New York Doc, Thailand Proposal

by Dianne Drake

  This time he pulled another piece from his pocket and handed it to the girl, who stuffed it into her mouth as quickly as she could. “Achara is still feeling tired,” he said to Layla. “She’s not eating as well as her mother would like to see. Not drinking as much as she should either. Would you like to examine her while I take care of Kanika?”

  “Love to,” Layla said, then bent down to the child. “Hello, Achara,” she said to the girl. “My name is Layla.”

  “Doc Layla,” Arlo corrected. “The people out here respect the title ‘Doc,’ so it’s always good to let them know you are a doc.”

  “My name is Doc Layla,” Layla corrected. “And, while I know you don’t understand my words, I promise I won’t do anything that will hurt.” She looked behind her as Arlo left the room, following Kanika to another part of the hut. “First, I want to do some general vital signs.”

  Temperature—elevated. Blood pressure—low. Pulse and respirations normal. No bad belly sounds. Lungs clear. But Achara did seem a little listless and, Layla noticed, she was struggling to stay awake. She also had a skin rash on her belly, back and arms.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?” she asked the girl, even though Achara didn’t understand. “Your tummy?” Layla pointed to Achara’s tummy and made a scowling face, hoping the girl would understand her attempt at sign language.

  Achara shook her head to indicate no. So Layla did the same things with several of her major joints—arms, hips, knees. Again, Achara shook her head. But when Layla addressed Achara’s head, the girl nodded a yes and tears sprang to her eyes. Which meant she had a severe headache. So Layla looked into her eyes then in her nose, only to find signs that the little girl was experiencing nosebleeds.

  “Arlo,” Layla called out. “I need a second opinion, if you don’t mind.”

  “Right here,” he said, entering the curtained-off space. “What’s the matter?”

  “She has a mild version of the symptoms you’d see in hemorrhagic dengue. What I want is for you to double-check for me, since this is way out of my field of expertise.”

  “Out here, there will be many times when you don’t have someone to double check. I’ll do it this time because you haven’t even been here very long, but in the future, go with your gut. If you think she’s gone hemorrhagic, then proceed accordingly. You’re a good doctor. Trust yourself.” He pulled his stethoscope from his cargo pants pockets and listened to Achara’s chest and belly. Then felt her forehead. Looked at her eyes...

  “She’s complaining of a headache,” Layla said.

  Arlo nodded, and kept on with his appraisal by looking up the girl’s nose. Then he pressed her belly again and took another listen. “Good catch,” he finally said. “But getting Kanika to allow me to take her back to the hospital isn’t going to be easy. I was worried about the girl when she took her home but, short of physically forcing her to stay, there was nothing I could do.”

  “Maybe if you emphasize now that her daughter’s in danger, that her condition has gotten worse?”

  “Kanika already knows all that. In fact, she told me that Achara wasn’t doing as well as she was just a couple of days ago.”

  “And she still won’t let you take her to the hospital?”

  Arlo shook his head. “People die there. The villagers know that, and I think it scares Kanika, leaving her daughter alone there. Achara was only there the first time because Kanika was there as well.”

  “Does she have a husband who might grant us permission?”

  “He died in an accident several years ago.”

  Layla let out a frustrated sigh. “Can we allow Kanika to stay with her daughter? Maybe assume some of her nursing care?”

  “We can. If she’ll agree to it.”

  “She’ll agree to it, Arlo. She’s a mother and her child comes first.”

  “Since when did you get so...motherly? We never even talked about having children because I believed you’d choose career over having them.”

  “And I would have. Still would. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a few maternal instincts floating around. You know, some maternal instinct. Maybe not for being a mother myself so much but for mothers in general. A good mother will always protect her child. Like yours did.”

  He thought, for a moment, about the way his mother had protected him, and sacrificed for him, and he could see Layla doing the same. Even though they’d never talked about having a child, he’d known she’d have been a very good mother by the little ways she’d taken care of him. Providing a nice home even when she wasn’t domestic, allowing him space when he needed it without asking why, being there when he’d needed her and wouldn’t ask. Nursing him through bouts of flu or common colds. “You’re always full of surprises, Layla.”

  “Or maybe you just never noticed the things in me that were always there.”

  At the time he hadn’t and now he was sorry for that. “It was my loss,” he said.

  “Our loss, Arlo. It was our loss.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, Layla’s suggestion worked quite well. Kanika was more than happy to work at the hospital, and while she was there she extended her care to a couple of other patients. Basic care. Nothing along the line of anything medical. But delivering meals, changing bed sheets, pouring drinks of water. It was a tremendous help, and he was pleased that Layla had suggested it.

  It showed him a different side of her—the side where she took the smaller aspects of patient care into consideration. When he’d thought she was all about the bigger picture, he’d been wrong. She was much more insightful and well-rounded than he’d known.

  And now, on the third day of Kanika’s duties, she was rearranging the furniture to make it more convenient, recruiting new volunteers to come in and cook, and was in the process of making curtains for bare windows, courtesy of several women who donated fabric...an odd assortment of colors and textures. All this due largely to Layla’s simple suggestion. It was all good.

