As if he’d heard her thoughts, Dr Kolm lifted his hands momentarily from the keyboard and was about to speak when from somewhere in the pile of papers a phone rang. Excuse me, he said, that’s my wife. Beth listened to him whispering to her that he’d be another hour at least. Don’t wait, he said, you start watching, I’ll catch it up tomorrow; leave mine on the bench, I’ll microwave it, don’t worry, I have a patient here that I need to deal with tonight. He hung up. All right, he said, smiling: so, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
It took Beth a moment to understand what he meant and as she did a sinking feeling came over her. Do you mean from the very beginning? From this morning, he said, or earlier, if it’s relevant. If she had not instinctively trusted this doctor, had not come so far to see him, she might very well in that moment have picked up her bag and left.
She went back through it all from the start. She was aware how late it was but every time she told herself to hurry on there was another detail that somehow seemed relevant: she spent a long time, for example, describing the passengers on the 291 and then, seemingly no less relevant, those on the 513 and 901 too. She told him about Sandi at the station, Rhys in the street outside Yi’s, Emily in the garden. Dr Kolm nodded and took notes throughout—it seemed that to him these things were somehow relevant. He spent a long time on the Twoomey visit and turned enthusiastically to the keyboard when Beth got to the part about Dr Twoomey’s procedure and the business with the receptionist about costs. He seemed particularly concerned about Twoomey’s analysis of Yi’s tests. He kept using big words, then apologising for them. Beth thought he might even be accusing Dr Twoomey of having missed something in the written results. He kept using the word blind. And besides, he said, I don’t see how a specialist like myself can find any use for the data—if you can call it that—coming out of an examination that, in my opinion, I’m sorry, borders on voodoo quackery. And you paid—what?—three hundred dollars? Three hundred and twenty, said Beth—but he was going to charge me three hundred and eighty at first. Shameful! said Dr Kolm, and he raised both hands in the air. I’ll get Mary to discuss rebates with you later—he seemed to think any further talk of Twoomey beneath him—but first, this evening, he said, we need to get done what the others have not, and by that I mean put you through some proper, rigorous tests. All right? He was leaning forward, smiling. He does have a sweet manner, she thought.
Dr Kolm quickly typed up something, then swung around and started grabbing this or that piece of medical equipment, somehow knowing where each was hidden and putting his hand directly on it. With his stethoscope he listened to her heart and lungs, with his sphygmomanometer he took her blood pressure, with his thermometer her temperature, and with his penlight torch he looked in her eyes, nose and throat. He asked her to roll up her sleeve and produced from under another pile a green plastic kidney dish with a set of vials and a plastic-wrapped syringe. He put on the tourniquet, flicked a vein, inserted the needle and filled seven different vials—light blue, dark blue, yellow, green, purple, pink, grey—then pressed down a cotton wad and stuck some white tape over it. He asked Beth for a urine sample and handed her a specimen jar. Second on the left, he said. He started labelling the vials.
She passed a locked door with warning signs on it and another locked door before she found the toilet and felt around for the switch. A dull bulb above the basin mirror went on. She had no trouble producing the sample—how long was it, she thought, since she’d peed?—but in the low light the problem was positioning the jar in such a way that it didn’t splash all over her hand.
Back in the room Dr Kolm scribbled on the label, put it in a zip-lock bag and placed it in the kidney dish alongside the bag with the bloods. All right, he said, let’s get you up. He cleared the examination table and Beth mounted the three steps to it. Dr Kolm poked and prodded, asked her to breathe, then cough. He made a few notes, opened a drawer and took out a white hospital gown; it was tightly folded and stiff with starch. Pop this on, he said, and he left.
How much longer was this going to take? she thought. It must be—what? Eight? Eight-thirty? She stripped to her bra and undies, put on the hospital gown and sat. Again her stomach grumbled. She looked at the desk, then the phone, then fished in her jacket pocket for the table napkin with David’s number on it. Dr Kolm reappeared, a white coat over his civvies. Doctor, said Beth, I’m sorry, I don’t want to hold you up, but would it be all right if I used your phone?
