To Dr Cartwright, A Daughter

by Meredith Webber

  The doors to 'A' were tightly closed, and she experienced a pang of disappointment that her plan wasn't being put into action immediately. Having the empty ward would have made it so much easier to rearrange beds and patients.

  Helen greeted her in 'B'.

  The ward looked different, and Helen explained they'd brought in extra beds from 'A', although they weren't in use.

  'We decided we'd put any new arrivals in here, even if it meant being a bit crowded. I've nabbed the extra staff from 'A', so staffing's no problem. Rosa has enough on her plate with Mrs Carstairs in one of her birthing suites and the Asian mothers in the ward area. It's worked out well. In fact, like the women in my ward, they've been most unimpressed by the fuss she's making and have withdrawn into their own exclusive little group. I think Mrs Carstairs would have preferred a bit of awe and admiration from her fellow patients, but she's certainly not getting it from those.'

  'But if she's in a suite she wouldn't see much of the other patients,' Katy objected.

  'No?' Helen said, and smiled at her. 'Before the latest incident, she'd taken to parading up and down the ward, talking about "my babies" in a loud voice. Sometimes Mr Carstairs followed her, but Rosa put a stop to his accompanying her, saying it was violating the other women's right to privacy.'

  Katy shook her head, unable to believe the excesses of their famous patient.

  'I'm glad Rosa was firm,' she said. 'Another belief among some of these women is that the baby shouldn't see too many strangers early in his or her life.'

  'That stems from common-sense, really,' Helen agreed. 'The more people in contact with the baby, the more chance of someone passing on an infection of some kind.'

  'The more I read of their customs, the more sense it all makes to me—apart from not showering!' Katy replied. She smiled at Helen. 'And what about Mrs Carstairs's health? Was the surgery successful? Has it calmed things down a bit?' she asked.

  'Go see for yourself,' Helen suggested.

  'I suppose I'll have to,' Katy said reluctantly. She walked on down the corridor and into 'C'. A nurse she didn't know was at the station, so Katy introduced herself and asked for Rosa.

  'She's ducked out for ten minutes,' the young woman explained. 'I think she's probably on the fire stairs letting out great howls of frustration. It's been one of those days!'

  'More trouble?'

  The girl smiled and shook her head.

  'Actually, a lot of the fuss has died down, and Mrs Carstairs hasn't been feeling well enough to think of a new sensation, but Mrs Robinson definitely wants to breast feed and she's been having trouble expressing milk. Rosa has spent a lot of time with her, trying various breast pumps, but we suspect the milk's not coming in because she's getting more and more distressed about it.'

  'And the baby was pre-term, remember. All the proper signals weren't in place in her body.'

  "That's true,' the nurse agreed. 'Actually, there's someone from the pre-term births association in there with her now. She's always more cheerful after one of their visits.'

  'If her visitor leaves, I'll pop in and see her before I go.' Katy collected the roster sheets and patient files, then walked on into the ward. Her Vietnamese friend had been discharged that morning. Katy had no fears for her—her sensible husband would look after her well while she 'did the month'.

  The woman from Hong Kong beckoned her, and Katy walked across and sat down in her visitor's chair.

  'This is an excellent idea,' she told Katy, 'putting we Asian mothers together.'

  Again Katy was struck by the differences more than the similarities between the women. Mrs 'Hong Kong', as Katy thought of her, was wearing an embroidered silk negligee with what looked like a white angora wrap thrown around her shoulders to keep her warm. Gold jewellery shone against her pearly skin—fat rings with glowing diamonds, heavy linked chains on her wrist and slung around her neck.

  'It means we can do things in the old way and talk about the customs of our ancestors, but you need a steam room—and arrangements should be made about placentas for those who wish to know it has been properly treated.'

  Katy tried not to shudder. She knew some South-East Asian people believed the placenta should be salted and buried outside their home to ensure a safe and happy life for the child. She hadn't included any suggestions about this custom in her file on the new unit because she couldn't see how the hospital could legally regulate such unorthodox disposal of what constituted waste product.

