The Surgeon Was a Lady Read online

  “Is that Mr. Wexinford... I’m sorry to ring you so late...”

  Chapter Twenty

  And More Scribbling

  “Ted, you’re gonna laugh when I tell you of my latest... but before I do, I think you should sit down and compose yourself, because believe it or not, I am in love... It’s not with the gorgeous Fred, as you’ve probably supposed by now. No... not at all. Can’t a woman fall in love with her own husband and after the seven year itch... I tell you, I’m in love with Paul and it’s not the second time round either. It’s the first. I don’t think I really loved him when I married him, but I know he loved me. I have always known that. Always... and I’m even surer now. Should I be skipping like a schoolgirl and gathering buds in May? You may well ask, but I’m not. I’m radiantly happy and yet I am crying. I’m breaking my silly heart. Can you believe it and I’m nearly thirty one.

  You see, Professor Wexinford saw Paul again a few days ago. It was one of the six monthly visits he has and as you probably know, Old Wexy is the big chief. Chief of all the hospital departments, although he is retired and acts as a consultant at the moment. He has advised me that according to the latest X-ray or brain scan as we call it, Paul has a blood clot on his brain... It is only a minute thing, something that has happened very recently and it requires surgical treatment to remove it, A.S.A.P... Well, that’s comparatively OK.. or at least understandable and I’m only surprised that such a clot hasn’t been discovered earlier than this and Wexinford is pointing the finger at yours truly to perform the operation... and to be honest with you Ted... I’m afraid.

  Now don’t misunderstand me Ted. I’m not afraid of performing the op. That’s my job. That’s what I’m trained for and I’ve done this operation many times before, but how often does a wife find herself in a position where she has to operate on her own husband?

  Ted, I really think I won’t be able to go through with it, but Wexinford tells me that I’m the only one he knows who can... and to make matters worse, Paul wants me to do it too.

  I have dreams... nightmares, really, that if I do this operation, Paul may come out of it even worse than he already is. The brain is a tricky customer, you know Ted and that is precisely why I was so fascinated by it in the first place and of course, because of all the things Daddy used to talk about when I was a little girl, but it is not a child’s game... and even as a child, I knew that... You must know exactly what you are doing... and even then, things can go drastically wrong. The brain is such a small thing in size, but one small mistake can result in a big disaster. There is no turning back... No second chance in many cases and you can’t replace what you have taken away.

  Having said... or rather having written all this, I am feeling much better in myself since I feel I have arrived at last at what I think to be the true image of myself, but of course, you are the Master in that field and I leave you to be the best judge. You have told me so many times that we never can truly see ourselves and even when we look in a mirror, we can only see a reflection... of what we are and I believe this now, where I had doubts before. I thought I knew everything... didn’t I..?

  I don’t want to go back to the life I shared with Paul when we first got married. I would never want to do that, but I would like... to go back to that time... in order to give him the love and affection I should have shown him then. I was twisted in those first days when we were together and full of my own career and self-importance. I see that now. I was the mighty surgeon and he was only a simple G.P... The surgeon was a lady... a demon lady and she would wield her power over as many who would let her and I tell you Ted, I got away with blue murder. I lived in a masculine world and I used everything I had to get to the top... manipulating and brow-beating as necessary. I wanted to be Number One... Numero Uno... and I didn’t care whose toes I trod on to get there.

  I see now the folly of my ways... the stupidity and vanity of all the glitter. It was nothing but crap. It was never really real... I was too blinded by my gigantic Ego to see things as they really were. I needed spectacles, but God help the person who would dare tell me that I was blind and couldn’t see.

  I know I can never re-live that time... the time of my first years in marriage and that is why I hope now, with all my heart and soul, that I can help Paul and restore much, if not all of what I have taken from him. I pray, if I am not able or capable by my skill as a surgeon, to give him all that I wish for him, that God will allow me to fail and to fail totally and not by halves, so that at least Paul will have no more suffering, but enjoy the eternal rest that I am sure he longs for at times.

