A Date with Her Valentine Doc

Once Jason was settled on the ventilator I went out to the family waiting in the relatives’ room. His wife, Megan, was about six months pregnant and stood with Jason’s parents as soon as I came in. ‘How is he?’ she said, holding her hand over her belly as if to protect her baby from hearing bad news.

‘The operation was very difficult, Megan,’ I said in a gentle but calm tone. ‘The tumour had a lot of blood running through it. Mr McTaggart was able to get it out, but not without bleeding, and there is likely a bit of damage to some of the surrounding brain. It’s impossible to tell at this stage how he’s going to be. There’s no choice but to wait and see what effect the tumour and the operative trauma has had. But it’s important to keep positive and try not to feel too overwhelmed at this stage. Everything that can be done is being done to bring about the best possible recovery for Jason.’

There was a sound behind me and I turned to see Matt Bishop come in. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said, briefly shaking hands with Jason’s parents and then Megan. ‘I’m Matt Bishop, the head of ICU.’

Jason’s father Ken swallowed thickly. ‘What’s happening to our boy?’

‘He’s being ventilated and kept in an induced coma,’ Matt said. ‘During surgery there was a major bleed from the tumour bed. Mr McTaggart was able to stop the bleed, but it’s possible normal brain may have been damaged in the process. When the brain swelling has decreased, we’ll gradually reduce the sedation, and see what effect the surgery has had. But I should warn you that surgery to a vascular tumour like this, and the bleeding that goes with trying to remove it, can cause a lot of damage. I’m sorry but there’s a possibility he won’t wake up.’

Jason’s mother put a shaky hand against her throat. ‘You mean he could … die?’

Matt’s expression was grave. ‘A bleed like the one Jason suffered can damage vital areas of the brain. In the morning we’ll repeat the CT scan and try to assess what physical damage has occurred. We might be able to predict from that how he might recover. In the end, though, we just have to wait, try to wean him off sedation and see if he wakes up.’

The word lingered in the air like a toxic fume.

If, not when he wakes up.

I watched as the hope on Jason’s mother’s face collapsed, aging her a decade. I saw the devastation spread over Megan’s, distorting her young and pretty features into a mask of horror. Jason’s father’s face went completely still and ashen. All their hopes and dreams for their son had been cut down with one two-letter word.

Matt answered a few more questions but it was obvious to me that the poor family weren’t taking much in. They were still trying to get their heads around the fact the son and husband they had kissed that morning on his way to the operating theatre might not come back to them.

My heart ached for them. I know as a doctor you’re supposed to keep a clinical distance. And I do most of the time. But now and again a patient comes along who touches you. Jason was such a normal, nice type of guy. He was exactly the same age as me. His family were loving and supportive, the sort of family who loved each other unconditionally. I thought of the baby in Megan’s womb who might never get to know his or her father. I thought of the implications for Megan, trapped in a marriage to a man who might be permanently disabled, unable to talk, to eat or drink unassisted. Then there were the bathing and toileting issues—the whole heartbreaking scenario of taking care of someone who could no longer do anything for themselves. Her young life would be utterly destroyed along with his.

Once Matt left I took the family to my relaxation room where my aromatherapy infuser was releasing lavender and tangerine, which had a calming effect and was shown to be beneficial in helping with anxiety and depression. I sat with them for a few minutes, handing them tissues scented with clary sage, another stress reliever, and listened as they talked about Jason. They told me about his childhood and some funny anecdotes about him as a teenager, and of his passion for golf and how hard he worked at his game. How they had mortgaged their house and forgone holidays for years in order to sponsor his career because they believed so unreservedly in his talent.

That’s the thing about busy hospitals these days. No one has time to sit with patients and their families and chat. Nurses are under the pump all the time with other patients to see to. The doctors have the pressure of clinical work and administrative duties, and in a teaching hospital such as St Iggy’s the responsibility of teaching medical students, residents and interns and registrars leaves little time to linger by a patient’s bedside. Often it was the cleaning or catering staff that counselled patients most, but even they were under increasing pressure.

I made a point of keeping some time for the patients, even though it meant my days were a little longer than normal. Looking back, I think that was one of the reasons Andy strayed. I just wasn’t around enough for him. That, and the assumption that because my parents had an open relationship I, too, would be happy with the same arrangement. Shows how little he knew me. But he knew how much I love my work. It’s not so much a career for me but a vocation. I love being able to help people and being with them through the darkest times is the most challenging but in many ways the most rewarding.

I caught up to Matt half an hour later just as he was coming out of his office. I didn’t wait to be invited in. I put my hand flat on the door just as he was about to close it. ‘Can I have a word?’

