Isabel's Healing

by Maggie McIntyre

  The last wood pigeons decided to cease cooing to each other, and the first owls could be heard hooting to each other far across the valley. The owls hooted again as the night deepened. Bryony fell asleep. If Isabel wanted to call her ‘Girl,’ she decided she didn’t mind, not really.

  Chapter 5

  Bryony woke just before 3 am and for a moment couldn’t remember where she was. Then her bare left foot felt the cool plaster of the wall next to her bed, and she turned over on the narrow mattress. Her sense of location returned and she placed herself in the white cottage tucked against the hill in North Wales.

  She listened to the soft, dark silence, but she knew something in the night must have woken her, and sure enough, through all the open doors within the cottage she heard a muffled noise of someone weeping, barely audibly. In a second she was up and hurrying through the shadowed kitchen and living room into Isabel’s bedroom. She didn’t even pause to slip a dressing-gown over her short summer pajamas.

  The occupant was sobbing, too quietly to have been heard by anyone who had not already been used to broken nights, and she was obviously in pain. Bryony turned on the bedside lamp and leaned over her.

  “Hey, Isabel, I told you to call out when you needed me, remember?”

  She could see Isabel blink in the sudden lamp light and reached across to angle it away from her face. Her face was red and her tears must have been falling for some time, as her whole pillow was creased and damp.

  “I...I didn’t want to wake you. It’s just, oh damn, I’ve wet the bed, and I can’t move a muscle. And my good leg went into a cramp. Oh, dammit! That’s not why I was weeping. I’m just so tired of it all.”

  “Hey, early days yet. I’ll soon have you sorted. First thing, let me give you some painkillers. It’s time for another round, and once you’ve had them you’ll feel much better. Don’t worry about the accident. I can easily change your bed.”

  Bryony pulled back the covers, and saw that Bel had indeed, had a flood in the night.

  “All par for the course,” she said. “Here take these,” and putting her arm around Bel’s neck lifted her gently so she could swallow the tablets along with a few sips of water. They went down her throat, just about, and then Isabel fell back and wondered just how her new caregiver was going to cope with the ruined bed and nightgown.

  “I should have worn a pad,” she muttered. “I was too proud to ask. They had me catheterized in the hospital.”

  “No, it was my fault. I was stupid not to suggest it. No worries. We’ll both know better tomorrow night. Now, if you can sit up a little, I’d like to move you over into the chair while I make the bed. “

  Isabel rolled herself up and over, helped by Bryony’s strong pull, and then hopped onto her hated wheelchair. The nightgown came off and was thrown into the laundry basket, and Bryony wrapped her up in her soft blue dressing-gown, covering her nakedness and keeping her warm. She managed to set the foot on her cramped leg against the smooth stone flags of the floor and the stabbing pain eased.

  The girl had the bed stripped and the bottom sheet changed in minutes. She was pleased to have remembered to put a mattress protector under it, so there was little harm done. When the sheet had followed the nightgown into the basket, she wiped everything down with a light disinfectant and remade the bed. A cool cotton sheet was placed over the mattress cover, and then she invited Bel to lie back down on it.

  “I’m going to give you a little bed wash, to freshen you up. Please wait just a moment.” In the kitchen she poured hot water into a basin and fetched a face-cloth, soft, fluffy hand towel and sweet scented soap. When she returned Bel was lying motionless, her face passive, but the weeping had ceased, and she shut her eyes and allowed Bryony to wash her face and then her body and upper legs and afterwards pat her dry like a baby with the towel. Bryony also noticed a jar of talcum powder on the chest of drawers and sprinkled a little over her loins, and between her thighs. Her touch was very light, but confident enough to show she knew what she was doing.

  The girl’s shadowy figure moved back and forth in the lamplight, and found another night shirt and some underwear in a drawer.

