by Lucy Dawson
I found an almost finished tube at the back of my bedside table and unscrewed the cap. ‘Nathan’s not special. He doesn’t have a “gift”. He’s just a man used to getting his own way, preying on innocent women and it has to stop.’
I smeared the cream on my hand like butter and obliterated the remains of the heart completely.
Twenty-Four
Nathan
‘It’s really hot in here!’ My patient wafted her hand and fanned her face. ‘I’m actually sweating.’
‘I know, I’m sorry!’ I smiled. ‘I’m warming you up! It helps with the healing process. So I’m just going to mark you here…’ I drew on her skin with my marker, under her left breast. ‘And here…’ I glanced to the right and made the second incision mark.
‘Wow. This is crazy…’ She glanced down at herself, delighted. ‘I’m really doing this.’
‘You really are!’ I replied, forcing another grin. Most of the patients love it when I start drawing on them before the op. It makes it real – proof that it’s finally going to happen. Maybe that’s why I drew on Julia yesterday. I didn’t mean to flip her out the way it did. I thought she’d like it. Most women do.
‘If it’s not a stupid question, why do you have to get busy with the Sharpie? You’re only going to be able to go in under my breasts to put the implants in and it’s pretty obvious where they are?’
‘You standing up – when I can account for gravity – is the best position to get the symmetry right between your breasts,’ I explained. ‘You look totally different lying down on the operating table. Skin moves and I’d hate to make incision marks where I hadn’t intended them. These drawings are my procedural map so I can get the best results for you. It also,’ I picked up a different colour pen, ‘gives me a chance to relax you a bit. A happy, relaxed patient has a better anaesthetic experience, so it’s worth a bit of colouring in.’
I drew a small upside-down smiley face on her tummy, and she smiled back at it. See Julia? People like it – it wasn’t a weird thing to do. ‘Plus, if I recognise my own scribbling, there’s a pretty high chance I’ve got my patient in front of me and not somebody else’s by mistake.’ I winked at her. ‘OK, you’re done. You can put your gown back on, thank you.
‘Now, after the surgery, I’m going to ask you to stay sitting up and alert while we manage your pain relief. I’ll want you to move your arms around a bit, but you’re going to be surprised by how little pain you are in, because we’ve chosen the right sized implants for your body. It’s all going to be great and there’s nothing to worry about, but do you have any other questions?’
‘Did you get enough sleep last night to do this?’ she half joked. The private patients are always more confident. Paying for my services tips the power balance in their favour. ‘You look tired.’
No, I did not get much sleep – thank you for asking. I’m very possibly going to be suspended later today. It was on my mind last night. It’s on my mind right now. My accuser might even be in the building as we speak, for all I know. You may not even get your operation…
‘I always look this delicately bruised, but don’t let appearances fool you, I’m fine.’ I smiled. ‘Hardy as they come. And YOU are going to be fine too. I promise. So shall we do this?’ I beamed at her. ‘Shall we make you feel great about yourself?’
She nodded and smiled bravely.
‘Excellent.’ I got to my feet. ‘You’re going to be thrilled with the results! Let’s go meet your anaesthetist.’ I would like to put myself under, wake up and find this was all over. Damn Julia! She could be in the Medical Director’s office right now, beginning her story and the unravelling of my reputation and twenty-year career… Giles Creasy was exactly the sort of wimpy management twat completely ill-equipped to deal with Julia-in-legal-mode. ‘Let’s go!’ I smiled.
I forced myself to concentrate as I made my first incision and began to create the pocket over the muscle. She’d have clinics this morning. Might she come in and report me this afternoon then, if she was going to at all, today? That would give me enough time to ditch the laptop after I’d finished up here. I only had two more ops to go… and I was ready for the first implant. My nurse, Sandra, passed me a wound protector so that the implant wouldn’t touch the skin, and I placed it with care over the incision site. She lifted the lid on the implant package, but as I stared at it briefly, swimming in its sterile solution, I experienced a moment of panic. Was it my imagination or did it look considerably flatter on one side than the other?
‘Grab me a surgical pen, will you?’ I frowned at it.
Sandra quickly reappeared. I picked the implant up and briefly marked the letter ‘O’ on what I fancied was the flatter ‘back’ of it. I was almost certainly seeing issues that weren’t there, but on the off chance I was right, I was going to put that side to the chest wall.
‘What’s that for then?’ Sandra nodded at my mark.
‘“O” for orientation,’ I remarked. ‘I want this to be the back of the implant.’
I began to push it into the incision carefully, teasing it into place, making sure, as much as I could, that the O was staying facing down as it moved from my hands into the patient’s body. Just for a moment I was totally focused, no distractions, as I ensured it was in place. It was blissful not to think about Julia, but then there she was, creeping back into my head again. This really was such bullshit.