  And Layla, with Samron’s assistance, was working just as hard, going on the afternoon house calls for him, taking the older woman with her to translate, while he stayed back and kept the hospital open. She also took morning calls at the clinic while he was out in the field. Or sleeping.

  Even more good coming about because of something he’d never seen in Layla. Or something he’d totally overlooked. While he’d always known she was a hard worker, he’d always thought of her as someone who didn’t join in. But that’s all she was doing here. Joining in wherever she could. And seeming to enjoy it.

  Sadly, they didn’t ever stop to chat, unless it had something to do with a patient, and they didn’t even take a meal together. It seemed like the only time they really crossed paths was at night, when they were both getting ready for bed. He could see Layla in silhouette through the curtain as she readied herself for sleep. The first night he’d averted his eyes for the sake of being polite.

  But his memories of her perfection, of her beauty, of the pleasures her naked body had given him had taken hold, and those memories were more vivid than anything he could see through the curtain. And more intrusive, penetrating every pore in his body. Trying to work their way into more places than he wanted. She was so beautiful, and curvy, and she had a graceful purpose in every movement.

  After that first night of trying not to look, and trying not to remember, he couldn’t help but watch the shadowed image of her, the elegant movements, the way she went about things in the same order each night. Layla was all he’d ever wanted in a woman, which had made his only real attempt at relationships after they’d split up impossible. Nobody compared. And it wasn’t just in the physical sense. But in her intellect, even her ambition.

  Layla was a perfect package and even as he’d walked away from her all those years ago, he’d known he would never find that kind of perfection or determination in anyone else. That had been true then, and st
ill was now. He was a spoiled man—spoiled for something he could not hold onto. Which, little by little, was forcing him to come to terms with the way the rest of his life would be lived.

  What would it have been like if he’d chosen another path—one with Layla at the end of it, waiting there for him with open arms?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STANDING IN THE doorway of his hut, looking out, Arlo watched the rain for a few minutes. It wasn’t the rainy season yet, but it was getting close. Layla was asleep, but his memories and thoughts made him too restless to sleep. And the rain beating down so heavily on the roof, sounding like gunfire, didn’t help either.

  There was too much of the past swirling around in his head. There were so many good things he’d overlooked or ignored. And now the heavy impact of having her here was something he’d never expected. She was igniting things in him that had died out all those years ago. Giving him hopes to latch onto again, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Layla had always made him happy. But he had to be cautious because this was only temporary, just like last time had been.

  Without looking back at the curtain, or the now dim image on the other side, Arlo launched into the downpour and bounded across the road to the hospital so quickly it barely raised a blip in his consciousness. Why was he there? He wasn’t even sure about that. Probably to occupy space where Layla wasn’t distracting him. Where his whole life wasn’t distracting him. Where he wasn’t questioning his choices and promises.

  “Promises,” he said aloud. The one he’d made to his mother to look after his dad after she was gone. The one he’d made his dad to take his mother’s place as a doctor after she was gone. The first hadn’t worked out since his dad had left shortly after the funeral. Which had left Arlo stuck here in a practice meant for two but now as the only doctor.

  And in the early days, when he’d thought about going back to civilization, to Layla, something had always stopped him. A fever outbreak. A critically injured patient who would have died without his help. People who depended on him. People who trusted him to take care of them. That was a lot of responsibility to carry around.

  But to toss it aside would be to walk away from someplace where he was needed. And maybe there was a little arrogance mixed in with that—the kind that told him he was the only one who could do this job. That was all about his need, though. The need to be needed. Layla had always wanted him, but she’d never needed him. And the distance between those was wider than the universe.

  Still, in his more thoughtful moments, when ego wasn’t taking over, and the hurt of not being needed by the woman he’d needed went away, he simply saw the need of the village as the binding element. If he left, no one would come to replace him. Like no one had replaced Layla.

  Arlo knew these were crazy, mixed-up emotions, but they were all he had. He’d offered Layla his world, she’d turned it down. In retrospect it had been selfish as he’d never stopped to realize how important her world was to her. And had she offered it to him, he would have turned it down, probably with some lame excuse that it wasn’t altruistic enough. But in the end, to give yourself over to caring for the sick was altruistic no matter where it happened. That was one of the last things his mother had told him but, by then, it had been too late. Layla had moved on without him. How did he know? In a word—Ollie. Then another three words from Ollie—“Bad mistake, Arlo.” Then another six—“How could anyone be so blind?”

  The glum periods didn’t get him down too often, though. Not anymore. He hated the feeling, the despair that occasionally took over, because that wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him, if he wanted to keep doing what he was doing. Which he did. But right now he wasn’t on his game. And the last time he’d felt that way had been the evening he’d made the decision that he had to leave her. His mother had been sick, he’d had to go home, he’d asked her to go with him, and she’d refused.