  At least she wasn’t a chatter-box, thank God. So many youngsters seemed full of inane comments. But for some perverse reason, Bel herself wanted to talk. “You seem very experienced. I thought medical students left all this sort of thing to nurses and HCAs. “

  “Oh, it wasn’t in training that I learned to change beds. I nursed my grandmother through my teens, after she had a stroke.”

  “Were you her main caregiver? Surely not?”

  “Yes, afraid so. It did curtail the social life rather, though I was so busy with my A levels, I couldn’t go out much anyway.”

  Bryony put a large pad into the underpants and slipped them up over her leg plaster cast and up her hips.

  “Better safe than sorry, eh?”

  “Is your grandmother still living?”

  “No, she died just after I finished my A levels. Here, can you help me give you this new nightgown?”

  Bel let the rug slip down from her breasts and held out her arms, and between them they wrapped her back in the nightshirt. It was much more attractive than the previous nightgown, white, with black writing which Bryony couldn’t read in the shadows.

  She put a hand against Bel’s buttocks and raised her butt so the nightshirt could roll down and be much more comfortable. Finally she pulled up the duvet and wrapped it softly round Bel shoulders. The whole episode had barely lasted twenty minutes, but Bel felt she had been awake half the night.

  “Does that feel better? Do you think you will be able to sleep again?”

  There was no answer to the question but Bel looked less distraught. She had to admit her whole situation was now so much better. She felt almost human again.

  Bryony very gently pushed her hair back from her face and looked into her eyes.

  “Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?”

  “No, don’t do that. I mean, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “Good night then.”

  “Good night.”

  The girl walked quietly away and Isabel watched her retreat through the kitchen. Her bare legs and long hair caught a moon-beam as they crossed the kitchen and she looked quite ethereal. She had just had to touch Bel in the most intimate ways and yet she appeared completely oblivious to any physical implications.

  It was essentially a relief to see how Bryony had no idea that in fact she might be not just a body, but also a woman, a woman who loved women, a lonely, bereaved woman who had suffered heartbreak and who was more vulnerable just now than at any time in her life. It was a great relief the girl was operating on a whole other level.

  Professional, and completely platonic, that was the way to make sure they could live in the same house, not together in any sense, but alongside, like ships in the night. In this way they could finish her book, and patch her up enough to face her world again.

  The metropolitan world she had left in London was so different from this isolated rural retreat ten miles from anywhere. They really were together in the back of beyond.

  The isolated location of the cottage had suited Isabel’s mood as soon as she read about it in the brochure Claire had shown her. Isabel had wanted to disappear entirely at one point immediately after the accident. To begin with, she had felt almost annihilated, a nothing person, scarcely human anymore. It had been horrible, but she supposed it was probably partly due to the shock.

  But now the mists were clearing, and she was beginning to regain a sense of self, to nurture a hope that one day she might be healed, that she might be whole again. After the crisis in the night, Isabel, almost for the first time in a month, realized she now felt comfortable, dry, warm, and yes, comfortable.

  She decided to let each day take care of itself, not to worry too much about what might be facing her down the line, but to try and be thankful for every moment, every second she was free from pain. It was a comfort to
see how efficient the girl had been at nursing, she felt safe in her care, and she easily fell back to sleep.

  ***

  Before she returned to her own bed at the other end of the house, Bryony decided to make herself a mug of tea, and then took it outside to sip as she sat on the stone bench near the front door. The summer night was warm and the air filled with all the tiny night sounds, moths fluttered round the porch light and she could hear the lowing of cattle from a farm far below.

  She looked up at the brilliant stars in the sweep of the Milky Way above her head and felt strangely peaceful. There was so little light pollution up here in these Welsh hills that the vision, even with the moonlight, was wonderful.

  The hot tea soothed her throat and she almost breathed in the stillness. She sat outside in her pajamas for a further twenty minutes, until she heard the clock in the living room gently strike four, and realized that if she wanted to be awake in the morning, she should retire to her own bed. Like Isabel she was asleep as soon as her head touched the rather lumpy pillow.