  I am sure you understand what a heartache this is for me Ted, but above everything else in this world, I want Paul to be happy and if that can only be achieved by his death, then so be it... but I shall mourn him until the day I die.

  Please try to understand me Ted, even if this narrative seems to be so full of contradictions. My heart is pure in my intentions and I do truly love my husband as I have never loved him before. I feel like the Phoenix, resumed from the funeral pile to a renewed youth and to live through another cycle of my life.

  The operation is on Wednesday morning at eleven.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Willie stretched her hands out before her as she sat alone on the patio, wishing that it was twenty-four hours hence and that The Job of her life would be done. She stared at her wrist watch wishing that time would fly by and that her Operation of operations would be over. Only twenty-four hours more and she would be able to relax, she thought... or would she? She studied her hands, long fingered hands with clean cut unpolished nails and immaculate cuticles. How often had she used these hands to restore life? How often had she played God to so many of her ailing patients... and watched them walk away whole from their hospital beds... and leave their crutches behind? She thought of the parable in the Bible... He made them whole... they threw away their crutches... She wished them all well, but she never wanted to see them again and as she looked out across the horizon, a dark cloud shadowed her vision. A thick, black, heavy cloud, shaping itself slowly into a head... a bandaged head with clots of blood for eyes and a mouth... ‘My name is Clarkston’... a voice resounded through the air to taunt her brain. ‘Try to do better for him tomorrow than you did for me yesterday.’

  Willie clenched her fists... she wanted to be sick... physically sick... and her head began to ache and to spin...

  Her solitude was interrupted by Danny.

  “Paul seems much brighter this morning. I don’t know why, but I’m sure he smiled at me when I tried to clean his teeth.” The nurse thought her news would please Willie as she strode out to the patio, but she found her staring into space.

  “Willie... Are you alright?”

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry Danny. I didn’t see you there. How is Paul this morning? Is he OK?” Danny looked concerned as Willie looked at her with unseeing eyes. “Oh you did say something about Paul, didn’t you? I’m sorry Danny. I was miles away. Look, I’m gonna have a stiff whisky, will you join me?”

  The nurse was about to decline the offer saying that it was too early for her in the morning to be drinking spirits, but one look at Willie’s face made her change her mind.

  “Thanks... I’d like that,” she said, “Why not?”

  They went into the lounge and Willie poured from a chunky crystal decanter.

  “Soda... Ice?” she asked as she plunked some ice cubes into her own glass.

  “I’ll have water please, Willie... I’ll get it.”

  Danny went into the kitchen and returned with a water jug.

  “Sit down, Danny. Paul will be OK for a few minutes, won’t he and besides, we haven’t had a chance of a real talk for a long time. How are you and Seyone getting along now? I’m glad to see you’ve developed more than just a friendship, eh?”

  “I think we’re OK Willie. We get on well together.”

&nbs
p; “OK?” Willie laughed heartily as he spoke...”You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Danny blushed and swirled her whisky around in her glass, but she did not answer. “Of course you are. I can see it in your eyes... in your face... Yes, even in the way you walk... and him? How does he feel about you?”

  “I think he’s in love with me... I hope so.”

  Willie studied her whisky, holding her glass at eye level and it gleamed in the sunlight that hit the crystal and made it sparkle.

  “I’m sure he is, Danny. Let’s drink to that, eh? Here’s to you and Seyone.”

  “To Seyone and me... Yes, I like that.”

  Danny sat back relaxed as she sipped her drink with beautiful dreams of the future with Seyone by her side... Wherever their lives would take them...

  “Do you want to marry him, Danny?” Willie asked bluntly and looked away from her amber drink to the sky outside. It looked as though it might rain.

  “Well... You don’t beat about the bush, do you?” the nurse said as Willie grinned and pursued her enquiry.

  “Well, do you?” Willie asked again, “Yes or No?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Right... that’s it. Just let me know when you’ve fixed a date and we’ll start thinking about somewhere for you both to live... and not too far from here either... understand?”

