No Cure for Death

by Hazel Holt

  “Hello Sheila, I heard from Mother about your fall. A hairline fracture of the radius wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  While she was working on the wrist she kept up a flow of easy chat, about Michael and Thea and Alice, about her husband Roy and her two boys, and about her sister Kathy – now married to Ben Turner, one of our vets, and expecting a baby in the autumn.

  “Joanna Stevenson’s expecting a baby too,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, they’re a bit fed up about it next door,” she nodded in the direction of the GPs’ section. “They’re very short-staffed as it is, what with Dr Morrison and Dr Porter only coming in part-time. There’s Dr Macdonald, of course, and Joanna’s husband Clive Stevenson, but they’ll still be pretty stretched.”

  “Still, it’s nice for the Stevensons. Is it their first?”

  “Yes, but Joanna’s coming back to the practice after the baby’s born.”

  “So many mothers do now.”

  “Economic necessity,” Jean said. “And, of course, if you’ve had a long and expensive training you don’t feel like giving it all up. I know that’s how I felt.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Thea doesn’t regret giving up the law?” Jean asked.

  “Oh no. It was never her choice anyway – she only did it to please her father. No, she seems quite happy being at home with Alice.”

  “Perhaps she’ll go back when Alice is older.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Joanna’s really keen to get back,” Jean said. “Can you move your wrist a little bit, towards me if you can – that’s fine. I think her career means a lot to her, but I don’t think Clive is too happy about it. I think he hoped she might want to stay at home and look after the baby.”

  “Really?”

  “Well actually I think they’ve found it difficult working together in the same practice.”

  “Oh?”

  “They’re both quite competitive and I imagine they’re both the sort who take their work home with them, as the saying goes.”

  “It must be difficult.”

  “Oh it’s all difficult,” Jean said sighing, “and trying to balance work and children is sometimes quite impossible, I just hope Joanna realises it! Mind you it’s easier for me now both the boys are in their teens, and Roy is marvellous, but even so, I’m always tired nowadays.” She laughed. “Perhaps Thea is the one who’s got it right.”

  She removed the pads from my wrist and switched off her machine.

  “That feels much better,” I said gratefully.

  “Good. Now I’m going to show you some exercises and you must promise me faithfully to do them regularly every day.”

  “It is rather a bore,” I said to Rosemary, moving my wrist in the manner Jean had prescribed, “but I suppose if it’s going to make it better I must do them.”

  “Of course you must,” Rosemary said firmly. “Get the strength back.”

  “I know,” I said resentfully. “At our age everything takes that much longer – I wish they wouldn’t all keep saying that. I know it’s true but I don’t want to hear it. There now,” I said, “that’s the lot, now we can have a nice cup of coffee. I must say it’s a real pleasure to be able to open the biscuit tin again without help.”

  “Did you say that Joanna Stevenson was having a baby?” Rosemary asked.

  “So Jean said.”

  “So she’ll be off for several months then.”

  “Yes, I suppose they’ll have to get someone in to cover for her – I mean, they’re pretty stretched now.”

  “That’s true, it’s getting really difficult to make an appointment.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “locums aren’t very satisfactory however good they may be as doctors.”

  “Jilly will be upset,” Rosemary said. “She says Joanna Stevenson is really good with the children. I hope she won’t leave when she’s had the baby.”

  “Jean doesn’t think that’s very likely, though apparently Clive Stevenson would be glad if she did.” I told her what Jean had told me. “I suppose there could be friction if they’re both working in the same practice.”

  “I suspect it’s because she’s a better doctor than he is and he knows it and resents it,” Rosemary said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times, when Dr Macdonald was away, and it never seemed to me that he had any confidence in himself. You know, he was always a bit tentative – might be this, might be that.”

  “A lot of them are like that now,” I said, pouring us both more coffee, “off-loading their patients onto a specialist at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Not the first sign,” Rosemary said, “think of poor Ken Webster!”

