The Surgeon’s Gift

by Carol Marinelli

  Because she wanted to hang around, because she wanted to finish late and get a chance to see Hugh, of course the ward was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that the late staff took an early coffee-break, coming back bang on three-thirty, which meant the early shift had the ‘treat’ of going home early.

  Not that it would have made any difference. One glance at Hugh’s theatre list and Rachael knew that Kimbi wouldn’t be getting her pizza much before eight tonight.

  ‘What are you dawdling for?’ Helen’s cheerful voice behind her made her jump. ‘Do you want to hold my hand?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Rachael gave her friend a rather startled look, and then, despite her pensive mood, Rachael’s face broke into a grin. ‘People might start talking.’

  ‘I meant at Outpatients. I’m going to book in with Dr Fielding for those injections.’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Deadly. I deserve a treat. You’re looking at the new me, Rachael. I’m going to start putting on make-up and I’m going to spend some of my savings on me for once instead of on designer clothes for the kids. I’ve decided that I’m going to grow old disgracefully.’

  ‘You’re fine just as you are,’ Rachael insisted.

  ‘I know.’ Helen shrugged as she walked. ‘But I’m sick of being fine. I want to be great. It’s all right,’ she added as she looked at Rachael’s worried face. ‘I’m not booking in for liposuction or a boob job. I just want to feel a bit better about myself. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  There wasn’t, Rachael realised. Hugh had been right. She did have some prejudices but they were slowly being eroded. Richard was an extreme but there was a middle ground, and a vast one at that. There was a huge difference between vanity and self-pride.

  ‘I’m going to get this mole off.’

  ‘Rachael!’

  ‘Don’t look so alarmed. This has nothing to do with Richard, this is all about me. I’ve always hated it. Hated it,’ she added firmly. ‘And you’re right—there’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good about yourself. We’ll be gorgeous together.’

  Linking arms, they laughed as they made their way to the plastics secretary’s desk, trying not to be overwhelmed as a clone of Susie tapped away on her computer.

  ‘What can I do for you ladies?’

  Helen was the bravest and spoke first. ‘I want to make an appointment with Dr Fielding.’

  ‘Fine. For what?’

  Helen hesitated. It was one thing plucking up the courage to see a doctor, but another thing entirely telling the whole waiting room what you were having done.

  ‘I need to know,’ ‘Susie’ said, ‘so that I can book you in on the right day. Dr Fielding does a lot of different procedures.’

  ‘Botox,’ Helen mumbled. At least, Rachael assumed she’d said Botox—it had sounded more like a low grumble out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Fine.’ A pussycat smile and a stroke of manicured fingers and Helen had recited her name and was the proud owner of a pink business card with an appointment date.

  ‘Did you want anything, Miss …?’

  ‘Holroyd.’ It was Rachael mumbling now. ‘I wanted to see him about getting this …’ she tapped her cheek ‘… this mole removed.’

  ‘Excuse me one moment.’ ‘Susie’s’ very pert little bottom swung on her stool and Rachael watched with growing indignation as that pussycat smile widened. ‘Dr Connell, I thought you were in theatre?’

  ‘Between patients,’ he growled with just the briefest of nods to Helen and Rachael. ‘Can I see my diary? One of my patients just called. She needs to come in to Outpatients urgently, so I’ve pencilled her in for seven p.m. Can you pull out the notes for me?’

  ‘You could have rung for that,’ ‘Susie’ purred, as Rachael thought the same thing. Maybe he was more interested in the groomed Susies than he made out.

  ‘Not for this, though,’ Hugh replied. Grabbing a prescription chart, he started to write. ‘Tell the outpatients sister to apply the local anaesthetic gel before she pages me. It will give it a chance to start working.’ He was tapping on the computer, his broad shoulders the only view of him as he located the patient’s hospital number and details for the prescription chart, effectively dismissing the three of them.

  ‘Sorry about that. Now …’ The secretary shuffled a sheaf of papers together. ‘You wanted that mole taken off.’

  Rachael was saved from a reply, saved from anything actually, as a prescription chart was angrily tossed across the desk. ‘I’ll be in Theatre,’ Hugh growled. Stalking off without a further word, the three women were left in an invisible cloud of aftershave as they gathered their individual thoughts.