His voice took her by surprise at first: he was talking softly, in a whisper. It was only after they’d spoken for a while that she realised it was because the kids were in bed. Beth spoke softly too, explaining where she was and that he needn’t worry—she was just having some tests. She slowly worked her way back through the day, trying to make it all sound logical, even though it wasn’t. I have a map of places to get rebates, she said, but I haven’t had a chance to look them up yet and anyway—she lowered her voice further—it looks like this one will be cheap. They don’t know what’s wrong with me, David, they’re trying to find out; there’s no point taking the whole day off to still end up in the dark.
There was a pause at the other end. My god, Beth, said David. What the hell? He was squeezing his words out through his teeth. I’m sick, said Beth, there’s something wrong with me; my battery’s flat, I’m ringing from the doctor’s phone. But it’s after eight, said David: what’s going on? You’re the one who rang the doctor, said Beth. But you didn’t feel well, said David. You said: Maybe I should see a doctor. My doctor, yes, she said. But your doctor had nothing available, said David. Maybe I just needed a morning in bed, said Beth. She went quiet. Beth? I can’t talk, she said, it’s getting late, the doctor wants to run me through some more tests. I’m not the only one, David, there are others, and from what I’ve heard if you’re at a doctor’s late and need more tests in the morning they usually put you up overnight.
Where are you? he asked. At Dr Kolm’s, she said, in Epping. I’m coming to get you, he said. No, said Beth. Who’s Geoff? he said. His voice now had a mousy squeak. Beth? I rang that number you called from. Who’s Geoff? Beth let the silence hang. You’re the one who called the locum, she said, and who left the door unlocked—if I’d slept in and got up later I’d probably be fine. I might have even done a half-day’s work. You’re avoiding the question, said David. No, said Beth, I’m not dignifying it with an answer. They fell silent. You said you were sick, said David. She didn’t respond. You do make it hard, he said—I mean, I’ve rung Lyn, taken the kids to school, gone to work, rung your mobile twenty times, sent Emily to find you, picked up the kids, made dinner, given them their bath, got them to bed, rung Georgia, then Lyn again, lied and told them you’re fine, thought just then of ringing the cops—and now you’re making out like I’m the bad guy for caring about you, worrying about you, worrying myself sick about you, Beth, and thinking, actually, yes, that maybe you’re not sick but seeing someone else.
It went quiet again. The doctor’s back, said Beth. I should be home sometime tomorrow, David, but it depends on the results. Could you ring Lyn again? David? Are you there? Could you ring Lyn, please? Honey? Can you tell her?
Oh, Beth, he said. Are the kids asleep? she asked. Just a quick word, please. She heard the shuffle of cloth and a scratching sound and David’s footsteps going down the hall. Lettie? Gem? she heard him whisper, it’s Mummy on the phone. Their voices were tired. David was in the background: Tell Mummy what you did today at school. They asked when she’d be home. Are you sick? asked Lettie. A little bit, yes, said Beth, I have a cough. But I should be all right soon. She told them to be good girls and that it was time to go to sleep. Put Daddy on, she said. Goodnight, they said. Goodnight, girls, said David. She heard his footsteps going back, his breathing, then his voice. Oh, Beth, he said. I’ll ring tomorrow, she said, I have to go, the doctor’s waiting. Goodnight, David.
She put the phone back on the hook. On a pad on the desk Dr Kolm had written a single word hurriedly in black pe
n. There was a question mark beside it. But try as she might Beth couldn’t make out what it said.
All right, said Dr Kolm. He was at the door. Everything okay? Leave your things and follow me. Beth put her jacket over her shoulders (the gown was paper thin) and followed him down the hall. He stopped at one of the doors she’d passed earlier, unlocked it and pushed it open. There was a low light already on inside but it was hard to tell from the doorway whether the shapes in there—stainless steel, white enamel, and a combination of the two—made up a single item of machinery or whether they were three or four different machines. There was a flat bed to lie on, a scanner on a moveable arm, a white tube for the bed to go in. It looked like an X-ray table, CT scanner and MRI machine rolled into one.
