A Surgeon, A Midwife - A Family

by Gill Sanderson

  'Right. Thank you, Nurse.' Miranda felt him lean over her, kiss her on the forehead. Then he was gone.

  Miranda was still very sleepy. But she felt that Jack seemed less than overjoyed to be with her. Still...sleep now.

  It was two hours later when Miranda woke up again, and she felt more alert now. She was also in considerably more pain. But she had expected that.

  Professor Laker was looking down at her, his face thoughtful. 'How do you feel Miranda? Need a painkiller?'

  Well, yes, now she was awake, she realised she did. The pain was there and it was growing by the minute.

  But there were things she had to know first, she could hold on a bit longer. 'The pain is there but I can stand it for a while. Professor Laker, was the operation a success?' She could hear the anxiety in her own voice.

  'Wriggle your toes. Can you feel them?'

  She did as he said. 'My toes seem fine. Is that a good thing?'

  'Well, it means that you won't be in a wheelchair. In fact, I didn't have to go anywhere near the sciatic nerve.'

  He took a chair, drew it to the side of her bed. He was closer now and she saw the strain lines round his eyes and mouth, heard the weariness in his voice. He was exhausted.

  'Miranda, you were a mess inside. The surgeon who dealt with you before did a very fine job, but his first priority was just to keep you alive, not to ensure that some day you might have babies. And he wasn't a microsurgeon like me, he didn't have my training, my tools, my technicians. In effect, I had to fit together the parts that he had discarded. And I don't mind telling you, I'm rather proud of myself. Yours was the worst case I've ever dealt with.'

  'So I can have babies now?'

  Professor Laker looked cautious. 'Possibly. Or even possibly-probably. Miranda, I took two hours longer than I normally do. I sewed together tubes that had openings the size of a human hair. No matter how desperately I try, there's always the chance of a kink or a blockage. But I am optimistic. We'll be examining you at regular intervals, of course, and in your case I want to wait four days before I go to have a closer look. Let things settle down a little. After that, I'll be able to give you a much clearer idea.'

  Miranda was a professional, she knew what the professor was doing. If parents asked you about the health of their children, you always had to be honest. If a condition was life-threatening, they had to be told. Nothing was more cruel than false hope. So the professor was indicating that things could go either way. Well, she could live with that. For four days. Just live with it.

  She must be waking up more. Pain flashed through her body and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop herself moaning. It felt as if the whole of the lower half of her body was on fire.

  Her surgeon had, of course, noticed her sudden agony. 'I'm giving you something to make you sleep now,' he said. Moments late she felt a prick in her arm. Then he went on, 'Now, I don't want you getting excited but I gather you had a visitor earlier. Jack Sinclair, a neonatal surgeon. I've suggested to him that it might be a good idea if he didn't see you again till tomorrow, you'll be awake then. How he got here I don't know. But we've had a few words and I'm having dinner with him tonight. We have a lot in common.'

  Miranda bit her lip. 'Will you tell him that I—?'

  He held up his hand. 'I will absolutely refuse to discuss your case except to say that I think you're out of danger.'

  Now the painkiller was acting, Miranda felt a sense of peace, as if she were swimming through warm water. She managed to mumble, 'You can tell him everything. I want him to know.'

  'Then you must be the one to tell him,' Professor Laker said.

  But Miranda was asleep.

  *

  She had a reasonable night and when she woke up next morning she felt a lot more alert, but still in a lot more pain. Well, she had invited it and she was content. She knew the morning nursing procedure in a gynae ward, she had followed it herself so often. But it was odd, seeing it from the patient's rather than from the nurse's side. And there were differences in protocol between American and British nursing.

  She felt subdued, not really emotional at all. She had taken a gamble, it would be three days more before she knew if the gamble had paid off. And she didn't really care what the outcome was. She could wait and see.

  Of course, she knew that this reaction was partly due to the anaesthetic she had been given, the drugs she was taking. But she was content to wait and see. There was nothing else to do.

