The Doctor Calling

by Meredith Appleyard

  ‘Perhaps, but you know what teenage girls can be like. It’s all about them.’ Laura paused, told herself she could do this. ‘Anyway, you might as well know the rest. A few weeks after Mum died, my husband Brett was killed in a workplace accident.’ She blinked, waited a beat to steady her heart. ‘It was beyond awful.’

  ‘And you couldn’t save either of them,’ Meghan said quietly.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t save either of them. Afterwards I threw myself back into work. I took on more work, in fact. I kept busy, thought I’d be able to manage better that way, you know what I mean. I avoided being in an empty house, I avoided having any spare time to feel sorry for myself.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all,’ Meghan said gently.

  ‘Yeah, wouldn’t we,’ Laura said. ‘And I thought I’d done so well. Friends and colleagues, even my own family, congratulated me on how I’d managed to get through it. But really, I’d put the grief on hold, and then, about six months ago, when Mum’s little dog died, I fell apart completely.’

  Unchecked, silent tears ran down Laura’s cheeks. Meghan reached for the box of tissues on her desk and scooted her chair closer, passing over a handful and watching while Laura mopped at her eyes and blew her nose.

  ‘I am so over crying.’ Laura pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Just when I think I’ve got it all under control.’

  ‘It sounds to me like you’ve had plenty to cry about.’

  ‘Ah, but I haven’t finished yet. I’m saving the best for last.’

  Meghan leaned back in her chair, lifted her eyebrows.

  ‘The first anxiety attack came right in the middle of a consult with a woman about Mum’s age, who’d just been diagnosed with breast cancer.’ She shook her head. ‘At first I thought I was having a heart attack, but after ECGs and every test under the sun, just to be sure, they decided I was overtired, working too hard, the textbook stuff.’

  Laura focussed on her hands in her lap, fingers busily shredding the soggy tissues. Meghan reached out and took one of her hands.

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘Well, it happened again, and again, and, as if the anxiety attacks weren’t bad enough, I’d have these awful crying jags where the tears just wouldn’t stop.’

  With her spare hand, Meghan passed her more tissues.

  ‘The other GPs in the practice were terrific, very supportive. But it’s a busy practice and they needed someone they could rely on, not some flake who burst into tears or tachycardia when the going got tough. So I took a leave of absence, dragged myself to a GP and then to some intensive counselling, and here I am.’ She gave a watery sniff and released her hand from Meghan’s to blow her nose.

  Meghan reached around for the wastepaper basket and Laura dumped the tissues. ‘I can understand why you needed some time out, but Potters Junction? Isn’t it an unusual choice to come to heal? You’re so far away from your network of support, for starters.’

  Laura picked up her lukewarm coffee and took another sip. The sticky bun sat like a lump in her stomach.

  ‘Not really. It’s quiet, peaceful and away from everyday reminders. I’d finished up with my psychologist and I didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew, which was what I was looking for.’

  ‘Oops,’ Meghan said.

  ‘No, no, please don’t take that the wrong way. Alice came up with the idea that a complete change of scenery was what I needed and suggested I stay up here for a while. Friends have used the house as a holiday getaway but it sits empty for most of the year, and was desperately in need of repairs. Feeling how I did then, I would have agreed to anything.’

  ‘How did Alice cope with your mother’s death, and then her brother-in-law’s . . . and the dog?’

  ‘How you’d expect a normal person to behave – she grieved openly and loudly at the time, in true Alice style, and then got on with her life. I was busy soldiering on by myself, bottling it up, trying not to let anyone down.’

  The look she gave Meghan was bleak and Meghan reached out and pulled her into an awkward, sideways hug. When they came apart there were tears in Meghan’s eyes.

  ‘You poor thing, Laura. You really have had a shit of a time. I wish I could have been there for you.’

  Laura wiped her eyes, blew her nose again.’I’m good now, every day I get better, stronger. I don’t wake up anymore wishing I hadn’t. I just get up and get on with it. And I haven’t cried like this for ages.’