  ‘Nothing for a month.’ ‘Susie’ smiled. ‘He’s fully booked. However …’ lowering her voice, she leant forward just enough to give Rachael a rather too good view of her beautifully tanned cleavage. ‘I know I shouldn’t be saying this.’ She looked at the two name badges. ‘But with you both being staff and everything, I’m sure it doesn’t matter: Dr Connell, he’s the one who was just here, does the most beautiful work. He’s done a few bits for me in his time.’ She gave a girly giggle as Rachael stood there, fuming. ‘Would you like me to see if he can squeeze you in? He’s got a couple of cancellations next week.’

  ‘Better not.’ Rachael’s smile was far from sweet. ‘I’ve already discussed it with Hugh and, given the fact that we’re involved, he didn’t feel it would be appropriate for him to perform surgery on me.’

  ‘What have I done?’ she groaned to Helen a little later as they walked away, clutching their referral cards.

  ‘Doesn’t mean you have to follow it through,’ Helen said comfortingly. ‘It’s only an appointment. You can always back out at the last minute.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about my mole,’ Rachael snapped, unable to believe that Helen didn’t see the problem! ‘I might as well have taken out a full-page ad that Hugh and I are on together.’

  Helen didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘It’s hardly a state secret. Most of the ward knows anyway. Trevor’s like a girl, the way he gossips.’ She gave a shrug. ‘You know what this place is like. It will be around the whole hospital in a matter of days anyway, you just gave it a bit of a nudge.’

  ‘The only trouble is …’ Rachael closed her eyes and sank back against the wall ‘… I don’t know whether or not we are involved. I think I’ve really blown it.’

  Helen was wonderful. The school run and four children wanting a quick dinner before footy training was organised with a few quick calls into her brick-sized ancient mobile phone, and before she knew it Rachael was sitting in a bar, clutching a large glass of wine, with the sympathetic face of her friend on the other side of the table, listening as she told her sorry tale.

  ‘I said the most terrible things,’ Rachael said for the hundredth time.

  ‘Yes, you did.’ Helen was driving so her vice was a huge slab of mud cake with thickened cream running rivers down the warm chocolate. ‘But that’s what happens when people argue.’

  ‘But to accuse him of only wanting me when I’m down—’

  ‘Must have hurt,’ Helen interrupted. ‘Look, Rachael, what do you want from a relationship? What’s the most important thing?’ she gave a cheeky grin. ‘Apart from sex.’

  ‘Respect,’ Rachael said thoughtfully. ‘Trust, acceptance.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Honesty. If you’re truly honest with each other, all the rest follow. Richard wasn’t honest with you. He wanted the trophy wife, the flash car and the wonderful career, and he pretended he was doing it for you both when the truth was he was doing it for himself. Hugh is being honest. He knows what you’ve been through, knows that you’re not being honest with him, and perhaps more to the point he knows that when you say everything’s fine, you’re not being honest with yourself either.’

  ‘I can’t just turn it on like a tap. I can’t just start crying because it’s expected of me.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to, but you do need t
o talk about Amy.’

  ‘I do.’ Rachael shook her head, irritated. She had come here to talk about Hugh, for the hope of some insight, not a full-blown grief counselling session.

  ‘How many times a day do I talk about the boys? She’s your daughter, you’re allowed to talk about her, it’s too soon to be putting it behind you. It’s not even a year yet.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Rachael said quietly, and Helen’s cake froze midway to her mouth. ‘It will be a year tomorrow.’

  She knew Helen was waiting for her to elaborate, waiting for more, but she simply couldn’t give it. Thankfully Helen didn’t push, taking her time instead to finish her cake.

  ‘He’s jealous.’

  ‘No, he isn’t,’ Rachael said. ‘And if he is, there’s no need. I’ve told him it’s all over between Richard and me.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you tell him again. And if he doesn’t listen, tell him once more.’

  ‘He should trust me.’

  ‘Why? How did you feel when that receptionist was acting all proprietorial?’

