Isabel.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous!” Bel glared at Bryony, unsure if the girl was making fun of her. “You sound just like Anne of Green Gables, wanting to be called Cordelia.”
“Not me, you. You look like an Isabel.”
“Oh, very well, it means very little to me. But in that case I’m more likely to just call you ‘Girl’. Bryony sounds like an overgrown rosebush.”
“Touché, I know. I don’t care for it either. I didn’t choose it. Sorry about that. Do call me Girl if it amuses you.”
“Stop teasing. It won’t work with me. You must know by now I’ve completely lost my sense of humor.”
Bryony decided it was maybe time to change the subject.
“You must be thirsty. Let me fetch you a drink of water. I’m really rather hungry as well. I expect you’re the same. I thought we might eat scrambled eggs tonight, if that’s OK? “
“Oh yes, I forgot the time. It has dragged itself along now for so many weary days. This was the first time since I regained consciousness I haven’t been watching the hands turn on the clock, willing the hours away. I suppose eggs might be OK, but don’t leave them too runny, and no more than two for me, and half a slice of toast! I’ve quite lost my appetite.”
“Like your sense of humor? Don’t worry, we’ll find them both together somewhere and restore them back to you again.”
“Stop being so fanciful. I thought you were supposed to be sensible.”
“I am sensible, when I have to be, like now. But I am glad you know about Anne of Green Gables. It was my favorite story when I was young, being an orphan and all.”
“An orphan?”
“Yes, but please don’t think I mentioned it to make you or anybody feel sorry for me. It’s just made me rather resilient, that’s all.”
Isabel did not know what to make of the girl talking so openly about such personal things. She acted as though regaining one’s sense of humor was like some sort of treasure-hunt, but she seemed competent enough around the kitchen.
Within fifteen minutes they were both looking at nicely scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes with a side of buttered toast. Bel sat there and pointedly said nothing, until Bryony jumped up and apologized with an embarrassed smile.
“Oh, of course, I’m so sorry!”
She picked up a fork and began to feed her patient who glared at her like a hungry baby eagle.
Chapter 4
Between passing bites to Isabel, Bryony ate her own supper, and was pleased to see both plates were empty very soon. Then she picked up a glass of water, and held it to Isabel’s lips while she swallowed.
All this, having to be fed like a quadriplegic, reminded Bel of how frustrated she was, and her scowl returned.
“Is this how it’s going to be all the time?” enquired Bryony innocently.
“What?”
“Your expression of suppressed fury? I am sure you have other expressions you could use. How about trying ‘weary resignation,’ or hey, maybe even ‘Surprised relief at eggs being edible’?”
“Don’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not, not really. I just think you’ll feel better if you smile once in a while. You do smile nicely, I expect, though I have not seen one yet. Isabel, smile for me, just a small one, please?”
“Don’t make...”
Bel felt the corners of her mouth turn up just a fraction, despite her best efforts to stay grimly serious. The young woman was impertinent, but maybe she had a point. Frowning so much was making her stiff neck even more uncomfortable, and wasn’t helping her headache.
“There. Will that do, girl?”
It was a quarter smile at least.
“Yes, you only need to do it once an hour or so. I can live on very little.”
“Don’t think you will get me to smile on demand. Now, go and get all my pills, or the pain will take away even that much.”
Bryony counted out the different colored capsules, and fed them to her new employer one by one, helping her swallow each with a glass of water.
“Now, I had better unpack for you and make up the beds.” She emptied the suitcase and put all the clothes away as neatly as she could, right down to underwear and socks.
All of Isabel’s clothes were simple and loose-fitting, but all were good quality and there were several Italian designer labels sneaked in around the items. So Isabel had a secret penchant for nice clothes.
Bryony was pleased to see some human fault-line in Isabel’s moral high ground. She obviously didn’t live like a nun anyway. The make-up and body wash, as well, were all from Clinique or Clarens, but maybe they were presents. Isabel had no make-up on, and her face revealed her exhaustion after all their book work. It was time to encourage her to turn in for the night.
When she had unpacked, Bryony then made up the large double bed in the main bedroom, and slipped a waterproof mattress cover under the bottom sheet. She had seen it discreetly folded in the box of other medical paraphernalia, so it was obvious Isabel or her caregivers had expected it to be useful. When everything in the big bedroom was shipshape, she carried through a set of single sheets and made up her own bed in the little far room.
Then she assisted her through to the bed room, and found a nightgown in her drawer. It had buttons all up the front, and was the very plain sort sold in hospital shops.
“Will this do?”
She showed the garment to Isabel who nodded in bored resignation. As Bel sat on the commode chair, Bryony gently pulled her kaftan up and off her shoulders completely and then paused to look at Bel’s physique before she replaced the clothing quickly with the night gown. She had been looking to assess how underweight she was, but Bel seemed to assume it was more a judgment on her body’s current sorry state.
“I know I’m a mess,” she stated flatly, as Bryony fastened the buttons up the front of her nightgown, and then folded her clothes and put them over onto a chest under the window.
The older woman obviously couldn’t tolerate anything as constricting as a bra, but her nakedness in fact showed very pretty breasts which almost glowed in the late evening light. Just below them, her ribs were strapped round and round her chest, binding which would need changing soon, and her torso was still marked with yellow and purple bruising.
“Yes, your body might have taken quite a battering, but it will only be temporary. And your brain obviously isn’t impaired. I’m in awe of how well you can think and dictate like you do. It’s a miracle after all the anesthetic you must have endured, and all these pain-killers they’ve put you on.”
“Personal observations from you are superfluous. I know what I can and can’t do. But I’m actually ashamed to admit it; - I am quite frightened of the pain. I’ve never been before. But this has been something else.”
“I know. It must have been hell, but I promise, I’ll try and manage the pain relief so you are never more than uncomfortable from now on. I have done a module on analgesics. Now let me lift you up and put you into
the bed. There. Good.”
The cast on Isabel’s lower leg was heavy and she needed help to lift it up onto the mattress. Once this was done, Isabel lay back on the pillows, her face exhausted. She shut her eyes.
“A module on analgesics”? She thought it sounded almost like a spoof. She was sure she could write such a course herself, the amount of pills they’d stuffed into her.
But at least the girl was better qualified than the other candidates who had responded to the Lady advertisement. She should not have belittled her medical training. She knew how much hard work was involved in becoming a doctor.
Bryony gently shook her shoulder.
“Isabel, Isabel, don’t go to sleep just yet. Listen. I’ll leave all the doors open between this room and mine. If you need me in the night, please call out. I’m a very light sleeper.”
“Hmm. Alright. I normally only sleep for three hours at a stretch. You may be up with me again before 2 am.”
“Don’t worry. That’s why I’m here. Goodnight Isabel.”
“Goodnight, Girl. And...”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
Smiles were obviously over for the day, but Isabel’s mouth twitched and Bryony rewarded her with a friendly grin in return. Then she picked up the commode pan and went into the bathroom to empty and disinfect it. When she replaced it, she saw that Isabel had already fallen asleep.
First day over! She moved silently into the kitchen and stacked up the supper dishes. They could be washed in the morning, or some time Isabel was awake. She could see this was going to be like looking after a baby. You had to sleep when they did, if you were going to get any rest at all.
The single bed in her bedroom was narrow, the room chilly, but the duvet was light and cozy and there was space in a narrow wardrobe for her few clothes. As she lay down in summer shorts pajamas she turned to the wall. She had come a long way that day, in more ways than one.
“Maybe I can be a healer,” was almost her last thought. “Maybe I won’t just have to be just a sawbones after all.”
Isabel's Healing Page 3