In the far corner was a smaller room-within-a-room with a viewing window in front. A light went on in there and the machinery in the bigger room started to whirr. Thank you, Bradley, said Dr Kolm. There was someone in the smaller room, dressed in motorcycle leathers and carrying a helmet. He put his helmet down and took a white coat from the back of the door. Come in, said Dr Kolm. Beth was still standing in the doorway with her jacket on—Dr Kolm took it from her and put it on a chair. The room was cold, she clutched her shoulders; Bradley the motorcyclist came out of the little room with a blow heater and plugged it in. He had a big beard and wavy hair down to his collar. He went back in. Jewellery off now, please, said Dr Kolm. Beth took her wedding ring and earrings off and wrapped them in the napkin with the phone number on it. Pop up, he said, and Beth lay on her back. Dr Kolm stretched the heater’s cord as far as it would go, then went away and returned with a blanket. All right, he said, spreading it over her, the procedure will take about half an hour. I will be here the whole time. But first I’ll give you a little injection; you will feel a warmth and may get the sensation of having peed. It will pass. Beth felt the prick. Relax, said Dr Kolm, and he handed her a set of padded headphones. Put these on. Close your eyes. Please try to keep still. Before he left he lightly touched Beth’s arm and she felt a flood of warmth.
The room was warming up too. She heard Dr Kolm cross to the control room and speak briefly with his assistant, Bradley. Full coverage, he said. In the headphones a ’90s pop song came on while in the background the machinery clunked and whirred. The bed moved into the tunnel. Beth let her shoulders sink.
Yes, the phone call to David had upset her, but it had also drawn a line under the day. He’d picked up the kids, made dinner, bathed them, got them to bed—he might, god knows, have even got the book from the bag on the hook and made Gemma do her reading. But, most importantly, he had missed her. Would it hurt him to miss her a little more, even if just for a while, and maybe reset the chemistry between them? No, that couldn’t do any harm.
Beth floated on these thoughts, weightless in the dark. Things are taking their course, she thought, everything is getting rearranged. Little black snowflakes fell from a gunmetal sky.
You will feel better, said a voice, if you don’t waste energy fighting. It wasn’t Bradley or Kolm. It took me a while, it said, like you, to arrive at some sort of acceptance. The voice was coming from the headphones but also somehow from inside the tunnel. When I lay here, like you, it said, seven weeks ago to the day, I was fighting tooth and nail. That’s why I keep coming back, like a dog to its vomit, to the site of the trauma, to see. A face appeared and floated before her, just beyond her nose: a puffy young man with pimples and blotches and big red lips. His hair looked like a wig; his eyes were half-closed. I won’t be the only one talking about acceptance, he said, you’ll get plenty along the way, but let me tell you that the seven weeks after this was a journey through earthly Hell. Don’t laugh, he said, it’s not my hair, they buried me in my wig. One indignity after another. His face seemed so real and his words so true that Beth wanted to ask: Who are you? But then another voice cut in: Beth, can you hear me? It wasn’t Puffy Face. I need you to stay still, said Dr Kolm. The music came back. The otherworldly voice and vision had faded. Minutes passed. Beth thought she smelled dinner: was it here in the room, or in some memory of home and hearth? The machinery whirred; she felt the light on her eyelids brighten. A hand removed the headphones and touched her softly on the shoulder. Beth? We’re finished now, said Dr Kolm; Mary has got you something to eat.
Beth opened her eyes; a woman was standing beside her. This is my wife, said Dr Kolm. His voice sounded strange; Beth realised he was speaking to her from a microphone in the little room. Bradley and I are finished here for now, he said; we’ll check the pictures, run a report and see what we’ve got. But in the meantime—Mary?—you can pop down and get dressed. Beth turned towards the voice. Her body was out of the tube now, the flat bed was in the centre of the room, the scanner on the arm had been returned to its housing. Dr Kolm was looking at her through the glass. His wife turned the blanket back.
Beth felt a little unsteady at first and had to hold on to Mrs Kolm’s arm. She was a big woman with a soft round face, her grey hair cut short like a boy’s. She’d brought Beth’s clothes from the other room—there was a new pair of underpants, white, not hers, on top. Mrs Kolm put them on the chair. Here, let me help you, she said. She went behind, untied the cord, took off the gown and used it as a screen. Beth dropped her old undies and put the fresh ones on. While she finished dressing, Mrs Kolm scrunched up the dirty pair and put them in her pocket.
