The Lakeland Doctor's Decision

by Gill Sanderson

  Her smile as he strode in swiftly turned to concern. ‘What is it?’

  ‘This.’ He slammed down the letter on her desk.

  ‘Oh.’ She looked embarrassed.

  Was that the best she could do? Just “Oh”. He balled his fists. ‘Exactly so. And you were going to tell me when? Faith, if you’ve got problems with the way I’m running this department, just say so! This is a delightful way of finding out my Senior Registrar is unhappy with me, I must say.’

  Her eyes widened. Then she folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. Her voice became clipped and professional. ‘One, Freddie told me about the opening and I applied before you even arrived here. Two, I put Freddie himself down as a referee, not you, as you can see if you look at that letter properly. Three, I am entitled to a career of my own. And four, if I was unhappy with my working conditions, believe me, I would tell you.’

  Chris stood there, unable to move. One part of him was furiously refuting everything she had just said. The other – taking in the admin details at the top of the letter – was realising, belatedly and horribly, that she was right. He was appalled at himself. What had he just done? He’d reacted with his emotions, not with his head.

  ‘Hell,’ he said inadequately.

  As they stared at each other, two things struck him. Firstly, Faith deserved to get the post. She would be terrific at it: the hospital and the patients would benefit. Secondly, he didn’t want her to go. She was an extremely good doctor. She was being an enormous help to him as he took over the reins of this new department. Without her, he could still do the work – but it would be so much harder.

  Then, as her eyes softened, he realised that he’d missed the most important thing of all. The thing his heart had instantly known. The reason he’d been so thrown, so unreasonably hurt. He wanted her close by. Not for any professional reason, not because she was a friend to Molly, but because when she was near, he was aware that one day there would be more to life. And that was unforgivable, because there wasn’t any way he could make any sort of promise to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, summoning up some vestige of normality. His voice was more of a croak than his usual tone, but it was a start. ‘I was out of order. Jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ And now she stood, putting her hand on his upper arm. ‘Chris, I don’t mean to interfere but do you think perhaps you are working too hard? You were here when I came in and you haven’t had a proper lunch break for days. You’ve taken over stuff that I ought to do as well as your own work.’

  How unfair was that! He’d busted a gut over the schedule to make it fairer on her! ‘You were doing it all,’ he pointed out, trying not to sound aggrieved.

  ‘Yes, which is how I know it’s too much! With me a lot of it could be dealt with routinely because I’ve been here so long, but you have to feel your way round hospital politics as well as learning about every new patient. And you have Molly to take care of as well. Chris, you’ll make yourself ill.’

  ‘I’m a bit like you. I find peace, calm, satisfaction in work.’

  ‘In work done well, yes. But nobody can do their best when they’re shattered.’ She gave a tentative grin. ‘This is your senior registrar talking. You should listen to me, you know.’

  Her hand was still on his arm. He could feel her genuine concern for him. Hardly knowing what he did, he covered her fingers with his own. ‘You are one generous woman. In a moment I will make us both a coffee and then perhaps you could come along to my office, we will start today over and discuss dividing up the work to give us both a sensible schedule. How’s that?’

  ‘That sounds good.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And I apologise for not mentioning the Hadrian’s Wall job. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t find the right moment.’

  ‘Faith – ’

  No, he couldn’t say anything more. Even if he had just realised that life without her would be interminably grey. Molly, Lorraine, all his previous failings ... battered at his mind. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’ll get that coffee. Five minutes, OK?’

  * * *

  What had that all been about? Faith looked at the closed door, her legs shaky and her feelings in turmoil. She hoped she’d hidden her flash of insight well, but Chris’s fury had not seemed to her like impersonal interest. The back of her hand could still feel the slight roughness of his palm, the warmth. There had been that stricken, horrified look in his eyes when he realised he’d jumped to false conclusions. It had called out to her, begged her to ease his embarrassment.

