A Heart Worth Mending

by Amanda Canham

  He jumped on the nurses’ computer, found what he was looking for and printed it out before heading in to the patient’s room. Mrs Miller was in her mid-fifties, with dark, silver-streaked hair and a prematurely lined face. She was sitting up in the bed, the hospital blankets lying loose around her waist and she was concentrating on something in her hands. As Travis moved closer he saw she was folding a piece of paper into the shape of a swan.

  ‘I didn’t realise you practised origami, Mrs Miller.’

  The woman dropped the paper swan, a hand fluttering up to rest against her chest. ‘Oh, it’s you Dr Reed. You startled me.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Travis pulled down the observation chart and took note of her most recent obs.

  ‘No, don’t apologise. I’ve only been making these shapes for a year or so now. I find it helps calm me, gives me something to do.’

  Hmm, interesting.

  ‘I’m sure you’re sick of seeing me by now,’ she continued.

  ‘Never, though I do want us to try and get this all sorted out for you. I see you’ve been down to radiology already this morning.’

  ‘Yes, the staff here are so lovely. When the young doctor, I can’t remember his name, the English chap, well, once he realised my symptoms were all the same as last time, he sent me straight through to the x-ray place.’

  ‘And we have the pictures here,’ Travis said, noticing the large envelope resting on her lap. ‘That’s great. I just need to have a little listen to your chest first,’ he said and held up the end of his stethoscope. When she was ready, he moved in and listened to the rasp of her breath as she breathed in and out.

  ‘Thank you. Now we can have a look at these.’ He reached for the x-rays, removing the film from the envelope and placing it on the viewing box on the wall before flicking the switch for the back-light. As clear as day he could see the over-sized right lung, with pockets of air stretching the air sacs. Her left lung was also showing signs of more minor inflation.

  ‘As you can see, there is a decided amount of hyper-inflation happening here, and here,’ Travis outlined the areas for his patient to see. ‘Now, previously we’ve looked into all the possible physiological causes, and haven’t been able to find an association.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’d like to try a different tack today.’

  ‘Anything you say, Doc. I know you’re doing your best.’

  Travis smiled at the patient, before pulling up a chair and sitting by the bed. ‘This isn’t exactly my area of speciality, but there’s a possibility this could be related to some form of anxiety.’

  ‘What? That’s like a mental problem. I don’t have a mental problem. I mean, everyone worries sometimes, but, you know, I just breathe my way through it and then everything is fine.’

  And that was the crux of the problem.

  ‘There are different levels of worries, though. Some are more reasonable than others, I guess you could say. And if you find yourself worrying to the point you have to alter your breathing to control it, then this could cause a change in the morphology of your lungs.’

  ‘But I can’t be that bad. Well, I never used to be. Not until Bill died.’

  ‘I understand. Did you have any counselling after he passed away?’

  ‘No,’ the woman looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘People die every day. It’s a natural process.’

  ‘Yes, but it still hurts. And sometimes we need help to grieve, especially if the death is sudden, or unexpected.’

  ‘I’m not weak.’

  Travis knew he would have to tread carefully here. The woman was stubborn and she had her pride - much like someone else he knew. But in Mrs Miller’s case, not dealing with her grief was having a serious impact on her health.

  ‘I’m not suggesting that. But what I would like is for you to fill in this form. It’s what they call an anxiety scale. It will give us a measure of the state of your worries, kind of quantifying it so we can see whether it is having a greater impact than you may realise. It’s really important you complete this honestly,’ Travis said pointedly, staring at her until she agreed.

  ‘Great. I’m going to write up some initial meds for you, which will allow us to try to get this lung back into shape for now, and then I’ll return to pick up the form.’

  Within minutes Travis had returned to the patient’s room. She was sitting as she had been before, her fingers bending and folding the edges of the next piece of paper she was working on.

  ‘How did you go?’ he asked, reaching for the discarded anxiety scale she’d placed on the top of the bedside drawers.

  ‘It seems maybe you were right. I’m more anxious than I thought.’

  ‘I guess I’d better get back. These patients won’t test themselves’

  Kelli looked up from the frozen meal she’d been thoughtlessly stirring, and gave Zahra a wave. She should be getting back too. She had her afternoon rounds on the respiratory ward, back to back patient consults in the clinic and she still needed to put together her instructions for Graham Lowe’s NIV study tonight.

  Pushing up from the table, Kelli tossed the cardboard-tasting contents of the meal into the bin.

  ‘It seems you were right.’

  Kelli’s pulse raced at the sound of his voice, and she spun around to see Travis strolling into the kitchenette.

  ‘Well, of course I was right. I’m always right,’ she flicked her hair from side to side and affected a haughtily arrogant expression.

  ‘But of course,’ Travis agreed, pulling his own haughty expression.

  Kelli could only maintain the pose for a moment before dropping into an appreciative grin. Somehow he always got her jokes, and seemed to love playing along with her.

  ‘So, what was I right about?’ Kelli asked as he placed his phone on the long, rectangular bench in the centre of the room.

  ‘Mrs Miller and her hyper-inflated lungs,’ he answered, retrieving a Tupperware container from the fridge and placing it in the microwave.