I’ll take Beth down to her room now, John, she said, folding the white gown over her arm. I’m Mary, she said, don’t worry, and she led Beth into the hallway past the toilet to another door further on. She flicked a light switch and gestured for her to go in.
It was like a school sick bay: a single window with the curtain drawn, a single bulb in a plastic shade, a single bed with a chest of drawers, a simple lamp and a small clock radio. They’d left a blow heater on and the air was hot and stuffy. Mary turned it off. To the left of the door was a cupboard and in the corner, a chair. Next to the window was a wash basin, a hand’s width at most, with a small mirror above. The furnishings and bedcover were old. Folded on the end of the bed, in two neat, separate piles, were a blue nylon nightie and a red woollen dressing-gown. I’m sure you’re starving, said Mary; I’ll go and get your food now. John’s had his; he’s used to standing up. It’s nothing special. I’ll heat it up. I’ll pop out in the morning and get something nice—fresh fruit maybe. She smiled her friendly smile. There’s a radio there—she pointed at the little clock radio with the green display. Beth thanked her and sat on the bed.
For a long time she didn’t move, didn’t think. There was a musty smell in the room and the lingering odour of burnt dust. She thought of turning on the radio but was worried what she’d find. Bombings, earthquakes, hurricanes? Deaths in the hundreds, thousands? And then her woes would be—what? Mary came back with a plate covered by a dull stainless-steel cloche, with a knife and fork wrapped in a white napkin beside it. She placed it on the bedside chest of drawers and left. Beth pushed the two pillows up to lean against and took off the cloche. Sausages with vegetables and mash. There was still some steam coming off it, but the vegetables were dull and overcooked and there was already a slight scum on the gravy. But she was hungry, very hungry. She ate. When she finished she cleaned the plate with her finger, used the napkin to wipe her mouth, laid the knife and fork down and put the cloche back. She sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then got up to look around.
The window looked out onto the factory yard next door with two big light towers bathing it all in silver: a crane, two flatbed trucks, a forklift and a pile of empty pallets. She checked the cupboard—there was a set of clothes hanging inside. She checked the tags: they were all her size. In the bottom of the cupboard was a row of shoes, including a pair of fluffy slippers—again, all her size. She looked in the chest of drawers. In the top were three bras and five pairs of undies—all different colours, all her size—but in the drawers below only a stray button and an old lavender bag that didn’t smell. She heard movement in
the hallway and a light going off, then, aside from the distant sound of cars and trucks, everything went quiet.
There was an old-fashioned chrome snib on the inside of the door; she pushed it closed and undressed. Her clothes smelled of the day: sweat, deodorant, antiseptic, orange peel, bus exhaust, lime and basil, meat and three veg. She folded each item onto the chair. She put on the nightie, turned on the lamp, checked the snib and turned the overhead light off. One night, she thought—it should be all over tomorrow. She heard voices, then the front door clicking closed. She got in under the cool covers and sat like that for a while, the two pillows stacked behind her. She threw one aside and fluffed up the other, then turned off the lamp. She thought of Lettie and Gem, asleep in their beds: shadow eyes, rosebud lips. The soft green glow from the clock radio showed 9.37. There was a silver glow on the curtains, and a small light blinking on the ceiling above. A motorbike engine kicked and grumbled, then faded into the distance.
SECOND MORNING / BUS STOP
It was a restless sleep, full of dreams: Mrs Kolm, Puffy Face, David with his tall black hat. Beth woke at six, remembered where she was, and tried to sleep again. The doorhandle might have been rattling for ages before she recognised the sound. It rattled again; she could see the chrome snib shaking, then she heard footsteps moving away. A low roar was coming from the cars and trucks out on the main road. The clock said 8.05. She pushed the covers back, took a short-sleeved bone-coloured cotton dress from the cupboard, matched it with a pair of heels and replaced that pair with her own. She checked herself in the mirror and fixed her hair. She put on some makeup, widened her eyes and pouted her lips. Yes, for a woman who’d left home suddenly yesterday and seen three specialists since she didn’t look so bad.
Some Tests Page 7