  Chapter 6

  The following morning there was much to do, and Bryony had cleared away the supper dishes, put the washing on and even wiped down all the surfaces in the kitchen and living room before Isabel stirred. She had boiled the kettle and made a fresh pot of tea for them both, not just teabags in a mug.

  She carried the tea into Bel’s bedroom in a china teacup, and watched as her patient blinked awake. She had drawn back the curtains and the sunlight spilled into the room.

  “I didn’t tell you to wake me,” Isabel muttered, not very graciously. She saw that Bryony was wearing jeans and a red and white striped T shirt. Her hair was tied back tightly into a pony-tail. She looked ready for work.

  “No, but it’s time for your meds. I know you’ve been suffering badly from insomnia, not surprising after so many weeks in hospital, but we need a new regime to get things back on track. It is after eight.”

  “Hmm. Oh, well. Is that tea?”

  “Natch. Here, I’ll help you sit.”

  Bel managed to rise a few inches in the bed, and Bryony held the cup to her lips and helped her sip.

  “This is better than yesterday’s.”

  “Yes, I used the leaf tea in the caddy and brewed it the old fashioned way. “

  “I can hear the washing machine.”

  “I’m doing it early, so the morning sun can dry all the laundry, including some I brought up from London. There is a little washing line outside, and I found the detergent.”

  “You’ve obviously been working early. I am sorry for getting you up in the middle of the night.”

  “Wasn’t that part of the job description? I didn’t mind at all, and I was asleep again in no time. But I was thinking, maybe today, later on, after lunch perhaps, can I give you a proper wash, in the chair of course. We can’t get those plaster casts wet – but I could shampoo your hair, and put some arnica on all your bruises. Would you like that?”

  “Well, yes, maybe this evening, before I go down for the night. We need to put in the hours writing this morning. That’s my priority.”

  “Of course. But I also need to know what you like to eat, what might tempt your appetite. Is the food in the fridge and larder your choice, or would you like me to order in something different?”

  “No-one would deliver up here, I’m sure.”

  “We can find out. You’d be surprised sometimes where these supermarkets deliver to. But if not, maybe on Monday I’ll drive you down with me to Machynlleth. You can sit in the car while I nip in the Co-op. I saw it on the way up here. ”

  The short conversation had tired Isabel out, and after another two swallows of tea, she lay back against her pillows and quite enjoyed watching the girl open the bedroom window and then tidy away all the things which were out in the room. She seemed very methodical.

  “You like to put things away,” she observed.

  “Yes, I do. I am rather Aristotelian. I like everything in its place, ordered, tidy. I don’t like clutter.”

  “Good. And have you always been like this?”

  “Since my mother died.”

  “I’m sorry. You mentioned it last night as well. Do you miss her very much?”

  “No, don’t worry; it was nearly fifteen years ago. I was a young child. Long time ago now. “

  Obviously Bryony didn’t want to discuss it further, for which Isabel was grateful. She renewed her decision to keep everything impersonal, and talking about one’s dead parent could easily lead onto discussing feelings.

  Feelings could lead to relationships being spread out all over the place, and relationships were the last thing Isabel wanted to talk about, to anybody. Her smashed body was one thing, but her broken heart was strictly off limits.

  “I’m pleased you like order. Mess and muddle distress me as well. In Africa, in the village round houses, there is no room for any muddle.”

  “Will I hear more about your times in Africa?”

  “Yes, through the course of the book.”

  “Now, as to breakfast. How about orange juice, cereal, toast and marmalade? Whole grain bread of course.”

  “Yes, but Marmite instead of marmalade. If there is any.”

  “I’ll look. “

  “If we start the book by 9 am, then that will give us the morning. I think that will be enough time to finish another chapter, and if we keep to that we can still have the afternoons for me to rest and to do other things.”

