by Ruth Hay
Corinne rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes to think. It seemed an age since Carla was a little girl in her blue bedroom with the rainbow curtains. She had the usual menagerie of dolls and soft animals. She had a few favourite books but in that pre-individual-computer era she was most often using her imagination to entertain herself. She would sing and dance in front of the mirror for hours and dress up in her mother’s old clothes and stolen make-up. Now that she thought about it, Carla didn’t dress as a bride like most little girls. She would play at being girls she saw on television programs and she was a good mimic. One of her best turns was as the young actress who played the twins in a popular Disney movie. She used to perform both parts with different costumes and accents and even her big brother laughed till he cried at her antics. Then, when she went to secondary school she enjoyed drama classes and had a role in a musical production that Corinne had missed because of work at the hospital. It was one of their first big rows. Carla was so upset when her mother didn’t turn up for the show. Corinne had yelled at her to grow up and concentrate on studies that would get her a paying job. It was an incident Corinne was ashamed of. She blushed again at the memory.
Was that the start of their lack of communication? What did it mean in the long run?”
Corinne’s head came up with a jerk that alarmed her waiting husband. She turned to him and caught his chin in her hands so he could not look away from her gaze.
“Arthur Carstairs what does this suggest to you? Listen.
A little girl who made up games by herself.
A child who dressed up in grown-up clothes.
A mimic who could imitate accents.
A young girl who loved being on stage.
A young woman who resents an early marriage.
A young woman who is bored selling clothes.
What do you think about all that, Arthur?”
“I don’t know what to think. Is it someone who is in the wrong place?”
“Yes. I believe that’s it. Our daughter was meant to be an actress and if I’m right, we discouraged her whenever she tried to tell us. Over and over we insisted it was no way to earn a living.”
Light dawned on her husband’s face. “Are you saying Carla set out to marry Brad as a way to escape from us and our expectations? Poor Brad, he had no hope of a contented little wife. If you are right, Corinne, it’s no wonder she has been so full of resentment at everyone. She sees herself as trapped in a dead-end existence, a million miles from what she really needs to be doing. She has never shared this with the man she married so it’s no surprise she wouldn’t tell us. What are we going to do about this now? What can we do?”
“The only thing we can do is to release her.”
Corinne went off to the hospital in the driving rain with the phrase ringing in her mind like the reverberations of a giant bell. Letting Carla go free to do what she needed to do without argument was the only way forward. Even if she did not want to pursue some kind of artistic career, freedom to start again would set her on a new and more fulfilling path. There was no use harking back to the past and wasted opportunities. If she really wanted this chance she would have to find a way. There was no likelihood of financial help coming from her parents or from Brad. She would have to do what others before her had done; forge her own destiny.
Arthur had agreed to talk to Carla this evening and get her response.
There was something uplifting in the thought of setting Carla free to pursue her dreams. Not only would it solve the problem of Carla, if only temporarily. It also resounded in Corinne’s thinking in a way that demanded a response. She thought back to last week in the Lake District when she had felt so renewed. What was there about that seven days that had made her feel happy and free?
She discounted all the obvious factors like a wonderful holiday from work in an amazing location with good friends, and what was left was the overwhelming sense of life in the outdoors instead of being locked up in the hospital for twelve-hour shifts.
She pulled into the hospital parking lot and put on the parking brake. The rain still poured down the car windshield and it felt like an appropriate symbol for how she was feeling.
Drenched.
Stressed.
Besieged.
Overwhelmed.
Now that some of Carla’s issues had been tackled, surely she finally had time to think about herself?
What do I want?
What do I need?
She decided to stay in the isolation of the car until she had figured out something to make her own life better. A start had to be made somewhere? Why not here?
Arthur was on disability pay and might not be able to work full time again. She could be the major wage earner for the family for the foreseeable future, but if she was unhappy or ill, the whole structure of their lives could fall apart faster than a demolished building. It had happened to other families. She and Arthur were not immune. She had to work and nursing was the only thing she knew. Once upon a time she had loved caring for patients but that was before nurses had to be responsible for much more than one role. The way she had to hop around from one station to another as need arose, was the main reason why she was discontented. Looking after one person at a time was much more satisfying than trying to be all things to all people all the time.
An analytical part of her mind clicked in and the phrase ‘compassion fatigue’ presented itself. She could not deny that it fit her perfectly but what could she do about it?
Looking back on this later, Corinne realized it was one of those moments when a person is at a rare place in life. At such a place, if you are truly open to anything, the universe responds.