  She ignored that issue and began to explain that the hospital was hoping to set up a special unit.

  'Eventually, we hope to be able to offer far more than just grouping the patients,' she said.

  'But I can do it now,' the woman said. 'You tell me how much it will cost and I will fix it.'

  Katy felt her jaw drop. Until that very moment she'd always regarded the expression as ludicrous, but she had felt her jaw definitely slacken, no doubt leaving her mouth agape with shock.

  'It's more involved than money—' Katy began to explain, but the woman waved away her objections.

  'Work it out!' she ordered in a crisp, peremptory tone. 'I am staying here until Wednesday; tell me by then.'

  Katy mumbled something soothing, spoke briefly to the other women and departed. Mrs 'Hong Kong' was obviously used to getting her own way—but if she wanted to give some money to the hospital, it was up to Katy to work out how best they might spend it. Perhaps a steam room would be possible after all!

  She'd spoken to Sue Gates several times during the day, so she bypassed the nursery—although she'd have liked to have checked on the Robinson baby, and sneaked a quick look at the quins!

  Back in her office, she tried three firms listed in the Yellow Pages as supplying steam baths and saunas, but all were closed. It was too late to do any more today and Julia would be growing impatient. Although the crèche remained open until after evening visiting hours, and even provided an overnight service to staff on night shifts, Julia believed five o'clock was 'going home time' and tended to nag when Katy was late.

  Perhaps the money would be better spent on a language programme of some kind, she thought, and then, as she took the lift back to ground level, decided that the staff all managed quite well with sign language and the interpreters' help.

  She collected Julia and listened to her chatter on about her day, grateful to Mrs 'Hong Kong' because considering her suggestion helped keep thoughts of Jake at bay.

  Until he loomed up on the path in front of them and was greeted with great delight by Julia!

  She seized his hand and began to swing, but Katy's warning growl was enough to convince her that it wasn't a good idea.

  Julia chattered to Jake and Katy let her take control. She certainly couldn't have carried on a normal conversation. Her anger at Jake was still storming through her blood, but his presence prompted so many other responses her body felt at war with itself. His appeals—for her at least—was like a force-field of electrical currents, zapping constantly at her skin, her nerves...

  'So you'll come?' Julia finished.

  Come where? Katy wondered wildly. Where were they going in the near future? Where had Julia invited him?

  'It might not suit your mother,' Jake said quietly, glancing towards Katy with a strange expression on her face.

  She frowned, trying to think whether she'd promised Julia they'd go somewhere special, then her daughter answered for her.

  'Oh, Mum never minds another one for dinner. Marie often comes, because it's on her way home from uni or she needs to study and her house is too noisy. But she won't come tonight because she's going to a rock concert.'

  Ordinarily the information that the quiet, demure Marie was going to a rock concert would have diverted Katy, but she'd caught on to the question now.

  Julia had invited Jake to dinner!

  Tonight!

  'Katy?'

  So, he wasn't going to come unless she asked him—at least that was something.

  'Please, Mum, pleas
e say yes!'

  She looked down into the lovely sightless eyes and knew she couldn't disappoint the excited child.

  'Of course you can come,' she said coolly, keeping any hint of welcome from her voice.

  She had some chicken schnitzel—Julia's favourite food—in the freezer. She'd pull it out as soon as they reached the house. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, but she kept her mind on the practicalities of dinner. Thinking of chicken schnitzel stopped her thinking of electric currents.

  He was the perfect guest.

  He played with Julia while Katy fixed dinner, he cut Julia's schnitzel, and unobtrusively slid the pieces of chicken under her fork as she felt for them. He washed the dishes while Julia had her bath, then gave in to the child's pleas to read to her before she went to sleep.

  Katy made a pot of coffee while he was upstairs. She didn't want him staying for coffee, but she had to do something to keep her hands and mind occupied. He had, as she'd suspected he would, invaded her house like an invisible fog—taking possession of its atmosphere with effortless ease.

