The big mare was something else though. She had everything - except experience. When she gets that she'll be brilliant. Mrs Dilworth should buy her. She won't regret it. Mares like her don't come easy. She's not cheap - maybe not now - but in the long run she'll prove to be a bargain. What a hunter? What a race-mare she'd make? What a potential brood mare? Mrs Dilworth was lucky. He was pleased for her.
* * *
At the emergency entrance to the Belmont Clinic, staff were on full alert as the ambulance rolled to a smooth halt. Dr Turner was there too. This was no routine admission. The wife of one of their own doctors, arriving seriously injured, unconscious, was a first for all of them. She would get extra special attention.
The stretcher was lowered gently, under the supervision of an outwardly composed Dr McKevitt, rolled down a brightly lit corridor, then into Radiology.
Ken was suppressing his inner turmoil. He was determined to act professionally in the presence of the senior doctors. He knew it would be understood if he couldn't. But he also knew that if he showed weakness or emotional stress, Dr Turner would diplomatically place him on the 'subs bench' for his wife's emergency treatment. He couldn't risk that. He wanted desperately to be there by her side. Not that he doubted the ability of the other doctors, but just to be there.
The X-rays were studied by a team of specialists in the presence of Ken. Mr Bailey, the resident neurosurgeon, confirmed an Epidural Haematoma. Jenny would need surgery immediately to relieve pressure on her brain. He discussed with Ken in medical terms, the technique he would be using. They both knew the risks involved in this type of surgery. Ken had full confidence in Mr Bailey, but still he was worried. He felt hot, irritable, impatient. He wanted to shout: "Please get on with it!" He restrained himself.
Dr Turner was monitoring him. While Jenny was being transferred to the theatre he moved to Ken's side, placed a fatherly arm over his shoulder and spoke gently.
'She'll be okay, Ken ... it could have been much worse ... the helmet saved her.'
Ken just nodded. The thought of what might have been, weakened him again. The next couple of hours would be critical. He knew there was no certainty with surgery - especially brain surgery.
'Now,' said Dr Turner, in a half-asking, half-telling tone, 'you leave Jenny to us.'
'What do you mean?' Ken was alarmed.
'Well, you know Mr Bailey is a world famous surgeon ... we're lucky to have him.'
'I know that, but ...' he was beginning to get the message. 'But I'd like to be there ... she is my wife.'
'I know, I know,' pleaded Dr Turner, who was determined to spare Ken the trauma of witnessing the invasion of his wife's head with the surgeon's scalpel. 'You don't need to be present, Ken ... Jenny will be fine.'
Ken's head dropped. Thoughtfully he paused for a moment. Dr Turner waited.
'Okay then. As soon as surgery is completed I want to take over ... to see her through the rest of her treatment.'
'That's no problem, Ken. I'll get a temporary in your place on the wards ... you can concentrate fully on Jenny's care.'
'Thanks'
As Jenny's operation was proceeding, Ken made himself busy in his office. Several phone calls had to be made. Close relatives and friends had to be told. He found that really difficult. If he could bulk them all together in a kind of conference, he would only have to go through the story once instead of having to relate the painful details to a dozen different people.
Jenny's mother, June, would hardly wait to hear him out. She was dropping everything and on her way to be there when Jenny wakes up.
Don Lenihan was sympathetic to an exaggerated degree - didn't impress Ken, who could never suffer waffle.
'I've advised her many times of the dangers of that sport. I predicted something like this could happen. When she recovers now Ken ...'
Ken interjected.
'Please Don ... this is not a great time for me ... I appreciate your concern, but I have other calls to make ... thank you very much ... good bye.'
Coffee had arrived. He needed it badly. As he sipped and felt it restoring nervous energy, a strange longing came over him. If there had been cigarettes nearby, he would have had one, perhaps the whole packet. He would fill his lungs with the strong satisfying smoke and savour the calming effect. Isn't it strange, he thought, "I haven't smoked since my college days ... never entered my head since ... now, I'd love one."