She had felt a calm come over her mind and body. In that calm she looked around her. The parking lot was full of cars, but empty of people. She could see them huddled at the entrance to the hospital waiting for a break in the rain. A figure pushed through the pack and made a run for it. The woman raced up to a car beside where Corinne sat and she recognized her as a colleague who had joined the Victorian Order of Nurses some years before. They exchanged sympathetic smiles about the weather and the car drove off.
In the vast hospital parking lot, one person had approached Corinne’s car. That person worked for an organization that supplied nursing help to housebound patients during their recovery from surgery.
The VON nurses worked independently which meant they had some control over their working conditions. They had a mileage allowance and a designated area. They rarely, if ever, worked at night and most of their patients survived.
It all fell into place at once. She was a good candidate for VON work. In fact, this very colleague had enquired a year ago if Corinne wanted a change. At the time she could not consider it. There was too much going on in her home life, but now…….?
She could move away from the daily hospital routine that was wearing her down and drive around with the windows open, stopping for a break in any country area that provided a fine view or in a city park where she could breathe air untainted by the dry, pungent atmosphere of the hospital.
It was exactly what she had been needing without realizing it. It only became obvious in the Lake District.
Her spirits soared. There was a way out. She pummeled the steering wheel with both hands in her delight and a broad smile lit up her face. She thought how happy Valerie and Sandra would be to hear her news and she decided to phone them very soon.
This thought brought into her mind the encounters with Zoe and the letter she had sent to Val before the group split up to go their separate ways. Zoe had implemented changes in her life as soon as she had returned to London. It was not impossible for Corinne to take charge and do the same. Suddenly she made another connection.
Zoe. London. Carla.
She could ask Zoe to keep an eye on Carla while she did some courses or looked for work in London.
Where else would Carla head than to the entertainment mecca of Britain?
It was all coming toget
her in a miraculous way. Even the rain had stuttered to a halt and there might be a hint of blue in the sky.
Corinne Carstairs bounced out of her car and ran to the hospital entrance. It was no longer a place of endurance. It had become a jumping-off point for a whole new beginning.
Five.
Wednesday.
Dr. Wesley Jason Philips arranged his appointments so as to provide a breathing space between patients. He used this time to shake off the particular problems of the latest patient and to read over his notes about the next one. It was important to clear his mind in this way in order to be prepared to give his full attention to each person with whom he was working.
Zoe Morton was due to arrive in ten minutes. She was a new case but one that was not typical of the usual young women he treated. Miss Morton seemed to know her own mind. He could even say she had diagnosed herself. It appeared she had been aware to some degree of the issues in her past and only recently decided to do something about the memories and fears she had partially submerged.
He glanced at his preliminary notes and saw his comment after their last session.
Miss Morton may be jumping ahead too quickly in the urge to get things settled so she can eliminate the trauma and move on.
It would be his focus today to slow her down. To ask her to deliberate on all the implications of her mother’s suicide and release the pain wherever it might lie. Only then would she be able to put the horrific incident aside.
He turned to a fresh page. His session notes were transferred to his computer after each day’s appointments but the notebook and pen seemed to be less intrusive during meetings. Patients expected to see him seated comfortably and making eye contact, so that is what he did.
He heard his receptionist’s voice in the next room and rose to greet Zoe Morton. It was his practise to open the door and gauge the patient’s manner, welcoming him or her into his comfortable office as if they were good friends about to have a chat.
He noticed at once that Miss Morton was precisely on time, relaxed and wearing a smart dress in a shade he would describe as ‘celery green’. This was a good sign. The very first thing she had confessed about herself was her prior addiction to black and white clothing which she had declared to be significant of her attitude to life and the people she encountered. Black and white indicated she was a yes/no, on/off type, definitive about her opinions. Not the easiest kind of client.
She marched in and assumed the chair in which she had sat before. There were a number of seating options in the room and he always noted which had been selected by the patient. Zoe Morton had chosen the chair most closely matched to the height and design of his own. She was placing them on the same plane in importance or in mental capacity.
She also wasted no time in idle chatter. She was ready to make the most of her session opportunities.
He could not but be affected by her presence. As a young, dynamic, executive she was not only bright and receptive but she was also remarkably attractive in appearance with that gleaming, precision-cut black hair and a pale complexion, perfectly complemented by subtle make-up. Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle with life and energy.
His receptionist had informed him about the products Zoe Morton used to highlight her natural beauty.
Beth had been given a sample bag of the Excelsior line on Zoe’s second visit to the office. Beth had been her devoted fan ever since.
“So, Doctor, what’s on the agenda today?”
“Miss Morton, you know the agenda is yours, and not mine. What is on your mind at the moment and what have you been thinking since our last session?”
She crossed her long legs and settled herself more comfortably in the chair. This was a device frequently used to give patients a moment or two to gather their thoughts. He waited.