  But what about Jack? How had he got there? She had to confess to being a little apprehensive about Jack.

  After the obs, drug round, breakfast and washing, she felt better. 'You have a visitor,' the nurse told her. 'But only for five minutes.'

  It must be Jack. Miranda felt just a touch wary, there were things to explain. She hoped he realised this had all been done for him.

  He came to sit by her bed and her heart thumped when she saw him. He was dressed as the old cool Jack—dark suit, white shirt and club tie. Probably a good idea to dress to impress, she thought.

  'How are you feeling Miranda?'

  'I can think straight now. There's some pain. Never again will I tell a patient not to bother about the pain, that it'll go in time. But I'm OK.'

  She looked at him, the old Jack, stern and unsmiling. 'You can kiss me, you know,' she said. 'Just gently on the cheek.'

  So he did. And while he was close she could feel him, smell that mixture of aftershave and warmth that was uniquely, excitingly Jack. Her heart filled with emotion. But for the moment there was little she could say.

  'What are you doing here? You were supposed to be in Barcelona, not Chicago.'

  'I went to the conference. The visit to the hospital afterwards was cancelled. I'll have to go back in a month or so. Anyway, I came back to England and everyone was vague about where you were. I knew something was being kept from me and I didn't like it.'

  'I'm sorry,' Miranda said.

  'Jenny got all professional on me, said she couldn't discuss it, but that I should have faith in you. Annie wouldn't talk about you but said I should trust you. When I said you should trust me, she said I didn't deserve you. So I got angry.'

  Miranda felt miserable. 'I didn't want all this,' she said.

  'Neither did I. Then Toby told me, quite casually, that he'd seen you going to Carly's flat with a red folder under your arm. I remembered that folder, I knew what was in it. Carly wouldn't tell me anything, but when she mentioned her old professor, I guessed. This is her old hospital. I phoned and found out you were here and I flew straight out.'

  'You don't sound very happy,' Miranda said.

  'I'm not. I've always gone my own way, made decisions myself. Then I met you and things seemed to change. I wanted to share everything with you. And then you did something that... Miranda, all operations are a risk.'

  When she looked at him she realised just how worried he had been. Still...

  'But I did it for you!'

  'Perhaps you did. But if you had—'

  There was a knock on the door and a nurse entered. 'Sorry, sir, time for dressings. You'll have to leave now. And then this patient needs rest.'

  Miranda noticed the appreciative way the nurse eyed Jack's tall figure and well-cut suit. But she was also going to do her job.

  Jack stood, frowning.

  'You can kiss me again before you go,' said Miranda.

  So he kissed her and then he went.

  After the dressings, when the nurse had gone, Miranda laid her head on the pillow and cried. What was wrong with him?

  Things got worse. Professor Laker came in, not to examine her but, as he said, to have a friendly chat. He said that if she made good progress and if she made sure that she took thing very easy, then perhaps she could fly home in ten days.

  'I'll refer you to a gynae consultant, John Bennett. I gather you know him. And I'll phone him and have a word. Now, while you are here we'll keep a steady eye on you and we're going to keep you quiet. And when you get home,
let me make something clear. You are not to go straight back to work. You are to take things very easy. The work I have done inside you will take quite some time to settle down. OK?'

  'OK,' said Miranda.

  'Jack Sinclair's a very bright man, very impressive. You couldn't persuade him to come and work over here?'

  'I couldn't persuade him to do anything he doesn't want to do,' Miranda said gloomily.

  'I can imagine. I'm sorry I shan't be seeing him again.'

  'What?'

  Professor Laker looked rather upset. 'He's gone back to England. It was a flying visit to see you, he must be very fond of you. He asked me to give you this letter. Now, like I said, take it easy and I'll be in to see you tomorrow.' He patted her hand and left.

  Miranda waited a few minutes, the white envelope lying unopened on her bed. Jack had left? A letter, no visit to say goodbye? All this way and then rush back? Exactly what did she mean to him?