  She reached to the floor beside her for her shoulder bag. ‘My twenty minutes must be up. When do you want my Medicare card, now or later? And I don’t need a prescription for happy pills, I already have one. Haven’t had it made up, but have it just in case.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, we’re friends. And this afternoon I’ll live up to the GP’s reputation of always being late.’ Meghan lumbered to her feet. ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Thirteen months and twenty-two days. We’d been together two years before we were married.’

  ‘It only took a year and an unplanned pregnancy to get Sean down the aisle. What did Brett do?’

  ‘He was a carpenter. I was renovating an old bungalow and needed help with the bigger jobs. I didn’t have the time, expertise or muscle, and Brett was looking for after-hours cash work. We met, he turned out to be everything I’d ever dreamed of, and the rest is history. It just isn’t fair,’ she added quietly. ‘It’s like we never had a chance to really know each other.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Sometimes I have to think to remember how his voice sounded, how he liked his coffee . . . And you know what? Sometimes I wonder if it was a dream after all.’

  ‘How about the anxiety attacks?’

  ‘Haven’t had one since I came up here, and I’ve been here almost three months. I still get a few symptoms but I’m managing them, mainly with self-talk and exercise.’

  ‘There’s not much counselling on offer around here.’

  ‘I’m managing well. Keeping myself busy, and I can ring the psychologist in Adelaide anytime I need to. So far I haven’t needed to.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  Laura lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t really have a plan other than to get through each day.’ She examined her work-roughened hands, the nails short and blunt. ‘I’m still doing some tidying up and renovation work on the cottage. The garden was as much of a mess as the house.’

  ‘When are you going to go back to medicine?’

  Laura’s heart lurched. She ran two fingers around the neckline of her t-shirt. When Meghan stepped towards her, concern on her freckled face, Laura held up a hand. ‘I’m okay. Really.’

  Meghan stepped back, perched on the edge of the desk supporting her belly with her hands.

  ‘The reason I ask is because Milt Burns could do with some help. Linda, his wife, is keen for him to cut down his hours. It might be just what you need, Laura. Ease back into it.’

  Laura clutched the handle of her bag tightly, her knuckles blanching. ‘I’m not sure,’ she murmured. ‘To be honest I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘Consider it a sort of return-to-work plan. You’re an experienced GP but you need to get back into it. Milt Burns needs a break. He’s seventy —’

  ‘Yes, I know that.’ Laura’s chin jutted. ‘I was at his birthday party, remember. I’m just not sure if that’s what I want to be doing just yet.’

  Meghan pushed herself to her feet and stretched. ‘Forgive me, Laura, for poking my nose in where it probably doesn’t belong. You’ll know when you’re ready, and I’m sure when that time comes, you’ll want to go back to your practice in Adelaide.’ She broke off a corner of the second bun and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly.

  ‘I worry about Milt, about this place. He can’t go on for much longer at the pace he’s going, and soon I’ll be out of action, too. We have locums booked to cover here for three months after I have the baby, and then I’ll come back part-time. In the meantime, Milt’ll be expected to pick up the slack, and I’m not sure he has the
capacity anymore. We’re always trying to recruit.’

  Laura stood up. ‘I’d better go or Julia will be dragging me out by the scruff of the neck. Thanks for the coffee, and the Clayton’s consult.’

  ‘Not a problem. Like I said, we’re old friends. I’m so glad I ran into you. Don’t be a stranger, Laura. Come for dinner sometime. Meet Sean and Lucy properly.’

  ‘That would be terrific.’ Laura slung her bag over her shoulder.

  ‘You know I’ve seen your neighbour Neill Finlay a couple of times when Milt’s been away. How has he been since Saturday? He didn’t look so crash hot.’

  ‘He’s not travelling very well at all. He had a fall on the weekend. His son was home for a few days.’ Her heart gave an extra beat. ‘But he left yesterday and Neill is on his own again.’

  ‘His daughter Jess isn’t far away.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve met Jess several times when she’s visited Neill. She seems nice.’