He opened the glass door of the reference books cabinet. Neurology Epidural Haematoma. He found what he wanted - he would study every line of it. It would pass the time, keep his mind focused, refresh his thinking.
He grimaced painfully. God, the waiting was unbearable. Not knowing what was happening in the theatre. Now he could appreciate what people went through in that waiting room, as loved ones struggled to survive emergency treatment - waiting for the unknown. He would be more aware in future, more sensitive and sympathetic towards them. This was going to change him for the better - that's for sure.
* * *
Andy Leahy had just replaced the phone after calling the Belmont Clinic.
'There's no news yet,' he told a tearful Madge, 'she's having an operation.'
'Oh, please God, she'll pull through.'
Madge knew that however bad herself and Joe felt, Andy was ten times worse. He hadn't eaten his supper, was uneasy, disoriented, and worried sick. He felt a kind of fatherly responsibility for Jenny. He had, in some strange way, seen her as the daughter him and Madge always wished for, but never had. She was very like him in many ways, would fit perfectly, his mental picture of his own daughter - cheerful mannerisms, warm heart, a lover of the outdoor life, and especially the horses. Now he felt as bad as if she really was his daughter. "Oh God, he mentally prayed, save her - restore her to full health"
The phone rang. Andy jumped up. Would that be news now? Madge took the call, shook her head, indicating to him that it wasn't. It was Mrs Dilworth wanting a word with Joe.
Hurrying down the stairs in a bath robe, with water dripping from him after showering, Joe picked up the phone excitedly. Andy and Madge were already feeling the relief that Joe's little bit of good fortune would bring to this gloomy evening. They listened as Joe's closing words confirmed their hopes.
'Next Wednesday will be fine ... I'll have her ready ... and thanks very much.'
'There you go now,' exclaimed Joe, turning to his parents, rubbing his hands and smiling broadly.
'Oh that's wonderful, Joe,' enthused his mother, 'I hope she's really lucky for that lady.'
'She will be, I know she will. She's a great mare ... I hate selling her.'
'Well,' said Andy, 'according to that young man to-day, she's going to a good home. She'll have a great life down there in Kilkenny. And sure we can call down some time to see her ... it's not that far away.'
* * *
June helped Ken through the waiting with cups of coffee and chat about anything she could think of. She had got to the Clinic in record time, was ushered to his office. It was the first time they had experienced real closeness. Ken was amazed at June's strength and resilience in this crisis situation. Here is this woman, he silently marvelled, whose only daughter was under the surgeon's knife, and although deeply concerned, was calm, logical, and dignified. The turbulence inside him was being lovingly eased by this remarkable woman - a real mother of comfort and re-assurance.
The time passed slowly. Suddenly Mr Bailey appeared. He looked tired, but optimism shone in his eyes. Ken jumped up, his face begging to be delivered from his anguish. June stayed sitting, holding her breath.
'Jenny has come through her surgery satisfactory ... it went very well ... there is every indication of a full recovery.'
Ken's eyes sparkled, floating in tears of joy and relief. Clasping the surgeon's soft hand, he thanked him sincerely. June released some tears too. Ken understood. She was entitled to, after her valiant hours of restraint. They exchanged tender looks of mutual relief and gratefulness, befitting their new clos
er relationship, enhanced even further now with this wonderful news. Embracing, they both felt a bond, almost as natural as any mother and son. They knew that the source of that bond was Jenny, the loving centre-piece of both their beings, that bright torch that illuminated their lives, and that neither could contemplate living without.
She was almost snatched away from them. They now knew they still had her. No further words were needed, just joy and thanksgiving in their hearts. They followed Mr Bailey to the Intensive Care Unit, to be there when Jenny woke up.
******
Lifting the Gloom
The hawthorn trees behind his thatched house were in constant danger from Garry's 'bushman saw'. He loved them, especially now with their perfusion of creamy spring blossoms. The trouble was, the songbirds loved them too, and every morning at dawn would take up their positions right opposite his bedroom window. Their shrill chant would then begin, reaching a crescendo as more and more arrived, all loudly celebrating the dawning of another new day in the beautiful Dream Valley of South Kilkenny.
