The Doctor Calling

by Meredith Appleyard

  ‘You look whacked.’

  She rubbed her eyes, her shoulders drooped. ‘I am exhausted.’ She updated him on the locum at Magpie Creek and her new work hours. ‘And it’s my turn to do the on-call in Potters Junction this weekend.’

  Jake took in her blood-shot eyes, the purple shadows underneath. ‘Don’t run yourself into the ground, Laura. You’ll get no thanks for it. What would they do if you weren’t here?’

  ‘I know. But how can I refuse when I am right here, Jake?’ she implored. ‘Most of the people are genuinely unwell, and they do need to see a doctor. It wouldn’t be fair to expect Meghan Kimble to go back to work before she should, and Milt would be stretched even further.’

  ‘Laura, not that many weeks ago you were wondering about ever going back to work. What about your renovations? All the things you want to do?’

  ‘They’ll wait. I can put things on hold for a while. And it’s only for a couple of weeks until the next locum comes.’

  He studied her for a moment. ‘I can keep watering the garden for you.’

  ‘Thanks. That would be terrific.’ Her whole face lit up. His mouth went dry. He had to look away, knowing his desire for her would be written all over his face.

  After Laura had talked to Neill for a few minutes she turned to Jake on her way out.

  ‘You seem different. Some of the anger has gone.’

  ‘I guess I hit rock bottom. Down there I faced some of my demons and the only way out was up.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets, bewildered by what he’d revealed. He hadn’t even realised that that was what had happened until he said the words out loud. But that was what had happened in the long, lonely hours before dawn, when he’d lain awake in the lumpy single bed, staring into the darkness and thinking.

  ‘Yep,’ she said and shivered suddenly as a breeze puffed through the open door. ‘You get to a point where the what ifs and the why mes cease to have any meaning or purpose. You realise the only way forward is to accept things the way they are and try to make the most of it.’

  ‘Is that how you did it, Laura?’

  ‘Yes, I guess it is.’ Her voice cracked. ‘It took me a while to work my way through it all. At first I pushed everything to the back of my mind, pretended that if I kept working, stayed professional, then I could carry on. And I did carry on for a long time. Then a couple of things happened, minor in comparison to everything else, and I crashed and burned and couldn’t pretend any longer. And I stubbornly clung on to the why me and the what if – probably for too long.’

  ‘Christ, Laura, cut yourself some slack. You lost your husband and your mother in a matter of weeks. I don’t know what happened with your job, but I gather something did or you wouldn’t have come here. What you’ve been through would have tried anyone.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She jumped when he said, ‘What made you realise it was time to move on?’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. Nothing . . . everything.’ She paused, looked bemused. ‘If I had to identify one thing, I couldn’t. It was a combination of a whole lot of things. And time itself. The old adage “time heals all wounds” rings true. I’ve learned that either you can let the scars around your heart harden, contract, disable you, or you can get back amongst it, back into the real world, and work the scars until they’re supple and resilient.’

  ‘And are they?’ He held his breath, her answer important to him.

  She glanced at him and then away. ‘Yes, I think they are. Going back to work without going to pieces has been a real milestone for me. I know I’m not completely out of the woods but every day I feel my confidence returning. Being able to be there for Neill, well, that’s been good for me as well.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I have a way to go yet but I know I’ll get there.’

  Her expression was gentle, introspective, and he felt relief tangle with frustration, and an overwhelming sense of hope.

  She said goodnight for the second time and the gate clunked behind her. After she’d gone, he stood on the back step staring into the night. Unlike Laura, he’d let his scars harden, contract and disable him. Because of that, he’d distanced himself from any meaningful relationships with people; he’d lived on the edge, in more ways than one.

  Jake knew what it would take to make his scars supple and resilient. Forgiveness. He needed to forgive his father for keeping the secret about his paternity so he, in turn, might be forgiven for walking away all those years ago. And he needed to forgive himself for his stubbornness, for carrying the emotional baggage for so long, and for being an unworthy son.