  Meghan’s lips thinned, her expression thoughtful. ‘Mmm. I don’t know anything about the son. Sean said he’s been gone for years, that he fell out with his father. The mother ran off with the stock and station bloke. Jess has always been good to her dad. She’s a lovely person. We play netball together.’

  ‘She’d have her hands full with two boys and a farm,’ Laura said as she walked towards the door.

  ‘Just between you and me, I reckon the husband, Darren, is more of a handful. Sean says he’s clueless, that he’d rather be anywhere but the farm and that since Neill’s been sick, he’s just about bankrupted the place. They struggle.’

  Laura stopped and turned back to Meghan. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Yeah, they have some problems. It’s a pity the brother didn’t stay around for a bit longer.’

  ‘I’d give Neill a week or two more. After that he won’t be able to cope at home on his own. I don’t know if they’ve talked about what comes next. If they haven’t, they need to very soon.’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue what the plan is for his terminal care. But if he’s deteriorating as rapidly as you say, they’ll need to sort things out sooner rather than later. You know you’re starting to sound like his GP.’

  ‘Hmph,’ Laura said and opened the door to a disgruntled-­looking Julia.

  ‘My fault,’ Laura said. ‘I couldn’t stop talking.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Laura. I would have left you to talk all afternoon but they’re getting a bit restless out in the waiting room.’

  ‘Think about what I suggested, Laura. Julia, I’ll get the first patient. Can you please give Laura a quick tour before she leaves?’

  ‘Sure, come with me,’ Julia said and Laura followed.

  Although she’d never been to Magpie Creek medical centre, it felt familiar. There was that same smell of disinfectant hand gel. The music piped into the waiting room and there was a hobby box of toys stacked neatly in the corner. The paintwork looked fresh, the blinds pristine. When she’d arrived, Laura had noticed the chairs lined up against the walls were new. She sniffed the air and detected paint. Laura didn’t miss the curious looks of the waiting patients, either.

  ‘The place has recently had a facelift,’ Julia said. ‘Meghan had to fight tooth and nail with the hospital board to get it done. The CEO —’ She threw her hands up. ‘Well, anyone would think the money came out of his own pocket.’

  ‘It looks terrific.’

  The medical centre was small and it was obvious Julia was proud of every inch of it. There were two consulting rooms, a primary health-care room and toilets, a utility area and a poky little kitchenette.

  ‘Potters Junction health centre is much bigger and flasher than this. They had a plan for the Junction to become the regional centre for health services, but they forgot about needing to recruit doctors and allied health staff for it to work,’ Julia said. ‘We would have been in pretty dire straits if Meghan hadn’t come along to do a four-week locum and fallen for a local farmer.’

  ‘You didn’t have a doctor at the time?’

  ‘No. Our long-term GP left and the board hadn’t been able to recruit another one. Potters Junction will be in exactly the same situation when Milt falls off his perch. The man is seventy.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ Laura muttered.

  Lying in her bed later that night, wide awake, Laura smoothed her hands across her bare stomach. Talking to Meghan had been good, had helped bring some things into focus. Meghan had known her ‘before’, had met her mother, and somehow that was comforting. Talking things through out loud had helped her move another step closer towards making the important decisions she needed to make. As for the tears, well, they were valid and there was probably a bit of PMS mixed in there with everything else. Laura made a mental note to take Meghan a box of tissues next time she visited.

  The week had been an emotional roller-coaster. Laura shifted onto her side and curled into a ball, dragging the doona up under her chin. In the darkness of night-time she thought about the one thing she hadn’t revealed to another living soul. Not even Alice, and she told her sister most things. Brett had known, of course, but he was dead.

  Three lives had been lost during those awful weeks two years ago. She lost two of the people she loved the most in the world. And she also lost a child. A tiny foetus had been forming in the lush warmth of her womb and she had flushed it away after an agonising cramp and a gush of blood in the days after Brett was killed. The bleeding only lasted a week and her period was back a month later, so there’d never been any need to tell anyone. It was her and Brett’s secret.