There was no need for an alarm clock - most mornings he was grateful for their help in forcing him out of bed. But to-day, after the depressing exertions and events of yesterday, he was in no mood for an early rising. He sat up, squinting hazily around the sparsely furnished bedroom, wondering how he could deal with the disturbance. Checking his watch - it was six am.
"Oh now Garry ... they'll be no more sleep for you to-day ... you might as well get up."
The old thatched house was basic and primitive. He liked it that way. Why should he have more than was necessary? It was snug, warm, and had a real homely feel. The thick walls, low ceilings, old sash windows, and the half door, gave it charm and character, the thatch was good, the quaint brick chimney sat squarely above, belying its long history of service. Garry was proud of the dazzling white walls, brightly painted red doors and window sills. That was the result of his first ever venture into the world of painting and decorating. The kitchen was his favourite spot. The furniture came with the house - not a lot, but as old and authentic as the house itself. He would gaze at the old worn table and chairs and think: over a hundred and fifty years that furniture must have absorbed some history into its pores. If only there was some way it could play back all that was heard and seen during those long years. The old dresser stood erect in the corner, the faded 'willow pattern' cups hanging from its crooks, and large old matching dinner plates standing guard behind them.
The open fireplace was Garry's delight. On winter nights he loved to fill it up with stumps of wood, turn the wheel of the old fan, and savour the wonderful warm atmosphere of his old historic homestead. Soon the big black sooty kettle, hanging on the crane, would be singing. Garry would be humming too. He was blessed the day he found this little place - still couldn't believe his luck.
A quick cup of coffee, a cigarette, and he was soon out in the feed house measuring breakfasts for the horses. Emily's Honda 50 sounded in the distance, the 'farting bike' he christened it, to her disgust. Between them they didn't take long to muck-out the eight occupied stables. The horses looked great. He was delighted with their general wellbeing. They were happy and contented, their 'coats' coming on nicely, tummies tightening up, muscles hardening to give them a real athletic, racy look. Soon they will have to earn their keep.
Four trips to the hill gallop, Garry and Emily put them through their paces, strolling home at their leisure. This allowed Garry to relax, have a smoke, and Emily to monitor the nest-building crows, carefully keeping her mouth tightly closed as she looked up. It was a beautiful morning. In their own way, they both appreciated the quality of their lives, were well aware of how lucky they were - healthy and happy, able to enjoy the pleasure of it all.
Throughout the morning, Garry was conscious of something he had to do. It was pulsing away in the back of his mind. He would do it while giving the last two horses their pick of grass in the paddock behind the house, while Emily distributed the mid-morning brunch of appetising sweet smelling hay.
Pressing Andy Leahy's number into his mobile, he waited apprehensively for a voice that would give him some news of the injured young woman. He wasn't sure what to expect. He was prepared for the worst, but he had a gut feeling she was the type that would survive - a fighter with spirit and the will to live. He only saw her as she rode in that frantic chase at the hunt. But he saw enough to recognise the vigour, vitality, and sheer exuberance of someone who loved life - wouldn't let go easily.
Andy wasn't in the house. He was down in the stable yard. Madge relayed the good news.
'Jenny had an operation last evening - came through fine. When Andy rang the Clinic this morning, she had regained consciousness - surprised them all. They say she will now make a full recovery.'
'Oh, that's wonderful news,' said Garry, 'give her my best wishes ... but I suppose she won't know who you'll be talking about ... she never even saw me.'
'I can assure you, Garry,' said Madge emphatically, 'she'll know you alright ... Andy was only saying at breakfast this morning the marvellous work you did ... he'll make sure Jenny knows all about it.'
'Oh, for Gods sake, Mrs Leahy, it was nothing at all ... sure it's what anyone would have done ... I was only glad to be there to help out.'
'Do you know what you should do, Garry?'
'Yeah?'
'You should ring her yourself at the Clinic and have a little chat. Leave it for a few days 'till she gets stronger. I know well she'd love that. You could talk about horses and hunting and all .. it would really pep her up.'