  Such a bad time in his life, which had got even worse later when he’d realized how badly he’d wandered through it. But at the time all he could see was that loving Layla wasn’t enough for her. She’d needed the one thing he’d never be able to give her—an outlet for her ambition. Anyway, all that was water under the bridge now. He’d made his choices based on the only life he’d known, and she’d made hers based on the very same thing. So, maybe they hadn’t been in love the way it’s truly defined, but there were too many things yet to explore. So the ending had been left hanging. Not resolved. Simply let go of.

  Did he love her? That was the one question he’d never explored too deeply because there was no answer to it. In many ways he had. But in all the ways necessary to make her happy? Obviously not. It was more obvious now than before. But what good did knowledge do when he still had no answers? Well, at least he had his work, and that was a good thing because he loved it here. That was the one thing he didn’t doubt, when pretty much everything else right now was shrouded in confusion.

  Arlo tiptoed into the ward to look at Achara. She was sleeping peacefully, the way a child should. And Kanika was curled up in the bed next to her.

  He looked across the aisle at another patient who’d simply wandered in to sleep. It happened. People simply came when they wanted something and for Niran Metharom, who was sleeping face down on a cot in the corner, it was when he was feeling the effects of having had too much to drink.

  Kosum Bunnag, an octogenarian with gastric complaints, came because of gastric upset. Her problem was eating mangos, which didn’t agree with her. She knew it and suffered the consequences of gorging herself on her favorite food, and expected Arlo to make it better. If he wasn’t there, she simply took a bed and waited. Or slept. Tonight she was sleeping in the corner opposite Niran.

  And while nobody here was really sick except Achara, this was his world. It’s where he knew himself. Besides, where else would people just admit themselves to a hospital and not even bother to find the doctor?

  After taking a quick look at all three of his patients, satisfied they were doing well, Arlo tucked himself into his exam room, ready to peruse a pile of outdated medical journals as sleep simply wasn’t in him. But thoughts of Layla were.

  “Was there an emergency or something?” she asked him, coming into the exam room, dripping wet from the rain, about fifteen minutes after he’d made himself comfortable.

  He looked up, surprised to find her there. Soaked to the bone, with a lab jacket they kept in the hospital more for impression than use pulled over her T-shirt and cargo shorts. She looked so damned adorable he caught himself in a familiar ache. “What?”

  “I heard you leave a few minutes ago, and I wondered if you needed help with anything.”

  “Nope. It’s just a restless night. I have them every so often and use the time to catch up on some journal reading. And it’s a good thing I did because a couple of people admitted themselves.”

  “Anything serious?”

  He shook his head. “They’re fine. Mostly looking for a dry bed and a little reassurance, I think. When they wake up, I’ll give them each another a look before I send them on their way.”

  “So, in the meantime, you read journals.”

  “Got to keep up some way.”

  “How do you get them since there’s no mail delivery?”

  “I print them out at the elephant rescue when I’m there. They have a computer with satellite internet, and a very iffy connection for mobile phones. It’s a trade-off. I get to use their conveniences when I need to, in exchange for my half-day at the elephant wash. And that rover I have access to when I need a vehicle.”

  “Elephant rescue?”

  A smile crept to his lips. “I meant to tell you about that. Guess it slipped my mind.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “We donate time at the elephant rescue. We trade our services for the use of the various things they have that we don’t.”

  “And by donate you mean...”

 
“Whatever’s required. Usually we work with the babies. You know, play with them, wash them—simple things.”

  “A baby elephant wash?”

  “Just part of a day, once a week. It works out.”

  “I’m assuming I’ll be expected to—?”

  “It’s strictly voluntary,” Arlo said. “But if you can sleep with a civet cat, I’m pretty sure you can relate to a baby elephant.”

  “As long as I don’t have to sleep with it, too.”

  Arlo chuckled. “Not usually.”

  “Then life is good.” Layla entered the exam room and hopped up on the exam table, since her only other sitting option was the floor, which was where Arlo was sitting. Cross-legged, barefoot, with his back braced by the wall. “Especially if I can get good phone reception there. Or can log onto my social media page.”

  “What you learn really fast is that you don’t necessarily need the modern conveniences here. Since I grew up here, I didn’t have them at my disposal, and I learned how to live life just fine without them. Although I do admit I enjoy surfing the internet every now and then. Or playing an online game.”

  “Your parents traveled, though, didn’t they?”

  “Most of the time, yes. A month here, a month there. There are a lot of villages in the area, so they didn’t keep a home base the way I do. It was a fun way to grow up, though. Of course, it was all I knew.”

  “But when you ventured into the outside world...”

  “It was a culture shock to some extent. But my parents prepared me for that. So, other than not fitting in too well, it was OK. And my less than sophisticated ways did attract your attention.”

  “You sat on the floor, cross-legged, when we were attending lectures. There were perfectly good desks but you always chose the floor.” She laughed. “And remember that day I caught you staring at the wall? It was like you’d never seen a wall before.”

  “Hadn’t seen that many of them. And I liked the composition of it. It was...sturdy. In the huts where we generally stayed, walls were flimsy, for the most part.”