  ‘Jealous,’ Rachael mumbled. ‘Angry.’

  ‘With no good reason. Hugh did nothing to indicate they were an item but it still didn’t stop you showing your cards, stamping your mark on him.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Rachael cringed at the memory.

  ‘I’d say Hugh’s got more reason to be jealous. Tell him why you’re getting this mole off, tell him again that it has nothing to do with Richard and everything to do with you.’ She stood up, picking up her bag as they split the bill and wandered out into the street. ‘Once you get past this, once you can both be honest with each other, the rest will follow. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘Helen …’ They were sitting in the car with a pile of footballs and hockey sticks vying for space on the back seat. ‘Don’t get the injections. You really are great just as you are.’

  Laughing, Helen turned on the engine. ‘Forget it. I’m not the one on the guilt trip, so you’ve no chance of talking me out of it. Come Tuesday, Rachael, I’m there.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  RACHAEL, queen of repair jobs.

  She looked great, well, not great perhaps but completely normal. Just another late shift and another nurse rushing to get there on time. No one could ever have guessed the pain behind her smile, no one could have known as she burst through the ward doors in a cloud of perfume and newly washed hair that this was the second most difficult day of her life.

  The first didn’t bear thinking about.

  Hugh was there in his office, tapping away on his computer just as he had been the night she’d met him, only now there was so much more between them. So much more that, glancing at her watch, Rachael knew she couldn’t just walk past.

  ‘Hugh.’ He didn’t look up but his fingers paused over the keyboard. ‘I paged you last night. You didn’t answer.’

  ‘I meant to. I just got caught up. It was gone midnight by the time I got out of here.’

  ‘I just wanted to explain something.’ He wasn’t making this easy. The back of his head wasn’t the most expressive part of his body but Rachael battled on anyway.

  ‘What I said yesterday was unforgivable.’ She gave a tiny, nervous laugh. ‘Hopefully not that unforgivable, though.’ When he didn’t move she carried on tentatively, ‘I’m so sorry, Hugh, and about my mole. I’m not getting it taken off because of Richard. It’s because of me, Hugh. I just want to do this. I’ve always wanted to do it. I guess it’s a bit of fresh start—out with the old, in with the new.’ She was rambling now but his silence gave her no choice. ‘I’ve always hated it—’

  ‘Will you just shut up about your stupid mole?’ He swung round, his green eyes blazing, utter contempt on his face, and Rachael jumped back as if she’d been shot. ‘The morning I’m having and you waltz in here with your narcissistic reasons for having your mole off …’ He took a deep breath then pressed his balled hands to his forehead as Rachael stood there, stunned. ‘Rachael, I’m sorry,’ he rasped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I just don’t need to hear this right now.’

  Her lips were white, her eyes wide, at his outburst. ‘Fine.’ She pulled open the door, tossing her hair as she turned on her heel. ‘Sorry I disturbed you.’

  ‘Rachael …’ He called out her name but she didn’t go back. She could hear the need, the note of anxiety in his voice as he called her but, like Hugh, she didn’t need to hear it right now.

  Today of all days.

  The mood was equally volatile at handover. Helen’s face looked like a thundercloud, so far removed from her usually sunny disposition that Rachael didn’t even bother with small talk, just took her seat in the spare chair as Trevor came in to give handover.

  ‘Who’d got Orange Bay?’ he asked first, and as Rachael went to answer Helen beat her too it.

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘I’ve been in there all week,’ Rachael piped up. ‘I wanted to stay in there.’

  Helen gave a shrug. ‘Wait till you hear handover.’

  Trevor stared at his sheet for a moment, not one little joke, not one light-hearted comment. ‘Side ward, Orange Bay,’ he started. ‘Kimbi Adoussi, ten-year-old female, overseas visitor. In for grafting to her left cheek and division of scar tissue. Hugh came last night to admit her, he took some blood work.’ Rachael could feel herself frowning. The detail he was going into about a routine pre-admission was lengthy and the ominous feeling that had visited yesterday, the one Hugh had dismissed, had reassured her was nothing, was creeping back. She looked at Helen’s strained face, looked over at Trevor, for once sounding professional. ‘Her blood work came back this morning. It will need to be confirmed by a bone marrow biopsy, but the upshot is it’s pretty definite that she’s got leukaemia.’ He sat quietly for a moment, waiting for the collective gasp to fade, allowing the terrible news to sink in, and, Rachael realised, struggled to compose himself. ‘Dr Connell has spent the last couple of hours on the telephone to the Children’s Hospital. There’s a bed for her on the oncology ward, the ambulance has been booked, she’ll need a nurse escort.’