'Do you really think so? Would they think I was intruding? You know, not being one of the family or a relation or anything?'
'Not at all! Sure you can say you were there when it happened ... you are just concerned for her. I'll get Andy to tell her you'll be giving her a ring.'
'Okay so ... that's great. I'll do that next week then. Thanks very much, Mrs Leahy ... give my regards to Mr Leahy and Joe.'
'I certainly will, Son ... God bless you now ... and thanks for ringing.'
'Thank you.'
* * *
When Andy and Madge arrived at Jenny's bedside they found her smiling serenely. Her eyes sparkled in welcome. She was apparently oblivious to the maze of ugly tubes and technology that surrounded and invaded her slim body. The head bandages served to emphasise her perfect soft facial features, making her look a bit like a turbaned Rajah.
She offered her free hand which was lovingly accepted by Madge, then by Andy, causing an emotional shiver inside him. His eyes flooded, his lips quivered from the overpowering sensation.
'Thanks for coming,' said Jenny, in a low groggy voice.
'How are you now?' asked Madge, 'you look really good after what you've been through.'
'I don't know how I feel,' she replied, 'I'm still here anyway ... I suppose that's the main thing.'
Smiling, she swivelled her eyes up towards Andy.
'Not as easy as that to get rid of me ... isn't that right, Andy?'
He laughed. Jenny's sense of humour again came to the rescue, lightening the whole encounter, easing the emotional strain on Andy who she could see was hurting.
'How's Ken?' asked Madge.'
'He's jaded out ... gone home for a bit of sleep. My mother is gone too ... they've both been here the whole time since I came in.'
'Weren't they great,' said Madge, ' they deserve some sleep after that.'
Jenny raised herself slightly on her elbows and turned towards Andy.
'How's Poker, Andy?'
He jerked backwards. Madge could see the colour leaving his face. He was stunned by the suddenness of the question, mortified by the responsibility in imposed on him. He didn't know how much, if anything, she had been told. Would telling her cause her more trauma? He had to answer, but how? With Jenny it had to be honest - he would tell the truth.
Jenny sensed Andy's problem, took his hand in hers. Madge now felt the pain too - took his other hand.
'Come
on Andy ... you can tell me ... I have a good idea anyway.'
Jenny's generosity shone through again. In one of her darkest moments, she wasn't concerned for herself, but for Andy, her friend, her real fatherly soul mate.
'We did the best for him, Jenny,' he was on the point of breaking down.
'He's gone then,' she whispered, with resignation in her voice.
'T'was the only thing we could do, Jenny ... we wouldn't let him suffer ... his leg was gone ... the vet looked after him ... and that young man from Kilkenny ... he was marvellous.'
Jenny laid back, exhaled a long breath, releasing the tension. Staring up at the high ceiling, she let the news sink in. The brave little horse, the enjoyment he gave her. Their relationship was short but so exciting and memorable. He was gone now, he didn't suffer - that's okay. Her great knowledge and understanding of horses stood to her at that moment. She loved them dearly - but only as animals. She had always frowned on people who mistakenly treated horses as humans. They didn't have a brain like us, didn't feel the same emotions. She had lost a good, faithful little servant, but he had a good life and enjoyed it. She didn't need to feel guilty about anything.
Andy and Madge waited for Jenny's considered reaction to what they felt must have been shattering news. They knew with her there would be no hysterics, but inside, how would she feel?
'Andy, thanks very much ... you did exactly what I would have done ... little Poker didn't suffer ... he served me well ... you did me a big favour the day you got him for me ... you've now done another favour for me and for him too ... thanks for everything.'
Again to ease the tension, she deftly changed the subject.
'Did Joe sell the mare?'
That question was much easier to answer, brought warm and welcome respite. The good news delighted Jenny, lifting the gloom all round restoring colour and smiles to their faces.
Andy explained Garry's important role, making sure that Jenny knew of the great work he did at Punchestown.
'He also rang this morning enquiring about you,' said Madge, 'I suggested he might ring you himself ... he seems a real nice lad.'
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