  If she closed her eyes, she could see him sitting on the floor, guiding Julia's hands as she fitted blocks together, pushing toys within reach so she didn't have to scramble for them. And as her heart ached for what might have been she forgot the past and felt her rage beginning to dissolve, washed away by the memory of a child's joyous laughter.

  'She's waiting for her goodnight kiss.'

  Jake's voice startled her out of her dreams.

  'I'll go straight up,' she said, and hurried past him.

  She realised—too late?—that the anger had been a barrier, some slight protection against his magnetic appeal.

  'So, Katy?'

  The words greeted her as she came cautiously down the stairs. He was sitting in the living room, his coffee poured and the cup clasped in his lean, tanned fingers.

  'So what, Jake?' she muttered.

  'So what was all that fury about this morning?' he said, his voice calm but implacable.

  Fortunately she felt a flicker of the heat and fury return, and she procrastinated—hoping the flicker would strengthen into flame. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down opposite him. Her house—quite adequate for two—seemed smaller now, and the sitting room felt more like a closet than the spacious room she'd once thought it.

  'It was about something you said to me last week. "I had my reasons", you said, Jake.' She tried to listen to her voice, to see if she sounded as calm as she was pretending to be, but subtle nuances were beyond her. 'I saw your hospital records this morning.'

  'Hospital records are confidential, Katy.'

  His quiet, slightly reproving tone broke through her thin veneer of control.

  'So report me and have me sacked,' she raged. 'What "reasons" did you have, Jake? That you were going to be crippled? What kind of a person did you think me, that you could possibly decide I'd be upset by that?

  'I loved you, Jake—loved you so much it almost hurt to breathe—and you put me through hell because of your stupid pride. Because that's all it was, you know! You couldn't bear to think of yourself as less than perfect. You couldn't cope with me seeing you that way. I didn't hate you then—I couldn't—but I hate you now, Jake, hate to think you thought so little of me you could cut me off the way you did.'

  Her fingers were shaking so much the hot coffee slopped over them. She reached out and put the cup down, feeling in her pocket for a handkerchief, blinking furiously to keep her tears from falling.

  'It wasn't pride, Katy.'

  He spoke into a silence that had seemed so complete she might have been alone.

  'It was a lot of things but it wasn't that.'

  She'd found her handkerchief and wiped her fingers. She blew her nose, then sniffed back a few more tears. She wanted rage, not tears!

  'Well, don't stop there!' she snorted. 'What was it if it wasn't pride?'

  He set his cup down carefully on the side table, then leaned forward. He was close enough to touch if she reached out. She pushed her body back into the chair—denying the urge!

  'It was you,' he said softly. 'You and your damned independence! Honestly, Katy, you were the most stubbornly independent person I had ever met. You refused help from your friends, from people like Ben Logan, who would have done anything for you, and, most of all, you refused help from me—someone you supposedly loved!'

  He looked up and she saw pain and grief in his eyes—recognising it because she'd seen it in her own eyes so often.

  'So how do you think I felt when they said I'd probably never walk again? How do you think I felt when I realised I was going to be dependent on someone for the rest of my life—and, if we stayed together, dependent on the world's most independent person? It was great stuff, Katy, believe me!'

  His voice was hoarse with the memories of that time and she could hear the pain he must have felt.

  'But I wouldn't have cared,' she yelled at him. 'Don't you understand that? Didn't it enter your thick skull that I loved you? Not an outer shell which could or couldn't walk, but the person inside that shell—the bit of you that laughed and cried and argued and helped me with my studies and held me when things got too much to handle. You could have kept doing all those things with legs that didn't work.'

  'I know you wouldn't have cared, Katy,' he said gruffly. 'That was the problem. You'd have kept loving me and bullied me to get better and taken me up as yet another burden on your slim shoulders. But I cared too much to let you do that. I loved you too much to diminish you that way, to have you give up your studies to look after me, give up your dreams...'