  ‘I’ve told the co-ordinator to organise one,’ Helen broke in.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Rachael’s voice was quiet but definite. ‘I admitted her yesterday. It will be better for Kimbi.’

  ‘But not for you,’ Helen said gently as the whole room turned to Rachael. ‘Today of all days.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Rachael said, more loudly this time, and Helen gave a reluctant nod. ‘Has she been told?’

  Trevor cleared his throat. ‘Hugh just spoke to her, to her mother, too. It wasn’t very easy, with the translator and everything. He’s pretty upset,’ he added. ‘He’s just locked himself away in the doctors’ room. I’d leave him be if I were you. I don’t think he wants company right now.’

  A moan escaped Rachael’s lips as she realised what she had done. His ‘narcissistic’ comment, which had hurt so much, seemed pretty much merited, given what she now knew.

  ‘He wants to be told when the ambulance gets here, though.’ Trevor broke into her thoughts. ‘He wants to say goodbye to Kimbi, though if I know Hugh he’ll be heading off there tonight for another pizza.’ He looked up as the door opened and the familiar green outfit of the paramedics came into view. ‘That was quick.’

  ‘The doctor said it was high priority.’

  Helen stood up at the same time as Rachael. ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘OK, I’ll come and say goodbye. Trevor, you carry on with handover, I’ll catch up later.’

  Kimbi looked so much more fragile than yesterday. The happy, laughing eyes were now clouded with fear and she clung to her mother’s hand as the paramedics gently lifted her onto the stretcher. The translator’s voice was loud and seemed to add to the confusion, but Rachael knew it was necessary.

  ‘Tell Kimbi I’m just going to get Dr Connell.’

  ‘No need.’ He was standing at the door, smiling, only the tinie
st muscle flicking in his cheek belying his cheerful stance. ‘Hey, Kimbi, leaving so soon? Who’s going to be my pizza buddy now?’

  The answer took ages but a shy smile came to Kimbi’s lips as Jelai relayed her words. ‘You. She wants you to come and see her at the new hospital.’ Jelai’s dark eyes flicked back to Kimbi who spoke in a soft, anxious voice. ‘Are they as nice there?’

  Hugh came over. Taking her little hand in his, he paused for a moment before answering. ‘They’re very, very nice there, Kimbi, and very clever. And they’re going to look after you beautifully. And when you’re better you’re going to come right back here and we’ll finish what we started, OK? And as for coming to see you, you’ve got yourself a date.’

  A little giggle at the end of the translation told Rachael Kimbi had got the message. ‘Time to go,’ Rachael said as brightly as she could. Picking up the notes, she unnecessarily tucked the blanket a bit tighter around her small charge because, unfortunately, that was all she could do for Kimbi.

  That and keep on smiling.

  Ambulances had always fascinated Rachael, even as a child. Maybe they had sown those first seeds that would see her go into nursing. There was something about those tinted windows, the knowledge that behind them there was a hive of activity going on, someone in there perhaps desperately ill, a person needing help. And today, as they battled with the city traffic, as she held Kimbi’s mother’s hand and watched the trams clattering past, as they turned into the hospital, she wondered if anyone looking in could guess at the tragedy behind the windows. It took every ounce of professionalism she could muster to smile and make small talk as they made their journey.

  Hugh had been right. The staff were nice. Very nice. And just what Kimbi needed now. But how they did it Rachael could only wonder. How could you work on a children’s oncology ward with a fluffy toy around your neck and a bright smile on your face as you took the handover and still know instinctively how to put your patient at ease? She watched in awe as a nurse chatted easily with the translator, squeezing Kimbi’s hand and winking as if they were old friends.