  ‘Ah, the lady from this morning.’

  ‘Yes. She rated severe on the GAD-7 Anxiety scale. I’ve had the psych team in with her, and they’re going to start her on a combination of anxiety meds and some CBT. There’s no assurance the anxiety is causing the hyper-inflation of her lung, but I think there’s a fair chance it will help.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Kelli said as the microwave bell dinged, indicating his lunch was ready.

  ‘Hopefully.’ Travis removed his food from the microwave and tipped it into the waiting bowl, stirring the stew-like mess until the rising steam had evenly spread. ‘She pinpointed the start of the anxiety to the death of her husband. She says she didn’t take time to grieve properly, she didn’t talk about it with anyone; she just tried to bury it and not let it affect her.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Kelli eyed his turned back with suspicion. He better not be heading in the direction she thought he was.

  ‘And after two years of pushing the pain away, she’s given herself a hyper-inflated lung, and who knows how many other problems related to this anxiety,’ he continued, turning around, carrying his bowl to the table and sitting down. ‘It really makes you think.’

  ‘Makes who think?’ Kelli’s back stiffened as a trickle of icy reserve slipped down her spine.

  ‘Well, me for one. It made me think of you. Have you started seeing a counsellor yet?’

  Kelli stared at him, dumbfounded. How could he be bringing this up again? She’d told him, what? Once? Twice? Three times already? He knew the topic was a no-go zone with her. So why did he have to bring it up now?

  ‘What business is that of yours?’ she hit out finally, going straight on the offensive. It was the only way she knew to defend herself against the grief already building inside her. If she struck out at him, maybe she could beat the pain into submission as well.

  ‘That’s a no, then? Are you at least talking to your mum?’

  This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted anyone at work to k
now about Jimmy. ‘And why would I do that?’

  Travis put his fork down beside his bowl and turned his serious face towards her. ‘I don’t want you to end up like Mrs Miller; surely you can see the similarities.’

  ‘What? Because we’ve both lost someone?’

  ‘And you’re not dealing with your grief.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re not talking to anyone about it; you’re not facing any of it. Seriously, you’re driving to and from the Gold Coast everyday just so you don’t have to deal with it.’

  ‘So what? It never bothered you before.’

  ‘That’s before I realised how severe the consequences of avoiding the pain could be.’

  ‘Oh, puh-lease. You have one grief-stricken patient and you’re suddenly the expert?’

  ‘I’m not saying I’m an expert. And it’s not just the one patient. It reminded me of what I was like when my mum died. I went off the rails, big time. When you’re that numb from the pain you don’t know what you’re feeling…’ Travis caught her eyes with his, and she thought for a moment he could see down deep into her soul. What he described, it was exactly how she felt.

  But that didn’t mean she wanted to share her pain.

  ‘I always assumed I reacted like that because I was still a kid,’ Travis said. ‘I assumed if it had happened when I was an adult, when my heart was bigger, harder, the pain wouldn’t have hurt as much. But that’s not true, is it?’ he paused, his eyes trained on her.

  It was hard to hide from his knowing gaze.

  ‘There are always consequences when you don’t deal with the pain. And I’m just worried,’ he said, reaching out a hand towards her.

  But she snatched herself away before he could make contact. If he touched her, with the compassion pouring out of him, she was afraid she might lose it. She might start crying and never stop.

  And damn him for making her feel this way. He knew she didn’t talk about it, and still he was forcing her. At work, no less. Screw him!

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not.’

  ‘But you sho -’

  ‘No, Travis. No. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it. Until then, Leave. Me. Alone.’

  Travis cursed, banging his fist on the table in frustration.

  Goddammit! He’d royally screwed up.

  Why he’d thought she would receive it well, he wasn’t sure. Kelli had avoided all talk about her brother to date, and from what he could gather she wouldn’t even talk to her family. She needed to face her problems. She needed to cry.

  What was the point? It didn’t matter what he thought. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to help her. He had no chance now.

  Kelli stomped down the hallway, but her grief soon swamped her anger. She tried desperately to hold onto it because anger was much easier to deal with. Travis had overstepped the mark. But images of Jimmy started pushing their way through, demanding her attention.

  There he was laughing at her as she tripped on her rollerblades when she was twelve. And there, sitting quietly in the lounge room they shared when they were at university, strumming his guitar as he worked on a new song. As she saw him walking her home from school, down the picturesque, cottage-lined street in Eagle Heights where they’d grown up, the pin prick of tears against her eyes became more than she could bear.

  Keeping her eyes cast downward, she hurried towards the staff toilets, locking herself in a cubicle. She touched her cheeks and felt them come away wet. Oh, no, no, no. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not at work. She couldn’t let the pain overwhelm her now.

  She needed to run. She needed the freedom of the beach, and the relentless pounding of her feet on the sand. But she couldn’t do that, not when she was stuck here in Brisbane. Not when she had to work. So, instead, she pushed her palms against her eyes, forcibly tried to hold back the tears - and block the images.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  When would this hollow, aching emptiness in her chest stop hurting? She needed it to stop.