“Last week you brought up the topic of forgiveness. I told you of my recent meeting with two old friends of my mother. They also spoke about the importance of forgiveness and one of them quoted a rival psychologist…” She chuckled at the memory of Sandra’s devotion to Oprah Winfrey, “….. who espoused the notion that the first person to be forgiven is one’s own self.”
“I don’t know to whom you are referring but that is, indeed, the only place to begin. How do you feel about forgiving yourself?”
“I admit to being at the beginning of this process, Doctor Philips, but I have made a start. I realize the destruction of my family was not my fault. That is the conclusion a child would make and I am no longer a child.”
“So, if you are not to blame, who then requires your forgiveness?”
The air in the room changed. It was a phenomenon with which he was familiar. There was an almost electric charge when a patient drew near to an important revelation. Silence grew as she looked inward.
“I suppose I can forgive my mother but it will take some time. I bitterly resented the fact that she left me alone in the world; a teenager with far too much responsibility, and dangerous decisions to make.”
He let those comments fade into the ether. He wanted to see if she could identify the fatal flaw in her reasoning.
Eventually she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “What do you have to say to that Doctor?”
“I am wondering if you have anything to add, Miss Morton.”
She sensed he was suggesting something very uncomfortable for her so she chose a different tactic to divert his attention.
“I’d be happy if you addressed me as Zoe, Doctor. Miss Morton is my business name and we are certainly not doing business here.”
“I will be glad to do as you suggest, Zoe, if you call me Wesley.”
She smiled a narrow smile that did not reach her eyes. Her mind was busy trying to find another way out of the present dilemma.
He declined to help her. The silence deepened until a small clock on his desk in the far corner of the room could be heard ticking away the seconds.
“I imagine this is a tactic used frequently in your office. If a client does not respond, valuable time is wasted on both sides.”
“That choice is entirely up to you, Zoe. I can bring us back to the discussion. We were talking about forgiveness and you spoke of how alone you felt after your mother’s suicide.”
A light sheen of perspiration was breaking out on her forehead and her hands were becoming damp. She wiped them on her skirt, then clasped them tightly together with fingers intertwined. She had to face this sometime. If she wanted help she would have to be honest.
“I think I know what you want to hear. I was not totally alone. Unlike my mother, my father was still alive.”
He noticed at once how difficult it had been for her to say the words. She barely got the word ‘father’ out of her mouth through her gritted teeth. This was going to be her stumbling block.
“So, Zoe, there are three people in your forgiveness arena . Name them for me please.”
It took courage, a deep inhalation and nails biting into her fingers but she got the words out in the end.
“Myself, my mother …………… and my father.”
“Excellent! We’ll progress from there in our next session. I want you to tell me what you remember about your father from your early childhood. Give that some thought before we meet again.
Have a good day, Zoe. You have come a long way already.”
He rose and opened the door. When she had gone through into the capable hands of Beth, his receptionist, he picked up the notebook and started to write, only to put down the pen almost immediately.
The haunted look on that beautiful face was still with him. His professional opinion was that he would be able to help her with her demons but, personally, he feared what the journey might cost her.
Zoe Morton returned to her office, anxious to get on with her day. She had the ability to shrug off one disappointing event and move hopefully on to the next challenge without revealing her feelings. It was a skill she had learned long ago. It did not do to let team members know something was not goi
ng well.
It only led to insecurity among the workers in the company. It was all about a show of positivity.
The trouble was, she was not feeling positive about the work ahead of her with Dr. Philips. He had a disturbing knack of making her face up to well-hidden secrets. Part of her knew this was exactly what she was paying him for, but another part was afraid the unveiling of these secrets would weaken her ability to always appear strong and in control.
She glanced at the computer screen on her desk. Suzanne had shoehorned her doctor appointments into her busy schedule by dint of doubling up on other requirements. This meant more work in a shorter period of time. The good thing about this relentless process was that Zoe knew she would have little time to worry until she returned to her loft apartment later in the evening. The bad thing was that she had to concentrate all the harder when facing the daily problems only an executive could solve. This left her more tired than normal.
When she was finally alone, the impact of today’s revelations would descend upon her in full force. This was what had happened after each session so far. She had tried to extend her working day but Suzanne was a bulldog who guarded her every move and insisted she needed her rest.
“Oh, Miss Morton, there was a call while you were out. You asked me to let you know if any of your friends got in touch. A Valerie Westwood asked you to call her urgently. I have the number here.”
Zoe was almost glad to be interrupted. It would be a relief to hear the calming voice of Aunt Valerie.
She dialled the number at once and waited through three ring tones until she heard that voice and with it came a flood of happy memories from the previous week in the Lakelands. She relaxed and breathed freely again.