  She drew a deep breath. She would go into his room now and be absolutely professional. Pretend they really were starting this morning over. But she didn’t think she’d be able to forget that moment when she’d locked eyes with Chris and known passion was simmering just beneath the surface. Her whole body had suddenly turned molten. She’d wanted to go further and had seen an answering flash in him. She didn’t think he would be able to forget either. What on earth were they going to do?

  For now at least, they ignored it. In his office, after going through the rota, Chris mentioned casually that he had received a letter from Hadrian’s Wall hospital asking for a reference. ‘Of course I’ll supply one but I’ll also write to Freddie for his comments. He’s known you far longer than I have, his opinion will carry more weight. And I know he thinks highly of you.’ He paused a moment and then added, ‘On a professional level, I’d be sorry to see you go. If you are successful, would you still live in Fell View cottage?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not possible. It’s a reasonable journey in good conditions, but the weather can blow up very quickly in the Lake District. I’d need to be near my work in case of emergencies.’

  He gave a tiny intake of breath. ‘You’d miss your sisters and your friends.’

  She shook her head again. ‘Not with phones and email and cars each.’

  ‘Molly would miss you.’ Tiny pause. ‘And so would I.’

  Professionally? Or personally? She held his eyes, moistened her lips. ‘She’ll settle, Chris. You’ll make friends here. And the post isn’t vacant until the New Year anyway.’

  He looked down. His hand moved almost reluctantly to another letter on his desk. ‘There’s also this. It’s a day conference at Hadrian’s Wall hospital towards the end of the week to discuss government proposals aimed at making the regional Obs & Gynie provision work more efficiently: how we can share work; liaise with GPs and local health centres; that sort of thing. How we would manage if an emergency situation arose in the region. Freddie booked me in for it before he left, but it seems to me that as you know far more about the health provision around here than I do, it would be sensible for you to attend as Dale Head’s representative and report back to the rest of us.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘And if you are as efficient as I suspect you will be, it won’t do your selection chances with the Hadrian’s Wall board any harm either.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. It was another way in which he was a better head of department then Freddie. Her old boss would have gone, for the importance of representing the hospital. Chris wanted what was best for it.

  ‘There’s one last thing,’ said Chris. ‘I wouldn’t ask, except ...’

  Faith was pulled out of her introspection at his tone. He seemed at once anxious, uneasy and almost ashamed. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Molly. I’m sorry, Faith, but she’s talking as if the garden mural in her bedroom is an established fact. Could you ... would it be possible at all for you to paint her one?’

  Paint another garden? Faith’s hand moved in instinctive denial.

  Chris was continuing. ‘I have, of course, no idea how long it would take. And it was obvious that something in your garden room had upset you badly, so I’ll understand if you say no. There must be a decorator somewhere who can do it for her.’

  He was expecting her to refuse. And he was being very tactful about not prying. ‘I ... it’s difficult, Chris,’ she said, distressed.

  ‘I gathe
red it might be. But from my point of view as a loving father, I had to ask. It was also to warn you to be prepared when Molly tells you about it as if it’s a settled fact.’

  Faith bowed her head. Would it be so very dreadful? To paint a garden for a little girl who desperately needed to be happy and settled in her new home? ‘Let me think about it, Chris.’

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  It took Faith just over an hour to drive the fifty miles to Hadrian’s Wall hospital for the conference. That would be easily manageable for sister-visits if she did get the consultant job. The thought gave her a slightly apprehensive feeling in her chest, but she gave herself a pep talk on how she must make this opportunity work for her. The countryside was beautiful, the hospital had an excellent clinical reputation, she would be happy in her work. And it would be her own department.

  But no longer would Chris and Molly be living at the bottom of her garden.

  It was a good session during the morning. Faith contributed well and had the satisfaction of knowing people were listening to the points she made. One of the speeches was given by Tommy Case, Freddie’s friend, the soon-to-retire Obs & Gynie consultant and head of department here. She had met him before and liked him. During the lunch break, Tommy steered her towards the comfortable seating.