He drew in a breath and released it with a sound of impatience. ‘I have a meeting in five minutes.’

‘I’ll be brief.’

He opened the door and I walked past him to enter his office. My left arm brushed against his body as I went. I brush past people all the time. It’s hard not to in a busy and often crowded workplace, especially in ICU or Theatre. But I had never felt a tingle go through me quite like that before. It was like touching a bolt of lightning. Energy zapped through my entire body from my arm to my lady land. I was hoping it didn’t show on my face. I’m not one to blush easily … or at least not until that morning. I stopped blushing when my parents went through their naturalist phase when I was thirteen. I think my blushing response blew a gasket back then. But right then I could feel warmth spreading in my cheeks. I could only hope he would assume it was because of the message I was there to deliver.

I got straight to the point. ‘Did you have to be so blunt with Jason Ryder’s wife and family? Surely you could’ve given them a little ray of hope? You made it sound like the poor man is going to die overnight or be a vegetable. I’ve seen much worse than—’

‘Dr Clark.’ His curt tone cut me off. ‘I don’t see the point in offering false hope. It’s better to prepare relatives for the worst, even if it doesn’t eventuate. It’s much harder to do it the other way around.’

‘But surely you could have dressed it up a little more—’

‘You mean lie to them?’ he said, nailing me with a look.

There was something about his stress over the word ‘lie’ that made my skin shrink away from my bones. I tried not to squirm under his tight scrutiny but I can tell you that hummingbird was back in my heart valve. ‘I think you could have found a middle ground. They’re completely shell-shocked. They need time to process everything.’

‘Time is not something Jason Ryder has right now,’ he said. ‘That was a significant bleed. You and I both know he might not last the night.’

I pressed my lips together. I wasn’t ready to give up hope, although I had to admit Jason’s condition was critical.

‘Have you mentioned organ donation to the family?’ Matt said.

I frowned. ‘No, but I’m surprised you didn’t thrust the papers under their noses right then and there.’

His dark blue gaze warred with mine. ‘If Jason’s a registered donor then it’s appropriate to get the wheels in motion as soon as possible. Other lives can be saved. The family might find it difficult at first, but further down the track it often gives comfort to know their relative’s death wasn’t entirely in vain.’

I knew he was right. But the subject of organ donation is enormously difficult for most people, including clinicians. Relatives are overwrought with grief, especially after an accident or a sudden illness or surgery that didn’t go according to plan. They want to cling to their loved one for as long as they can, to hold them and talk to them to say their final goodbyes. Some relatives can’t face the thought of their son or daughter or husband or wife being operated on to harvest organs, even when those very organs will save other lives.

It was another thing I wanted to cover in my research. Finding the right time and the right environment in which to bring up the subject could go a long way in lifting organ donation rates, which were generally abysmal. All too often organ donation directives signed by patients were reversed because the relatives were in such distress.

I let out a breath in a little whoosh. ‘I’ll talk to them tomorrow. I think they need tonight to come to terms with what they’ve been told so far.’

There was a little silence.

I was about to fill it with something banal when he said, ‘Would you like Jason moved to the end room?’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘But I thought—’

‘It will give the family a little more privacy.’

I couldn’t read his expression. He had his poker face on. ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

He gave me the briefest of smiles. It was little more than a little quirk of his lips but it made something inside my stomach slip. I suddenly wondered what his full smile would look like and if it would have an even more devastating effect on me. ‘How do you get on with Stuart McTaggart?’ he said.

‘Fine.’

He lifted a dark eyebrow as if that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. ‘You don’t find him … difficult?’

I gave a little shrug. ‘He has his moments but I don’t let it get to me. He’s under a lot of pressure and he doesn’t know how to manage stress. Stress is contagious, like a disease. You can catch it off others if you’re not careful.’

He leaned his hips back against his desk with his arms folded across his broad chest. His eyes never once left mine. I would have found it threatening except I was so fascinated by their colour I was practically mesmerised. In certain lights they were predominately grey but in others they were blue. And now and again they would develop a tiny glittery twinkle as if he was enjoying a private joke.

‘So what are your top three hints for relieving stress?’ he said.

‘Regular exercise, eight hours’ sleep, good nutrition.’

‘Not so easy when you work the kind of hours we work.’

‘True.’

He was still watching me with that unwavering gaze. ‘What about sex?’

I felt a hot blush spread over my cheeks. Yes, I know. I’m such a prude, which is incredibly ironic given my parents talk about their sex lives at the drop of a sarong. ‘Wh-what about it?’ I stammered.