  Jake scrubbed his hands down his face, his chest swelled. Because of Laura, he felt himself wanting to live again, to love again, but he couldn’t until he’d limbered up the scars around his heart. It was true that admitting to and accepting a problem were the first steps to resolving it. What had once seemed impossible was beginning to feel possible – imperative even.

  The next two weeks passed quickly for Laura, each working day reminiscent of the one before. Up before the sun to get in a run; home again often after the sun had disappeared behind the horizon. And the road from Potters Junction to Magpie Creek became increasingly familiar. The timeless landscape slipped past her in the bright sunshine of early morning, in the golden hues of summer sunsets and under the shifting shadows of night-time.

  As a GP she saw it all and dealt with it, frustrated when there wasn’t the support or allied health services she’d had access to in the city. That said, her hospital work in Adelaide had been limited, and she felt as if she was on a steep learning curve. Never before had she managed clients in a residential aged-care facility, been accosted in the supermarket and expected to do an on-the-spot consult, or had patients bring her eggs from their chooks and lemons from their gardens. It could have been overwhelming but she took it in her stride, touched that some of the patients seemed to genuinely care about her wellbeing.

  ‘It’s in their best interests to look after you,’ said Kaylene Curtis. ‘They know Milt is getting on and those who’ve thought about it don’t want to experience what Magpie Creek did. They didn’t have a doctor at all.’

  Laura hadn’t said anything, just divided the lemons into several plastic bags she’d found in the lunch room.

  On the home front, the renovations were put on hold. She didn’t see as much of Neill as she would have liked, but often noticed Jess’s car in the driveway when she passed. She rarely saw Jake, only the evidence of his having been there: her vegetables were watered, the verandah light and leaky washers were fixed, and on bin night she found her garbage bins out on the street when she arrived home.

  The days were long and hot. School would break up in a couple of weeks and Christmas was bearing down like a freight train. The red-ribbon brigade had been out tying bows on the trees in the main street of Potters Junction, and posters around the town advertised the annual street party and carols by candlelight. Laura had been too busy to even think about it.

  And then it was her last Friday at Magpie Creek medical centre. Laura flicked off the computer and tidied up, careful not to leave anything behind. Julia had turned off the air-conditioning when she’d left an hour before, after the last patient, and the room was getting stuffy. She closed the vertical blind at the window and scooped up her bag. One last stop at the hospital to see a patient she’d admitted, and she could go home.

  The meal trolley was parked against the wall, no sign of a nurse. An elderly lady in a cotton dressing-gown wobbled her way down the corridor, leaning heavily on a walking frame. Laura made her way to the nurses’ station, pulled the patient case notes she wanted and scanned what the nurses had written since the morning. The chest X-ray she’d ordered was waiting on the bench in a large, grey envelope. Sliding it out, she clipped it onto the light box. She beamed with satisfaction. The patient she’d admitted the day before was getting better. Her temperature was down, oxygen saturations improving and her
chest certainly looked clearer. She returned the X-ray to the envelope, tucked the case notes under her arm and went to see the patient.

  Laura headed to the dining room of the residential aged-care wing, in search of the nurses. They’d be cleaning up after dinner, taking the residents back to their rooms. But the dining room was empty except for a man in a specially designed reclining chair. He was almost skeletal, a Port Power beanie pulled low on his shrunken head. A soiled bib rested on his chest. His eyes were vacant, his lips slack and saliva glistened in the corners.

  Laura turned at the sound of footsteps and was unable to hide her surprise when Julia came in with a wet facecloth in one hand and a towel draped over her arm. The older woman faltered when she saw Laura.

  ‘Julia,’ she said, looking from the competent practice manager to the man in the recliner.

  Julia’s mouth lifted at the corners, in a parody of a smile. ‘Laura.’ She went to the man and started gently wiping his mouth with the face washer. ‘This is my husband, Harry.’

  Stunned, Laura took a step towards the man. ‘Hello, Harry,’ she said softly.