  “I don’t think you should aim for more than three thousand words a day, not at first anyway. It would be good to do a little physiotherapy as well. Have they given you any exercises to do?”

  “Not yet. They just sent me out of hospital like a screaming banshee, but as soon as I get my arms free, then I certainly need to build up my muscles.”

  Bryony made breakfast for them both and carried it back on a large tray to Isabel’s bedside. She sat on the bed, and gave Isabel sips of orange juice, then fed her cereal from a spoon, and finally cut up the toast into tiny squares and put them between her teeth one by one.

  “I was better at this when I was 12 months old,” grimaced Bel as she swallowed and bit another square of marmite toast.

  “I’m sorry but either I feed you, or you die of starvation. Here, last one. Now could you manage to give me a smile? Go on, I dare you.”

  “You are a very forward young thing.”

  “Go on, smile! I said I could live on one an hour and time’s up.”

  Isabel turned her face towards the sunshine pouring into her bedroom window from the southeast, and decided to oblige. She smiled directly at Bryony, an entrancing transformation of her face which almost took Bryony’s breath away.

  Isabel was quite beautiful when she smiled, and this was genuine. It reached her eyes and made them sparkle. Bryony had to smile back. It was contagious.

  “Hey, Dr. Bridgford, that was some smile. That has set me up for the rest of the morning. How do you feel?”

  “I feel...how do I feel? I actually might feel something resembling a human being at last. It’s also the first morning I haven’t woken with a splitting headache. But I’ll feel happier once we are back on the book.”

  “Right, what would you like to wear? I’ve washed yesterday’s kaftan, so choose something else.”

  Isabel indicated the chest of drawers, and then nodded when Bryony pulled out a linen top with wide sleeves and matching balloon pants. She put on a soft cotton Tee shirt for her under the linen top, and then slipped a sandal onto her one free foot.

  She was seated at the table in the kitchen in no time at all, and while Bryony hung out the washing, Isabel once again channeled her thoughts in creating understandable text. She had found the previous evening’s dictation surprisingly easy, but she had a very complex scheme for her book and knew it would not be straightforward to do everything without writing copious notes.

  When Bryony returned and opened her lap-top, she was ready.

  “To quote you, m
y girl, one, two, three, go...,” said Isabel, and she began to dictate again.

  Bryony followed her lead and began to type the words straight onto the keyboard. So it was ‘my girl’ now, not just ‘Girl!’ The ice was perhaps beginning to thaw. So far, so good.

  Chapter two of Isabel’s book began to get much more technical, and Bryony was forced to ask Isabel on several occasions to stop and explain so she could catch the spelling of African tribes and communities correctly and explain terms she’d not heard of before.

  “I know about re-iteration, but I’m not familiar with “iteration”. Is that development jargon?”

  “No! Well, perhaps, if it sounds new to you. Let me rephrase it,” and Isabel found easier ways to explain what she meant.

  She had lived so long in the world of community development and global campaigning on women’s rights; she’d forgotten that it had its own vocabularies and ways of expressing itself. But her head was filled with hundreds of stories, each illuminating in its own right, and she wanted to share them in a way which would be respectful to all the communities she had befriended, and who had befriended her, especially when she was young.

  Once Bel was in the zone, the words came easily, and she was so relieved she could remember what she wanted to say. She spoke without pause for more than an hour, and then almost collapsed in the wheelchair.

  She realized her headache had actually receded before, only by the fact that now the little man with the hammer was banging on her skull once more. She mentioned it to the girl sitting beside her, twirling a lock of her honey-colored hair in her fingers, and Bryony jumped to attention.

  “Hey, dehydration!” Bryony filled the water bottle from the tap and gave Isabel a long drink. Then she took a glass herself.

  “It’s very good water isn’t it? I bet it comes from a local source. It tastes wonderful.”

  Isabel hoped it wasn’t that local! She had enough bugs in her system already from drinking unfiltered water all over the world, and there was no way she could cope with a stomach upset now.