  “Yes, that will make them all more cautious than ever. Though, actually, with Dr Morrison it’s arrogance more than lack of confidence – always sure that he’s right and everyone else is wrong. Goodness, how one longs for the certainty of dear old Dr Milner – I suppose he didn’t always get it right, but at least you knew where you were with him!”

  “Well you know where you are with Clive Stevenson,” Rosemary said, “and it’s not where you want to be! I must say,” she went on, “I can’t imagine what Joanna saw in him. I mean, she’s very attractive, pretty, clever and efficient, and he’s such a…such a non-person!”

  “Oh well, who knows what anyone sees in anyone,” I said. “Look at Angela and Paul Lyall – he’s brilliant and gorgeous and she’s a little mouse of a thing, but they’ve been married for over thirty years and seem perfectly happy.”

  Because it was a bit heavy Thea very kindly left my ironing board set up in what I still think of as Michael’s room so that I could do some ironing when the spirit moved me. I rather like ironing, especially if I have the radio on, it’s a pleasant mindless occupation and you do have something to show for it when it’s done. As I moved the iron slowly over one of the kitchen curtains I considered what Rosemary and I had been saying about our medical centre and the doctors in it. Of course we’re grateful for all the new, miraculous treatments that keep us alive when we might otherwise be dead, and I do see that with an amazing number of patients to look after, they can’t spare more than ten minutes for each patient. A group medical centre is the only way to go now, I quite understand that, but I – and most of my generation – can’t help being nostalgic for the days of the single doctor practice. The days of the Family Doctor, in fact, when treatment was on a personal level and the doctor would just pop in to see how you are, sometimes at inconvenient times (Dr Milner was a great one for calling before breakfast), and always in touch.

  “Oh well,” I said to Foss, who, drawn by the prospect of some sort of entertainment, had followed me upstairs and was at present sitting comfortably on the warmth of a pile of newly ironed garments, “I suppose I’m just another silly old woman who wants things back the way they were. Though goodness knows there are a lot of things I wouldn’t want back.”

  Radio Three, which had been filling the room with the gentle sound of Delius, suddenly embarked on some loud atonal modern music which caused Foss to leap off the bed, scattering the pile of garments. With a sigh, I folded my curtains, switched off the radio and the iron and prepared to go and get some lunch.

  “Jean said you’d been in to see her,” Anthea said when I ran into her outside the post office. “She said she’s given you some exercises to do.”

  Anthea likes to keep au fait with the movements of all her friends and, indeed, mere acquaintances.

  “Yes, she was very helpful.”

  “I hope you’re doing them regularly – that’s the important thing.”

  “Oh yes,” I said, thinking of the times when I’d forgotten or just couldn’t be bothered. Still, as the wrist seemed to be getting better of its own accord, I didn’t feel too guilty. “Jean is really splendid,” I went on hastily before Anthea could cross-question me further, “and I gather that she’s got quite a lot of patients now.”

>   “Most encouraging. Really more than she can cope with sometimes. She may have to get an assistant and that isn’t always a good thing.”

  “I suppose being part of the medical centre helps,” I said.

  “A mixed blessing,” Anthea said severely.

  “Really?”

  “The place is not run the way I would like it.”

  That didn’t surprise me since Anthea’s views on any organisation tend to be critical.

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “Well, some of these alternative medicine people,” she pronounced the words with distaste, “seem to have some very weird ideas. Massaging people’s feet,” she said, “and expecting that to cure, well, all sorts of things. And rubbing scent all over them – whatever next!”

  “A lot of people believe in it,” I said.

  “I’m not sure it’s good for Jean to be mixed up with things like that.”

  “The Prince of Wales is very keen on alternative medicine,” I said. Anthea is a fervent royalist.

  “So they say, but I for one don’t believe everything I read in the papers.”