  ‘This is Doctor O’Connor, Harry. She’s been helping out here while Meghan’s off with her new baby.’ There wasn’t a flicker of acknowledgement. Julia went back to her job of cleaning him up and said with a sigh, ‘Lights aren’t even on anymore.’ She rolled up the bib with the face washer and threw them into the dirty-linen hamper in the corner.

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘You couldn’t have known,’ Julia said almost flippantly.

  ‘I know,’ she said and put a staying hand on Julia’s arm. ‘I’m sorry I’ve never taken the time to ask more about your family, about your life.’

  Julia blinked rapidly behind the lenses of her glasses. She covered Laura’s hand with her own. ‘It’s all right, love. He’s had Alzheimer’s for a few years now. He came in here about eighteen months ago when I couldn’t manage at home anymore.’ She looked at her husband tenderly, then pushed the beanie up his forehead. ‘I try to get here to feed him as many nights as I can.’ Her expression became resigned. ‘These days he hardly eats anything.’

  ‘You should have said something,’ Laura said, trying to keep the reproach out of her voice. When the nurses had run through the aged-care residents with her, she remembered a Harry Pritchard in the line-up, only she hadn’t connected him with Julia. The residents were only seen by a GP if they were sick.

  ‘What’s there to say?’

  ‘Julia,’ the registered nurse said as she whizzed in. ‘Shall I take Harry now? It’s probably time to put him to bed.’

  ‘Hello,’ Laura said, and the nurse noticed her for the first time. ‘I’ve been in to see Lottie Crawford.’

  ‘Thanks,’ the RN said.

  ‘I’ve written up her notes. Keep the IV antibiotics going for another twenty-four hours and then switch to oral. I’ve done the medication chart.’

  ‘Okay,’ the RN said as she manoeuvred Harry’s unwieldy chair through the door into the corridor.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Laura,’ Julia said as she followed the RN and Harry out. ‘Thanks again for your help at the clinic. Have a nice weekend.’

  ‘You too.’ Laura watched them until they turned the corner, trying to imagine what Julia’s weekends were really like – endless trips to the hospital interspersed with housework and preparation for the next working week, most likely.

  It was after six when she reversed out of the Magpie Creek hospital car park and headed home. She was ravenous, and a headache was beginning to pound behind her eyes. The thermometer on the dashboard read thirty-five degrees. Dusty’s roadhouse was open so she stopped and fuelled up. She bought a cold, sugary drink and a chocolate bar. She gobbled them down but it only made her feel nauseous.

  About ten kilometres out from Potters Junction, Milt Burns rang. He asked if she could start her weekend on-call from that night. They usually changed over at eight on a Saturday morning but he was going to Adelaide for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until the following Wednesday.

  ‘Okay,’ she said with only a second’s hesitation. Knowing she’d be the only doctor for both towns was daunting, but not as daunting as it’d been a few weeks ago.

  But when the phone rang at eleven-thirty that night, waking her from the deep sleep of exhaustion, her first thoughts weren’t so altruistic. Then her heart sank. The RN on night duty said Jake Finlay hadn’t been able to rouse his father. The ambulance was on its way.

  She could feel tears clogging the back of her throat as she dragged on a skirt and shirt, forced her feet into sandals and grabbed her bag. Laura had dreaded this happening. She’d thought about it often and understood why the AMA was so against doctors having any kind of personal relationship with their patients. But how could you live in a small country community and not befriend people you might have to treat sometime? And what about situations like this, when you were the only doctor within cooee? You’d have to live like a hermit, she supposed.

  When she dashed out the back door the red and blue lights of the ambulance strobed eerily against the side of the house. She recognised Jake’s deep voice, urgent, but with no hint of panic. They were loading the stretcher into the back of the ambulance as she arrived.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said, and Jake spun around.

  ‘Laura?’