  She opened the letter.

  Dear Miranda,

  I'm writing this before I leave for the airport. I have to get the first possible plane back. I'm needed desperately in the UK as four neonatal surgeons are off sick. I'm the handiest replacement so I'm going. Let me know when you're coming back and I'll meet you. We can talk then. Regards, Jack

  She re-read the letter, looked at it in despair. Regards, Jack! What was wrong with Love, Jack? Can talk? She didn't want to talk. What about their trip to London, the promise that things would change? She'd show him change!

  Of course, she knew that he was right about having to fly back. There was a shortage of neonatal surgeons. But he could have done better with his note. Regards! She'd show him!

  She was surprised to find that she was angry.

  And she still didn't know if the operation had been a success.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In some ways it was a relief for Jack to do what he knew he did best. He stood by the table, masked and gowned, surrounded by his team. He was the team leader, completely in control. The team had been trained to know, to anticipate, exactly what he wanted.

  Usually it only took him a couple of seconds to focus. Today it was a bit more difficult. Was it because he was still jet-lagged? Or was it because of Miranda? What should he do about her?

  He realised that he was waiting longer than usual and the anaesthetist was looking at him, apparently rather surprised. That decided him. A mammoth effort of will and he bent to his task. All thoughts about anything other than the operation in question were banished.

  It was like that for the rest of his day. He couldn't keep his mind fixed on what he had to do—the consultations with his SHOs, the round to check that all was well, the never-ending paperwork. And because he was conscious that he wasn't concentrating, everything had to be checked twice. He couldn't afford a mistake. And this made his work last longer and made him even more angry.

  He was even more lost when his day's work ended. Usually he found his flat a peaceful refuge from the turmoil of work. Not this evening. He looked at his pictures, ran his fingers over his Lalique glassware, stared at the swirling colours on his rug. None of the beautiful things he had surrounded himself with could give him any peace.

  He went to his study, checked his telephone. There were a dozen messages, none of them of any great importance. Then there was one from Miranda.

  Her voice was hesitant, weak, and he could hardly stand the conflicting emotions it raised inside him. 'This is just to say that it was lovely of you to come out all the way to see me. I do understand that you had to go back but I would have liked you to stay.' There was a long pause and then she went on, 'I think I'm still under the effect of the surgery and the anaesthetic. I'm not sure what I'm feeling or thinking. But I miss you. Goodbye.'

  He played the message twice more to try to get the last bit of meaning out of it. She was not sure what she was thinking or feeling. Well, neither was he. He just couldn't understand his feelings about Miranda.

  He wasn't happy. He knew that what she had done she had done for him. But they had agreed that they would share everything—especially decisions! And then she had taken the most important decision he could imagine without even mentioning it to him.

  It had been painful for him to change the attitudes of most of his lifetime. He now realised that he had never been really close to Veronica—and he had been married to her! And after they had parted he had decided to keep to himself, keep his own counsel, be wary of other people. That way you didn't get let down. Didn't leave yourself open to hurt and gossip. He had thought Miranda was different and he had tried to share with her, though at times it was hard. She'd never told him she loved him. Then she had set off on her own. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. Perhaps he'd been happier as the cold, distant consultant.

  Ten minutes later his mobile rang, the number only a few people knew. It was Carly. She sounded surprised.

  'What are you doing back here, Jack? I thought you'd gone to Chicago.'

  'I was called back. Emergencies.'

  Carly knew how stretched the neonatal surgeons were. 'I might have guessed. Did you see Miranda?'

  'I did.'

  'Was the operation a success?'

  'They're not sure yet. But so far things are looking reasonable.'

  'Big brother, why are you sounding so irritable? Do you know what she's done? Do you know she's done it for you?'

  'I know that but I...'

  'But you what?'

  'This was a decision we should have taken together.'

  'So you felt left out. How terrible.'

  His sister was obviously getting angry. That interested him. Usually she didn't dare shout at him.