  “Well,” I said hastily, trying to get Anthea off one of her many hobby horses, “I’m so glad that Jean’s doing so well. It’s always something of a risk setting up on your own.”

  “Oh Jean is very level-headed, she had it all worked out before she made any decision.”

  “I’m sure she would have, she’s always been a very practical girl. And, then of course, she’s very handy for the general practice side of the centre – I expect she gets a lot of referrals from the doctors.”

  “Quite a few, though most of her patients come privately, which is much more satisfactory for Jean – all those dreadful forms for the NHS.”

  “Dr Macdonald always speaks very highly of her.”

  “Oh well, Dr Macdonald, he’s a proper doctor, one of the old school, not like some of the others.”

  “Oh I don’t know…”

  “Well we all know about Dr Morrison – poor Ken Webster. And as for making appointments, take this new system they’ve got.” Anthea settled more comfortably in a space out of the way of the other post-office users and prepared to hold forth, while I resignedly put my heavy shopping bag down and prepared to listen. “All this nonsense about not booking appointments in advance and having to ring up on the morning you want to see anyone. Everyone ringing at the same time, the line’s always engaged, and then when you do get through all the appointments you can manage have gone!”

  “I know,” I said with feeling. “It’s absolutely maddening. I can’t think what was wrong with the old system, it always seemed to work quite well.”

  “Some of those receptionists are power mad!” Anthea declared.

  “Oh not Valerie Carter,” I protested, “she’s a nice little thing and always tries to be helpful.”

  “She’s all right,” Anthea admitted grudgingly, “but that Lorna Spear, she’s dreadful. Of course, she’s Janet Dobson’s daughter – do you remember what a disagreeable girl she was – and then this Lorna married Ronald Spear, a shifty sort of man if ever I saw one. I wasn’t at all surprised when he ran off with that girl from the florist.”

  “Lorna can be a bit abrasive at times,” I said.

  “Abrasive! Downright rude, I call it. The other day, when she finally admitted that I could make an appointment with Dr Macdonald an exact – exact, mind you – week ahead, she said that I couldn’t this time because he’d be away on a course. Really triumphant she sounded. I just put the phone down!”

  “I know, sometimes I just give up and make an appointment with Nancy.” Nancy Williams is our nurse practitioner and absolutely brilliant. In fact an awful lot of people choose to go to her rather than one of the doctors, not just because it’s less hassle, but because she gives her patients the individual attention we all crave.

  “Yes, Nancy’s very good – oh there’s Maureen, I must go, I want a word with her about the next coffee morning.”

  “But Anthea’s right,” I said to Thea, “it is getting impossible.”

  “I know. Do you remember, we had to take Alice down to Casualty when she had that bad ear infection a while back and we couldn’t get to see any of the doctors.”

  “Yes, I remember. Thank goodness they’re all so brilliant in Casualty, we’re very lucky to have them.”

  “Oh I agree, but, still, we shouldn’t have to rely on them.”

  “Have you decided what to do about Alice’s vaccinations,” I asked, “with all this MMR business?”

  “Well, she had German measles when she was very young and mumps isn’t so important for a girl, so what I’d really like to do is just have her done for measles if I can.”

  “I must say I agree with you. I know they say it’s quite safe and I’m sure it is, but – well, if there’s even the faintest, minuscule chance, I wouldn’t want to risk it. What does Michael say?”

  “Much the same. So I think that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Oh good. It’s all getting a bit much – everyone is so bombarded with medical information these days – and all those articles in magazines and newspapers; you really don’t know what to believe. And then there’s all this stuff about marvellous new treatments.”

  “People’s expectations are so much higher now, and not enough doctors to cope with the demand,” Thea said pouring some milk into a mug. “Alice, leave your drawing, darling, and come and have your milk.”

  Alice, who had been sitting at the kitchen table laboriously engaged in some sort of artwork, which required many different kinds of felt-tip pens, picked up the drawing and brought it over. It featured two brown circles with two green circles inside the smaller one and two triangles on the top. What appeared to be a brown snake was wrapped around the whole.