  So overwhelmed with the loss of her mother and her husband, Laura had tucked the memory of the miscarriage away in a mental box. And thinking about it now she felt sad, but dry-eyed. Had she finally run out of tears?

  Anticipating the birth of their first child had been daunting. Brett had been so excited. They’d agreed to start a family soon after the wedding – she was almost thirty-five and, knowing the risks, Laura hadn’t wanted to leave it any longer. They’d discovered she was pregnant in the days after her mother died. The miracle of that still left her gobsmacked.

  Then, in a moment, Laura’s foreseeable future had been snatched away.

  Suddenly she was a widow and had a glimpse of what her mother went through when Laura’s father dropped dead of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm when Laura had been seventeen. He hadn’t even known about it.

  Still numb from her mother’s death, Laura was on autopilot those first days – weeks even – after Brett died. She couldn’t remember when, or if, she’d stopped feeling pregnant. Thinking back, she’d probably started to miscarry that horrific afternoon she’d identified his body. He’d lain there, in that harsh, sterile room, looking as perfect as ever. It was a cliché but he looked like he was asleep. But when she’d placed her cheek against his, the skin was cold, clammy and stiff, and the grief had paralysed her, then made her physically sick. It was the only time she’d come close to losing it completely – that is, until she did actually lose it. How she’d managed to make the funeral arrangements, stand beside the grave and watch while Brett was lowered into the dank earth, she didn’t know.

  With the benefit of hindsight, Laura could see her response to the loss of that tiny foetus had been clinical, almost mechanical. She felt the pain, saw the blood, knew what had happened and what she had to do. But in her heart of hearts she could admit that after the rush of blood there’d also been a rush of relief. It had been their baby, their dream. She accepted that motherhood wasn’t something she’d always craved, not now, not then. It had seemed a most natural thing to do after she’d married Brett – he had been so keen to start a family – but with him gone she didn’t burn to be a mother.

  But maybe, she wondered, lying in her lonely bed, so far from the life she thought she’d have, maybe she wouldn’t have come apart at the seams if there’d been a baby to care for and to love. She sighed, long and deep, into the dark. As she’d told herself time and time again, there were to
o many things that were facts to spend time worrying about the what ifs.

  Mikey woke up Wednesday morning with a sore throat. His temperature wasn’t up but Jess kept him home from school. Her youngest son was like she’d been as a child, prone to tonsillitis and middle ear infections. If his temperature went up, she’d take him to the health centre.

  By lunchtime it was pretty clear to Jess there was nothing wrong with her son except a case of not wanting to go to school. After lunch – another meal Darren ate in surly silence, the atmosphere so tense that even Mikey noticed – Jess drove in to Potters Junction to get the mail and pick up a repaired tyre from the mechanic.

  ‘I’ll take Mikey and call in to see Dad,’ she said and her husband grunted.

  During the twenty-minute drive, Jess let Mikey play with her tablet so she could stew on what she was going to do about the deteriorating situation with Darren. It didn’t matter how many times she asked, he just wouldn’t talk about what was wrong. And there was definitely something wrong. He’d never been the most communicative of men but in the eleven years they’d been married he’d never shut down like this. Jess’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and her head felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice. If only she could keep everything together until her father died. After that it wouldn’t matter so much if everything fell apart. For her dad’s sake she just needed to keep it all together until then.

  Much to Jess’s surprise, Doctor Burns’s early model Holden Statesman De Ville was parked in front of her father’s place, one wheel on the kerb, the other in the gutter. She’d always thought that if there were two car years to every human year, the early model petrol guzzler would be about as old as the doctor. Heart thumping, Jess pulled in behind it, told Mikey to wait in the car, leaped over the fence and sprinted up the drive and through the front door.

  Relief rushed through her when she found the two men in the kitchen chatting. It had only been five days since Jess had seen her father and she couldn’t believe the change in him in that short time. Jake had told her about the fall but Jess wasn’t expecting the lump and scabby wound on his head, and as he moved about the kitchen making them tea she was shocked to see how doddery he was on his feet.