  'Jack, first of all it's her body, she makes the decisions. Second, she did it to spare you the guilt if things went wrong. Only she could take that decision. Third, she did it because she loves you. Sometimes, Jack Sinclair, you can be so thick!'

  Carly rang off. Not a good phone call, Jack thought. He was too gloomy to get angry with her.

  *

  Miranda had thought that if she was careful, she'd be all right travelling back home the way she had come. But Professor Laker wouldn't hear of it. 'You're not going to undo all my good work by fighting your way across the Atlantic,' he said. 'I'll make a couple of phone calls.' And so a taxi took her to the airport and she was met there by a courteous man pushing a wheelchair. 'I can walk slowly...' she started, but her case was taken from her, she was eased into the wheelchair, taken quickly through customs, immigration and so on and was first onto the plane. She was given a seat with plenty of leg room. Another man with a wheelchair met her in Manchester. It was all too easy.

  And now she was being pushed towards Jack.

  She saw him waiting for her and, as ever, felt that thump of excitement. Obviously he had come straight from the hospital. He was wearing the dark suit and a pure white shirt. Was that a bad sign? Was the old Jack resurfacing? She didn't know.

  It had been quite a while since she had spoken to him.

  They both could have worked harder at getting in touch by phone, but had contented themselves with leaving messages. She wasn't sure how they would treat each other. She wasn't sure what barrier had come between them. Perhaps, on her part, it was just the after-effects of a long and difficult operation. She knew from experience that sometimes patients had mental as well as physical reactions to the stress of being under an anaesthetic and having major surgery.

  But he smiled, kissed her and took the bag she carried on her lap. 'It's good to have you back,' he said. 'I won't hug you, I don't want to disturb things. My car is very close.'

  She felt that lack of communication that sometimes came to people who wanted to be close, but couldn't. 'You can't go back to work for quite a while,' he said. 'John Bennett told me that.'

  'I'll take things easy. I'm not going to risk anything until I get the all-clear.'

  'Good. Incidentally, everyone's been asking after you, you're very popular. The most frequent rumour i
s that you've had a minor surgical problem.'

  'Very minor,' she said.

  After leaving the airport, they drove for a while in silence. She looked at his hard profile, remembered how she had once thought it craggy. Well, it was craggy. But it was also wonderful.

  It was almost as if he had read her mind. Suddenly he smiled, and as always his face was transformed. And his body seemed to relax. He felt for her hand, squeezed it, then let go to drive. 'It's so good to see you well,' he said, 'but do you know what you've put me through? I worry, Miranda.'

  'I did it for you, Jack. No, I did it for us.'

  'I guessed. Now, this is a bit forward of me, but since you've got to take things easy, I thought you might like to stay for a while in my flat.'

  'What?'

  'Well, Annie is very happy for you to go back to the flat you share, but the bedroom is tiny, the bed even tinier. At my place you can spread yourself out a bit.'

  'You told Annie I was going to stay at your flat?'

  For a moment there was the old Jack. 'It makes more sense,' he said curtly. 'You've had a serious operation, you need rest to recover quickly. You will be more comfortable in my spare bedroom than in your own.'

  Then, perhaps, he heard himself because he said in a softer voice, 'And I would very much like it if you stayed with me.'

  She thought for a moment. 'Yes, I think I'd like that, too,' she said.

  It seemed strange to be driving back into Liverpool, seeing familiar surroundings as they drove off the motorway. She'd only been away for a few days, but things seemed to have changed. Or perhaps she had changed. At his flat, she walked slowly upstairs as he carried her bag. He took her to the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom?

  'You always feel sticky after a long plane flight,' he said. 'Why don't you have a shower? I've put out towels, there's everything you should need. And you must be hungry but for now I'll just do tea and sandwiches. Come along when you're ready.'

  And he left her.

  Miranda had a shower and it made her feel better. She felt a bit hungry. But most of all she felt angry. What was wrong with the man? He was treating her like his sister, she thought. Well, she'd had enough of it.