  “That’s lovely, darling,” Thea said. “I’ll put it up on the fridge.”

  “No,” Alice said firmly, removing it from her mother’s grasp. “It’s for Gran. Picture of Smoke for Gran.” She went over to where Smoke was sleeping and gently laid her face against the cat’s soft fur.

  “Oh thank you, darling,” I said. “It’s beautiful, and just like her. I’ll take it home and put it on my fridge so that Tris and Foss can see it as well.”

  Chapter Four

  I was standing by the kitchen window watching a raven hoovering up the bread I’d put out on the lawn. He was a majestic bird with a great air of authority so that even the magpies, usually so full of themselves, stood back respectfully. When the phone rang and I moved to answer it the raven, sensing the movement, rose slowly in the air (his dignity no whit impaired by the large crusts of bread sticking out from his formidable beak) and flapped away, leaving the remaining morsels for the lesser creatures.

  “Sheila?” It was Susan Campbell. “Sorry to ring you so early, but we’re having a small drinks party on the 15th for Alan’s birthday and I want to get the numbers fixed. It’s his seventieth so I thought we must do something to celebrate. He’s so much better now so I don’t think it’ll be too much for him.”

  “What a nice idea, I’d love to come.”

  “He seems quite keen. I was going to keep it as a surprise, but then I thought that with a heart condition the last thing you want are surprises!”

  “Very true! What sort of time?”

  “About 6.30 to 8.30 – the usual – I’m sure he’ll be able to manage that long. Actually, he’ll be so glad to see everyone again; you know how sociable he is. He goes out for quite long walks and so on, he has to have quite a bit of exercise, but I’ve tried to keep things fairly low-key otherwise, just to be on the safe side.”

  “But how about you? You must have had a lot to cope with.”

  “Oh I had this wretched cold that got onto my chest and I couldn’t seem to shake it off.”

  “I’m sorry, how miserable for you. You do sound very croaky.”

  “Alan’s been fussing about it so I’m going to see Dr Morrison sometime. But I’m sure it will
clear up soon now that summer really seems to be coming at last – hasn’t the weather been wonderful. I do hope it’s like this on the 15th, then people can go out into the garden if they want to.”

  After I’d finished speaking to Susan I went upstairs to get ready for a Hospital Friends’ committee meeting. I was looking forward to it rather more than usual because Dr Morrison was coming to tell us about some marvellous new apparatus we were being asked to raise funds for and I was glad to have the chance of seeing him in action, as it were. He was late and some of the committee members were starting to get restless.

  “Nearly twenty minutes,” Brian Norris said, looking at his watch. “It’s not good enough – I’m a busy man and I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit about waiting for some doctor to deign to show up.”

  “Well he is a doctor,” Mary Chapman observed acidly, “so perhaps that is why he is late. And as for being busy, I imagine Dr Morrison is much busier than any of us here.”

  There were murmurs of assent. Brian is not the most popular member of the committee, being over-full of his own importance, so anyone who can take him down a peg usually meets with approval from the other members.

  “There might have been an emergency,” Maureen Dawson said. “He may be saving someone’s life at this very moment.”

  Since Maureen is known for her passion for drama this comment was very rightly ignored.

  “Still,” Gavin Worsley said, “he might have sent a message if he knew he was running late.”

  There was general approval of this remark, which was felt to express the view of the majority without the excesses of Brian’s outburst. Fortunately, just at this moment, Dr Morrison appeared. He apologised briefly for being late (though without specifying the reason), sat down at the head of the table, opened his briefcase, briskly arranged several papers in front of him and began.

  He was certainly a good speaker. He described the equipment, a new sort of digital X-ray machine, clearly and in detail. He told us about its benefits, its price, its cost-effectiveness, its advantages over previous equipment and the research that had gone into it – and all in language we could understand.