  ‘I’ve worked for years to establish this department,’ he told her, ‘and I’m proud of what I have done. I want someone here who I can trust to carry on with my work. Freddie has told me a lot about you, Faith. From what he says, you are the sort of person I’d like to see at Hadrian’s Wall.’

  ‘That’s ... that’s very kind. Thank you.’ Faith was shocked to be singled out like this. Her eyes slid to the others in the room, noticing them casting curious glances her way.

  ‘Just you remember it. I know it’s the hospital board that does the appointing, but I’m well in with them, they listen to my opinion – and I’m a lot less likely to leave things to chance as Freddie was.’

  Faith didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you again.’

  He studied her for a moment. ‘I’ve been listening to you today. You care about the area, but more importantly, you care about the people who would actually be doing all the work we’re cavalierly dreaming up for them to do. Don’t lose that quality. It’s what stops a doctor being just a mask.’

  Faith prepared for the afternoon session in a sober frame of mind. Yes, she cared about people. Even here, she’d had an email exchange with Jared about three of the patients in the ward at home. Would that level of involvement be lessened with the step up to head of department? She tried recalling Chris’s spreadsheet of allocated time. Instead all she could think of was his arm brushing hers as they both bent to look at it on his desk. No! She didn’t want this! She didn’t want to lay herself open for pain again. But part of her couldn’t help hoping Molly wouldn’t be too disappointed not to play with her this evening.

  Chris looked at his stormy daughter in desperation. ‘Sweetheart, I can’t help it that Faith is away today. Do you want to draw with me instead?’

  Molly scowled. ‘All right.’ She got out a big sheet of paper and began crayoning thick black wax all over it.

  He watched her worriedly. ‘Are you making a picture?’

  For answer, she crayoned harder.

  ‘What does Faith do when you draw?’ he asked in a carefully off-hand voice.

  ‘She draws too. Or she uses her computer. Or reads a book.’ The black was covering quite a lot of the sheet by now.

  ‘Do you mind if I phone work, then?’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  He rang Jared Carpenter quickly, only to find that Faith had already been in touch regarding her patients. Jared said she’d told him the meetings had gone very well and she would put together a summary for Dale Head staff tomorrow. Nice of her to phone me, thought Chris grumpily.

  Molly had finished her picture and was looking at it with satisfaction. It was mostly black with a small, uncrayoned bit in the centre in which she had drawn a girl blob, a pink panda blob and a lot of multicoloured dots.

  Chris stared at it in total perplexity, wondering if he should be ringing the child psychologist urgently. ‘That’s nice. What are the dots?’

  To his astonishment, Molly giggled, her good humour restored. ‘Fairies, of course. Like in my story. They’re in my cave with me and Panda.’ She squirmed down from the table and fetched one of her current favourite books, The Forest Fairies Anthology.

  Chris pulled her onto his lap. ‘Silly me. Of course they are. Who shall we read about today? Maple, Pine, Fern or Bracken?’

  Silently, he blessed Faith. Suggesting Molly draw whenever she was unhappy was really working. Lorraine had never thought of anything like that. But if he’d tried harder to understand Lorraine, supported her a bit more, made more allowances for her illness ... why was it so hard for him to draw a line under this? Why couldn’t he just accept that what was done was done? Why couldn’t he move on the way she had?

  * * *

  It was a couple of days later that Faith and Chris had their first serious falling out over a patient. She knew that medicine was an art as much as it was a science, that one doctor’s prescribed treatment might differ considerably from another’s and both could be right. But this time she was sure Chris was wrong because it wasn’t really a medical thing – it was a social problem.

  Pregnant women came into the hospital for regular check-ups. They would usually be seen by a midwife, but if there were any problems they’d be referred to a doctor. En route to the Delivery Suite, Faith recognised one of the clinic patients as a woman she had seen herself the previous month. Rosie Beckett, standing gossiping outside the doorway. Rosie always had time for a gossip. In fact she had time for little else. And she had put on weight. Not a good thing.