  His voice faded, then he added, 'But you did that anyway,' in a tight, hard voice, and leaned back in the chair, as if saying the words had drained the last remnants of his strength.

  Katy could see his reasoning, could almost hear the things he'd left unsaid. Caring for a paraplegic was costly. She'd have had to accept hand-outs from his family, and her pride, not his, would have been ravaged in the process.

  'But we'd have made it,' she argued. 'We'd have worked our way through it all.'

  'Would we?' he asked.

  She shook her head. No one could say for certain. She'd seen so many relationships break down and die when too much outside pressure was brought to bear, and the pressures both she and Jake would have had to endure would have been enormous.

  'You could have given me the choice!' she muttered, the old wrong not righted, the old pain still tender to the touch.

  'I couldn't give you the choice,' he replied. 'You know how you'd have chosen. And I didn't want your love to turn to pity, our passion to die because I was a "duty". You'd have grown to resent me, to remember I went into that race against your wishes—wildly and recklessly brought the accident on myself! I couldn't take the risk—I couldn't give up what last shreds of self-respect I had. I couldn't let myself become dependent on you!'

  His voice deepened with the strength of half-forgotten convictions, then softened as he continued, 'You, of all people, should understand, Katy. Would you have let me care for you if the positions had been reversed?'

  Probably not, she thought, remembering she'd considered that question earlier today. But she wasn't going to admit it. The positions hadn't been reversed.

  'You're walking now!' she pointed out, knowing he would understand all the things she hadn't said.

  He bowed his head, and she saw his chest rise as he drew in a deep breath, then heard the sigh of its release.

  'My parents flew me home from here. They called in more specialists and refused to accept the doctors' verdict—'

  'You parents, Jake? Not you?' she interrupted, not willing to believe he'd been a passive patient.

  'My parents,' he confirmed. 'I didn't care what happened to me, Katy. I'd lost you, lost my strength and nearly lost my mind! I'd lost too much to care about anything—and I was only too aware that the whole blighted mess could have been avoided if I'd had one shred of common-sense, so I had a load
of guilt to bear as well.'

  'Go on,' she told him, feeling in her heart the deep agony of regret which must have haunted him.

  'They took me to America—to a specialist in the United States. I went through barrages of tests again and he decided it wasn't my back but my hip.'

  'Weren't both legs paralysed?' Katy asked, drawn into the medical aspect of the problem in spite of herself.

  'They were, but this doctor decided it was sympathetic paralysis in the right leg. He operated and released pressure on the sciatic nerve caused by the way the pelvic bones had knitted together and he did a nerve repair of a kind that hadn't then been tackled in Australia. It still took time—two years before I was walking properly— but—'

  'And it didn't occur to you even then to write and say, "I'm better, Katy". To tell me how you'd felt and why you'd acted as you did. .You had to wait another four years, then smash your way back into my life—into my house...' She was crying now in earnest, the tears rolling down her face faster than she could wipe them away. She bent her head so he couldn't see how deeply his story had affected her.

  'I did write!'

  Her head jerked upward and she peered at him through the blurred veil of sorrow in her eyes.

  'When?' she demanded, hope and despair jostling in her heart.

  'In December of that first year,' he said. 'I sent you a Christmas card from America with snow and robins on it, because we'd always laughed about Christmas cards like that out here, when it was ninety degrees in the shade. I told you what was happening—why I'd lied to you that day and sent back your letters when I thought all hope was gone.'

  In December she'd been in hospital, a thousand miles from Lake Shore. She'd been admitted, sick and weak from the prolonged diarrhoea of Giardia, at the beginning of the month. The trouble she'd assumed was persistent morning sickness had finally been diagnosed and she'd been treated, but it had been too late to save Julia from the effects of placental insufficiency. She'd been born on Christmas Eve, six weeks before she was due.

  'I didn't get a letter,' Katy whispered, trying not to consider what such a letter would have meant to her at that stage.