‘Isn’t it supposed to be the best stress-reliever of all?’

I ran the tip of my tongue out over my suddenly parchment-dry lips. The heat in my cheeks flowed to other parts of my body—my breasts, my belly and between my legs. Even the base of my spine felt molten hot. ‘Erm, yes, it’s good for that,’ I said, ‘excellent, in fact. But not everyone can have sex when they’re feeling stressed. I mean, how would that work in the workplace, for instance? We can’t have staff running off to have sex in the nearest broom cupboard whenever they feel like it, can we?’

I wished I hadn’t taken the bait. I wished I hadn’t kept running off at the mouth like that. Why the hell was I talking about sex with Matt Bishop? All I could think of was what it would be like to have sex with him. Not in a broom cupboard, although I’m sure he would be more than up to the challenge. But in a bed with his arms around me, his long legs entangled with mine, his body pressing me down on the mattress in a passionate clinch unlike any I’d had before.

Just to put you straight, I’m no untried virgin. I’ve had three partners, although I don’t usually count the first one because I was drunk at the time and I can’t remember much about it. It was my first year at med school and I was embarrassed about still being a virgin so I drank three vile-tasting cocktails at a party and had it off with a guy whose name I still can’t remember. What is it about cocktails and me?

But I digress. The second was only slightly more memorable in that I wasn’t drunk or even tipsy, but the guy had performance anxiety, so I blinked and missed it, so to speak. I guess that’s why Andy had seemed such a super-stud. At least he could go the distance and I actually managed to orgasm now and again. Told you I was good at lying.

Matt kept his gaze trained on my flustered one, a hint of a smile still playing around the corners of his mouth. ‘Perhaps not.’

My phone started to ring and I grabbed at it as if it were the lottery office calling to inform me of a massive win. It wasn’t. It was my mother. ‘Can I call you back?’ I said.

‘Darling, you sound so tense.’ My mother’s voice carried like a foghorn. I think it’s from all the chanting she does. It’s given her vocal cords serious muscle. ‘He’s not worth the angst.’

I could feel my cheeks glowing like hot embers. ‘I really can’t talk now so—’

‘I just called to give you your horoscope reading. It’s really amazing because it said you’re going to meet—’

‘Now’s not a good time,’ I said with a level of desperation I could barely keep out of my voice. ‘I’ll call you later. I promise.’

‘All right, darling. Love you.’ She made kissy noises.

‘I love you too. Bye.’ I ended the call and gave Matt a wry look. ‘My mum.’

‘Who’s causing you the angst?’ he asked. ‘Not me, I hope?’

I backed my way to the door, almost tripping over my own feet in clumsy haste. ‘I’d better let you get to your meeting.’

‘Dr Clark?’

My hand reached for the doorknob and I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. ‘Yes?’

A glint danced in his eyes. ‘Check the broom cupboards on your way past, will you?’

CHAPTER THREE

I WAS ABOUT to leave for the day when the CEO’s secretary came to see me. Lynne Patterson was in her late fifties and had worked at St Iggy’s for thirty years in various administrative roles. I had only met her a handful of times but she was always warm and friendly. She reminded me of a mother hen. She oozed maternal warmth and was known for taking lame ducks under her wing. Not that I considered myself a lame duck or anything, but right then I wasn’t paddling quite the way I wanted to.

‘How did the wedding go?’ Lynne asked as her opening gambit. What is it with everyone and weddings? I thought. People were becoming obsessed. It wasn’t healthy.

My smile felt like it was set in plaster of Paris on my mouth. ‘Great. Fabulous. Wonderful. Awesome.’ I was going overboard with the superlatives but what else could I do? In for a penny, as they say, but now I was in for a million. I had to keep telling lies to keep the others in place. I was starting to realise what a farce this was becoming. I would have been better to be honest from the start. But now it was too late. I would look completely ridiculous if I told everyone the wedding had been cancelled. Maybe in a couple of months I could say things didn’t work out, that Andy and I had decided to separate or something. But until then I had to keep the charade going. Oh, joy.

‘Well, that’s why I thought you’d be perfect for the job,’ Lynne said with a beaming smile.

‘Erm … job?’

‘The St Valentine’s Day Ball,’ she said. ‘We hold it every year. It’s our biggest fundraising event for the hospital. But this year it’s ICU that’s going to get the funds we raise. We hope to raise enough for an intensive care training simulator.’

I’d heard about the ball but I thought it was being organised by one of the senior paediatricians. I said as much but Lynne explained the consultant had to go on leave due to illness so they needed someone to take over.

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