  ‘Ooh, Doctor Taylor, nice to see you. I’ve just had that new doctor, Doctor Ford. Isn’t he lovely?’

  ‘Mr Ford is a very good doctor,’ Faith said, remembering Chris had insisted on taking his turn as duty doctor. ‘How are you keeping, Rosie?’

  ‘I’m doing all right. He’s dead good looking, isn’t he?’

  ‘Keeping up with your medication?’

  Rosie shifted. ‘Well, yes. Sort of.’

  Faith sighed. Rosie was diabetic, which was not a good condition when you were pregnant. But with a properly controlled diet, just sufficient of the right sort of exercise, careful self-monitoring and above all absolute precision in taking her medication – Rosie should be all right. Otherwise, the life of both mother and baby could be threatened. ‘Sort of?’ she asked.

  ‘Dr Ford said I had to take more care now I’m in my second tri ... trimester. Look at this prescription. And what I’ve got to do.’

  Faith looked and blanched. Everything there she agreed with. Self-monitoring, measure blood glucose several times daily, keep it tightly controlled. Short-acting insulin before meals, long-acting insulin at night. Now four times a day instead of two. And the diet! ‘Are you going to manage all this, Rosie? Should I arrange for the District Nurse to make regular visits?’

  Rosie looked sullen. ‘Her? Stuck-up cow. I remember her from school, she was a pain then. She’s been to see me and I told her not to come again.’

  ‘But you have the baby to think of. You really do need her help.’

  ‘I can manage.’

  Faith knew something of the family. Rosie was married to an oilrig worker, there was no shortage of money but he was away much of the time. Like now. She lived in the same street as her father, who kept a vague eye on her – mostly whenever he wanted a free meal. Her mother was dead. Not an ideal home situation for a scatterbrain like Rosie.

  ‘Will you be very careful to follow these instructions exactly?’

  Rosie looked resentful. ‘Don’t you start. Everyone’s getting on at me.’

  ‘Because everyone’s worried about you.’

  ‘Like I said, I can manage.’ Rosie didn’t like it when people told
her what to do. She walked away.

  Faith wondered for a moment, then walked into the Delivery Suite and phoned Chris. ‘Chris, you’ve just seen Rosie Beckett. She’s just started on her second trimester and she’s a diabetic.’

  ‘That’s right, not easy to forget. A woman who likes to talk. Why are you interested?’

  Faith took a deep breath. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake. She showed me the prescription and the instructions you gave her. I know Rosie and there is no way she’ll manage to follow them. And she’s fallen out with the District Nurse.’

  She could tell that Chris didn’t like being told that he had made a mistake. Well, who did? Perhaps it hadn’t been very tactful to start by saying that he had made a mistake. But she knew she was right.

  ‘Faith, I did go to a lot of trouble to explain the dangers of not following the instructions to her. And I’m sure I got the message across.’

  ‘You got it across for now. She’ll remember every word you said. Till tomorrow that is. Then she won’t be so sure.’

  Chris sighed. ‘We just have to do the best we can with our patients,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they are their own worst enemy. What would you have me do? Admit her to a ward? We need all the beds we have got.’

  ‘She wouldn’t stay anyway.’

  ‘Precisely. Faith, there is nothing we can do.’

  ‘You’re the consultant. Your decision.’ She rang off.

  Now she was angry. Why wouldn’t he take her advice? These were people she knew and she knew she was right.

  She spoke to him with freezing courtesy for the rest of the day and was irritated when he refused to be upset, treating her in his usual friendly fashion. For an awful moment she wondered if she might be wrong. But she knew she wasn’t.

  Next day she waited behind after the morning briefing, determined to ask him very politely to think again about Rosie Beckett. But she didn’t need to. He smiled as he took in her expression. ‘Faith, I do love how concerned you are over every single patient. You’ve got that look on your face that says that you know you are right and you’re going to explain why – whether I want to hear it or not. You’re going to tell me that you’re worried about Rosie Beckett. And I agree that you could be right to be worried.’