  ‘What’s going on? Why didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘Laura, you’re dead on your feet. Milt Burns can deal with this, he’s dad’s GP. The ambos reckon he probably got a bit dehydrated, a bit fuzzy, and gave himself one too many doses of the painkillers.’ He scrubbed a hand across his unshaven jaw. ‘Jess dropped in this morning, but I’ve been out at the farm all day. The bore pump shat itself and the sheep had no water. I got home late and he was already in bed. He’s usually up and down to the toilet, but when I hadn’t heard him at all—’

  ‘Milt’s away. I’m on call.’ She pushed past him to the back of the ambulance. ‘I’ll ride with him,’ she said to the ambulance volunteer, and then climbed in.

  Jake peered into the back of the ambulance before they closed the doors. He said something that she didn’t catch, she was too busy finding a vein to get an IV and some fluids into her unconscious patient.

  Neill woke up after he’d had a litre and a half of intravenous fluid.

  ‘Where the hell am I?’ he croaked from behind the oxygen mask. He was groggy, disorientated, and surprised when she told him he was in hospital. When she was satisfied he’d be all right, the nurses admitted him for the night and Jake drove them home in the old ute. It was almost three a.m. Jake’s face was drawn, shadowed with sadness.

  He pulled into the carport, turned off the engine and looked at her in the glow cast by the front verandah light.

  ‘Do you have to go back to Magpie Creek in the morning?’

  She closed her eyes, rested her head on the back of the seat. ‘I’ve finished there. I did enjoy it but the travel would get to me if I had to do it long-term.’

  ‘I should have been here,’ he said, his voice raw.

  She opened her eyes. ‘Mmm. I totally understand how you feel. What are you going to do when he can’t manage at all on his own?’

  ‘Jess talked about moving in and staying with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. There’s no space for the boys, he said, and he’s right. But he wants to die at home.’

  ‘So you’ve discussed it? It’s what he wants?’

  ‘Discussed? No. He told me that’s what he wants, and I’m not about to go against his wishes.’

  ‘Is there someone else who could help out on the farm, so you could be here more?’ She yawned and her jaw cracked. ‘I can keep him in hospital for another day. If there’s any more help available from the community nurses, or anyone else, I’ll organise it. And now I’ve finished up at Magpie Creek, I’ll be around more.’

  ‘It’s not your problem.’

  She sat forward, bristling. ‘I’m already involved therefore I a
m entitled to make it my problem, especially if I can be part of the solution. And I like Neill.’

  Jake glanced at her, his eyes glittering in the gloom. ‘You can’t save everyone, Laura.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said quietly. ‘Jake, we’re both too tired to talk about this now. Go to bed, get some sleep. Your dad’s in good hands and you’ll be no use to anyone if you don’t get some rest.’

  ‘You okay to get home?’

  ‘It’s only next door.’

  ‘You haven’t locked yourself out again?’

  ‘Not a chance! I’ve planted a key outside. And I left a light on.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he said and he reached out and cupped her face with his hand.

  His fingers were warm, strong, and Laura couldn’t move – didn’t want to move. With a sigh she let her face sink into his palm, and when he pressed his lips against hers in a brief, tender kiss, then drew away, she wanted to scream with frustration.

  ‘Thank you for what you did for Dad,’ he said. ‘I watched you. You’re a good doctor.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said, and groped for the doorhandle. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss her properly. Maybe she didn’t know how to read the signs anymore. Maybe this was how he said goodnight. Maybe it was better this way. He’d leave after Neill died, and that wasn’t a maybe. The door swung open and with a brisk goodnight she slammed it behind her and hurried home, had a cold shower and fell into bed.

  The house was eerily quiet. He opened windows and doors to let in some fresh air. Standing under the shower, he let the cool water pound down on him until his fingers started to wrinkle like prunes. He thought about Neill, his own panic when he couldn’t rouse him, the distraught look on Laura’s face when she’d burst through the carport. He thought about Laura some more. Her competent and efficient treatment of her patient, the respect the nurses gave her, the look in her eyes when Neill had opened his. The feel of her skin, her soft, wet lips against his . . . He closed his eyes, swallowed a groan. She’d wanted him to kiss her properly. He’d wanted to do just that, and more. But until he’d tried to sort out this mess with his father he didn’t dare . . . He liked her too much to lead her on and then ride away.