In the grand scheme of things, the cameras were simply not important. I had a woman in front of me, unconscious – and frankly mutilated – until I was ready to sew her up again. I could remove the implant right now if I wanted to, leave her with a useless flap of skin, no volume in the breast at all and an open incision – I could walk away, but I’m not that man. I am a good surgeon. I give my patients the very best of results, and that’s why women come to me, because ultimately all they care about is how they are going to look on the other side of the surgery I will perform on them. I make them fabulous. What they don’t need to know, doesn’t hurt them.
I was still frustrated and edgy as I tried to concentrate on the regular click and hiss of my cautery pen while cutting away at the flesh of my second patient of the day. I glanced at the clock – I was on schedule, but twitchy, unable to settle. It was hot in the theatre. I could sense the impending threat – I was still half expecting the door to open at any moment, to reveal Giles in one of his cheap suits, flanked by security and Julia, as I was ordered to down tools and step away from the table. That was ridiculous, of course, but I couldn’t help but be on hyper-alert and, given my distraction, I knew I had to be careful I didn’t make a mistake… although dammit if the next wretched implant didn’t look oddly flatter on one side when we opened the pack. Was it me? Was I seeing things? Two women with two slightly unusual implants in one morning? An unlikely coincidence – I was experiencing a loss of confidence, which was understandable given the circumstances – but I also wasn’t going to take any chances.
I beckoned to Sandra. ‘Surgical pen again, please.’
I marked the ‘flatter’ side with a ‘W’.
Sandra looked confused.
‘“W” for “Wall”,’ I explained. ‘I want this side up against the chest wall.’
‘Oh OK,’ she said. ‘That makes more sense. It’s more specific than “O” for orientation, isn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ I said and moved the implant to the incision, stopping at the last second as I noticed the wound protector funnel wasn’t in place. That was close. I swallowed, silently put it in and continued, making sure the ‘W’ was on the correct side.
‘Although, now I think of it, maybe we should mark all of the implants this way.’ I started chattering, trying to cover the fact that I actually felt nervous. It was insane. ‘I don’t trust that national database. It’s begging for a data breach, something of that size, and then what? All of that information winding up in the wrong hands? It would be much better if we kept our own records – like GPs do – so if anything were to go wrong
with one of my girls, we’ve got everything we need to hand here. I might give that some more thought. OK, let’s close this side.’
I glanced at the clock. Time was marching on. I wanted to get finished and be on my way to the marina before 2 p.m.
I looked for Julia’s white Mini in the car park once I was striding out of the building into air so cold it almost made me catch my breath, but to my relief there was no sign of it. No one stopped me. I headed casually off to Exmouth as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
A couple of other boaties were having a pleasant faff on their RIBs when I arrived, waving cheerfully in my direction as I began to get mine ready to go out.
‘Nice bright day for it!’ one of them, a retired fund manager, called to me, pointing up at the almost blinding, clear-blue sky. ‘Going to clear the head a bit? Blow away the cobwebs?’
‘You’ve got it!’ I gave him the thumbs up. ‘Some peaceful time. You know how it is!’
‘I do indeed!’ He nodded mournfully. ‘We’ve got the grandchildren coming tomorrow night.’
‘Ah – my sympathies.’
He shrugged good-naturedly and saluted as I pulled back off the mats, manoeuvred away from the pontoon and set out onto the open water. It was freezing. The faster I went, the more the wind snarled at my face, but it was good to be able to feel something as I bounced over the waves, occasional spray blowing up. Once I was far enough out that no one was around me, I stilled the engine, reached down to my feet and quickly unzipped my backpack. Pulling the laptop out, I glanced from left to right and jettisoned it over the edge, watching it sink down to the depths, never to be seen again. The relief was enormous. I floated on the quiet waves for a moment, closed my eyes, reached out my arms and felt the freedom. The sun shone on my face and I started to smile slowly, seconds before I yelled aloud with triumph, because I could. There was nobody to stop me. It felt good, like a war cry. I had done an excellent job against the odds for those three women today, improved their lives beyond measure and taken considerable care with them. Julia wanted to ruin that for the sake of films that no longer even existed?
I opened my eyes again and stared at the horizon.
I hoped to God Hamish was right; that now she’d had time to think about it, she would see no one had been caused any harm. I needed her to keep her beautiful mouth shut.
Twenty-Five
Julia
‘So these are the cameras in the consulting rooms, and this shot of them was taken yesterday?’ The Medical Director stared at the image in front of him.
‘Yes. I went to Mr Sloan’s practice to tell him what my patient had alleged. I made it clear I would be reporting this irregularity.’ I scratched my arm under the sleeve of my dress. I could feel the small scabs coming away under my nails. It all felt so horribly familiar – like sliding straight back down the snake to where I was over a year ago: reporting Richard, in an anonymous office just like this.
Mr Creasy peered at the cameras, clearly visible in the top corners of the room. ‘And Mr Sloan responded by showing you an image of yourself, taken without your consent?’
‘Yes. I suspect he’s going to tell you we had a relationship, he ended it and in a fit of scorned rage I’ve turned on him – something along those lines – and that’s what all of this is about. It’s not true. I’m very happily married. I have no sexual interest in Nathan Sloan whatsoever. We’ve not had a relationship. He tried to kiss me, but I pushed him off.’