  Slowly, brick by brick, Kelli built the familiar wall up around her heart and the pain finally started to recede, the wave of grief gradually ebbed away.

  She couldn’t let him do that again. She couldn’t let Travis break through her wall. She wouldn’t survive the pain if it all came rushing in.

  Chapter 8

  Beep-beep!

  Startled by the honking horn, Kelli glanced in her rear-view mirror at the little red Mazda sedan driving less than a metre behind her on the motorway, the driver thumping a frustrated hand on the steering wheel.

  A quick look at her speedometer revealed the cause of his frustration – she was currently driving twenty kilometres below the speed limit. Considering she was in the “fast” lane, it was understandable why the person behind her was irritated.

  With a sigh, Kelli flicked on her left indicator and switched to the slower lane, not really caring how long it took to get to the hospital. Since she’d stopped talking to Travis her enjoyment level at work had plummeted.

  Well, if she was truly honest, her enjoyment in every aspect of her life had disappeared these last three days.

  Was it really only three days?

  It felt longer. It felt like it had been weeks, months, even, since she’d stormed out on him.

  Maybe it would have been easier if she could have cut him from her life completely. But she still had to see him at work. Whenever she passed him in the wards or glimpsed him in the consulting suite, a hollow ache throbbed inside her. Sometimes she could feel his eyes on her, and it looked like he wanted to talk to her. Once she thought he’d almost tapped on her door to apologise. But true to her wishes, he hadn’t spoken a word to her.

  It should have made her happy. It was what she’d wanted.

  But in reality, she hated it. Without her friendship with Travis, there was nothing to brighten her day, nothing to distract her from her memories. Her life revolved around work, commuting and sleep. The little bit of fun she’d found with the hot doctor, who had so quickly ingratiated himself into her life, had… disappeared.

  She couldn’t go on like this anymore. She needed him in her life. Somehow, she would have to make amends.

  But how should she broach this? The idea of crawling back to him, of begging him to be friends again didn’t sit well with her. She had her pride, and he had been in the wrong. What other options were there, though? She could…oh, yes. That was it!

  A devilish smile crossed her face as she cruised along the motorway. She had the perfect plan.

  Stopping a couple of paces from Travis’ office door that afternoon, Kelli took a deep breath, settling her nerves. She could do this. She wanted to do this. But still…

  Would she seem like a trollop, brazenly walking in and demanding he strip off? She wasn’t actually going to proposition him. And she did have a valid reason for asking him to get next to naked.

  What if he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore? What if he’d decided she was too much work; had too much baggage? Maybe she’d left it too late; or blown hot and cold too often. Fear at the possibilities almost froze her.

  But when the other option was to continue to mope around the way she had been the last few days, well, she really had no choice.

  Taking a final deep breath for courage, Kelli picked up the suitcase and slipped inside Travis’ office, closing the door and leaning against it. Well, sinking against it, more like, but the result was the same.

  Travis looked over from his place behind the desk, and she could see the surprise in his eyes. There was also an initial hint of pleasure, though maybe that had been wishful thinking on her part, because now his eyes were guarded and wary as they looked at her.

  ‘Kelli, what are you…?’ His gaze dropped to the suitcase in her hands and his eyes widened as comprehension dawned. ‘You were serious.’

  ‘Of course,’ she smiled widely to hide her nerves.

  ‘But after Monday…We haven’t spoken since.’r />
  Kelli shrugged lightly, though it was an effort to appear nonchalant. ‘They do say anger is one of the five stages of grief.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re finally facing—?’

  Kelli held up her hand to stop him going further down that path. ‘If I wanted to talk about it, I’d see a counsellor.’ She tilted her head to a coquettish angle and gave him a once-over. ‘You don’t look like a counsellor to me. In fact…’ Kelli moved further into the room, laying the suitcase containing the portable monitoring device and leads on the desk. ‘You look like a man in need of a sleep study.’

  ‘But you need to talk—’

  ‘No I don’t! Seriously, Travis, will you please quit it? Or I really will stop talking to you for good.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll stop. No more words will come out of this mouth,’ and he mimed zipping his lips shut.

  ‘Good,’ she said, as she opened the suitcase and started unravelling the wires she would need for the set-up.

  ‘Whoa! Why are you unpacking here?’

  ‘I thought you weren’t talking anymore.’

  ‘I only meant that topic.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’

  ‘But seriously, you can’t intend to set me up here. For starters, I need to be in pyjamas.’

  Kelli flicked a glance up at the panicking doctor, a mischievous smile twitching across her lips. ‘I think we both know you don’t wear pyjamas.’ She raised an eyebrow pointedly. His skin flushed a deep rose, and he dropped his gaze first.

  It took Travis a moment to gather his wits, and by then Kelli had set out the little cloth squares and was dotting them with the conductive paste she would use to secure the electrodes to his scalp.

  ‘You’re dreaming if you think I’m going to walk out of here naked.’

  Kelli threw a thoughtful gaze over at him, her eyes wandering up and down his body at leisure. ‘Now that would be quite a sight, but never fear; that wasn’t my intention. I figured you could strip down to your jocks while I set you up, and then we could slither you back into your clothes somehow.’