Mr Creasy hesitated, and I wondered what he was thinking. Did he already know about my background? ‘It would have been much, much easier for me not to get involved when the patient brought this situation to my attention,’ I said, ‘but how could I not tell you about this? What kind of doctor would that make me? “Either help or do not harm the patient”.’
He made no comment to my repeating part of the oath I swore when I graduated, just scribbled something on his notepad. He seemed to be taking this with a worrying calm.
‘I’m sure you’re aware the range of services that Mr Sloan offers includes labiaplasty?’ I reminded him. ‘If I were a patient of his and I was being filmed with my legs wide open, I’d want to know about it.’
He flushed violently, and I sat back in relief, to see at last some sort of reaction.
‘Thank you, Ms Blythe.’ He put his pen down. ‘We’ll be in touch. Thank you for also emailing the images ahead of our meeting. I will respond in writing, as you’ve requested, in due course. In the meantime, could I ask you not to discuss this with anyone?’ He looked at me almost pleadingly, and I didn’t blame him. I could see the news headlines too, maybe even the international ones. He’d probably thought he was almost done for Christmas, now this.
I stood up. ‘I’ve no interest in gossip. I only want to make sure patients are protected. I’m confident you’ll deal with what I’ve told you appropriately and quickly, so I’ll expect to hear from you, if not tomorrow, by Monday.’ I made my position clear. I was polite but firm. I wasn’t going to let this go.
But after I left – just as the last time – I felt anticlimactic and flat, walking across the wet, cold car park. There was no going back now. From experience, I knew I wasn’t going to feel ‘lighter’ for having done the right thing. It wasn’t a case of a problem shared being a problem halved, but I’d not anticipated finding it quite so distressing to climb back into the cold bath; the soap still suspended in the water, its slimy tendrils like jellyfish, ready to cling to my exposed skin. And somehow this was even more an upsetting scenario than last time, mostly because of the purposeful nature of Nathan’s actions. Richard Norris was an arrogant surgeon whose mistakes were potentially costing lives, but Nathan had deliberately violated these women time and time again. What had he done with all of the films of himself examining them? I didn’t want to let my mind go there. I searched in my bag for my phone to text Ewan, but discovered I’d left it at work and had no choice but to drive back to the hospital and get it.
Climbing the stairs to the office, I felt double my age and oddly like crying – just sick of it all. I thought back to my original coffee with Tan and Hamish where they’d told me what a great place it was to work. Well, I’d torpedoed that in under one hour. Thank God we only had one day left. With a bit of luck, they might not find out until we’d all finished and they’d have time over the Christmas break to objectively consider what I’d done to their beloved team.
I pushed the door open only to swear aloud in shock. Rather than the empty room I’d anticipated, Tan, Michelle and Hamish were all pulling on their coats while Nathan waited for them.
I blushed guiltily as he looked at me.
‘I know. Today’s not my day to be here. I popped in to invite everyone for a quick Christmas drink. Join us?’ He jumped up and rubbed his hands together. He was crackling with nervous energy.
A Christmas drink? Was he out of his mind – or here to make trouble? Had he come to confront me publicly? He couldn’t know where I’d just been, not already?
‘I won’t, thank you. I need to get home tonight.’
‘Ah, what a shame! We’ll have one for you instead. Shall we, troops?’ He held open the door and they all filed out, wishing me a pleasant evening.
I exhaled and sank down into a chair, when I noticed Nathan’s scarf still on the table and tensed. Sure enough, seconds later, the door opened and he reappeared.
‘Forget it on purpose?’ I said. ‘How long have you been waiting for me to come back so you could see if I did it?’
‘And did you?’ he asked.
I nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, then let his head hang.
‘I have an obligation to protect patients.’
‘I begged you not to!’ He lifted his head and looked straight at me. ‘You’ve made such a mistake.’
My heart thumped. ‘That sounds like you’re threatening me again?’
‘Of course he’s not!’ Hamish – because when I turned to the doorway it was him standing there – gave a little
chuckle and shook his head. ‘Threatening you! Honestly! She’s done it then?’ He looked at Nathan.
Nathan nodded, and Hamish turned back to me, pleasant smile still on his face. ‘You sanctimonious little cunt.’
Twenty-Six
Hamish
She gasped audibly and jumped up, covering her mouth with pretend shock. I couldn’t imagine for one second it was the first time she’d had something like that said to her.
‘I have a question for you, Julia,’ I mused. ‘What business is it of yours how Nate operates his private client practice and the measures he puts in place to protect himself from the patients who are never satisfied?’
I watched her hand start to slide up her sleeve, before she consciously removed it.
‘I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to comment, other than to say things are rarely as simple as they appear from the outside.’
‘Looks pretty clear to me.’ I shrugged. ‘A couple of months ago you asked me outright if Nathan had “talked” about you on our weekend away. I told you – very gently – to leave it alone, remember?’