  “Willie...”

  She ignored any protest with a wave of her hand and changed the subject.

  “Wish I hadn’t given up smoking... again,” she laughed.. “I could sure do with a fag now.”

  “Would it do such a lot of harm?”

  “Oh, it’s not the physical harm it can do to me, although God knows that’s enough... It’s the weakening of the will I could be doing without... Each time I gave in, I could kick myself for doing it. I need to be strong willed... In the right direction...” she emphasized... “Besides, I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and I’d better get on and prepare my list.”

  “It’s the big day tomorrow... Yes?”

  Willie tried to appear casual and unconcerned, but her fingers shook and the ice chunks in her whisky clinked, as she pressed harder on the glass to control them.

  “Nothing I haven’t done before... I’ll manage OK”

  “But you must feel...”

  She interrupted the nurse and put her glass down on the coffee table.

  “Don’t Danny... Don’t say any more. I... I just don’t know how I feel,” she confessed, “But I’ve got to get on with it... so wish me luck, eh?”

  Danny raised her glass, but her eyes were sad.

  ***

  She woke up on the dreaded morning of the operation that she was to perform on Paul and turned the radio on to listen to some music... any music would do... just anything to keep each minute ticking over without undue introspection... She showered and dressed quickly, using no make-up and drove off to the hospital, much earlier than she should have been there.,, with more music on the car radio... She went into the Theatre and insisted on preparing the pre-medication herself and checked the anaesthetist’s trolley ten minutes before he arrived. Everything appeared to be in order in Theatre One, but she checked it twice. She wasn’t particularly satisfied with the mouth gag and had it changed, before she counted the Spencer Wells artery forceps at least four times. Each pin contained twenty forceps... Three clips of twenty... sixty in all... that should be enough she concluded as Staff Nurse Gifford passed her in the ante room, on her way to Theatre Five.

  “Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked in passing and Willie looked at her for a few seconds, with a grim face, before she softened to the concern that the nurse had shown.

  “Yes... I’m fine,” she answered, but secretly she would have been happier if Staff Nurse Gifford had been assisting her in her Theatre, instead of Theatre Five, but she could see an older nurse in the background, getting ready to scrub up in the anti room of Theatre One and she felt deserted... in a strange sort of a way. Nurse Gifford had always worked with her on the most difficult cases and this seemed like a slur on the list that she had prepared for that day. Hospital rules... she thought and muttered ‘bollocks’ to the wall.

  She donned her Theatre garb and scrubbed up, using more soap than usual and going higher up the arms... turning the long chrome tap handles off carefully with her elbow and holding her sterile hands, dripping in the air. A junior nurse handed her a spirit swab on the end of her sterile tongs and she dried her hands before the nurse assisted her to wrench her hands into the surgical gloves. They snap closed around her wrists and she folded her cuffs into the gloves with one twist of an experienced finger. As she stood ready for action, she looked across the Theatre to see the instrument trolley being wheeled towards her by the older and senior nurse and cast a glance at the chart on the wall where to her surprise, her list for the day had been cancelled and the Anaesthetist came near as he whispered something into her ear.

  “What? Why?” she asked and he explained that as Paul’s operation would take about four or five hours, they would only do that one and none others for the day.

  She looked pale and ran her tongue over her lips... and returned to the routine questions that had to be asked...”Allergic to penicillin?” she asked herself mechanically, already knowing the answer. “Skin plasters? No... and so on and so on, in the questionnaire.

  “What the bloody hell am I thinking of. Of course he’s not allergic to any of these things. He’s my husband for gawd’s sake... I should know, shouldn’t I,” she called out and the anaesthetist and the senior nurse stared at her in surprise for a few moments before they returned to the work they had been doing and she felt embarrassed at her show of nervous reaction...

  “He is my husband... she said again softly and the whir of the anaesthetic machine drowned her voice. I should know all about him, surely... shouldn’t I... shouldn’t I?” she asked herself the question, but the only answer she received was a thick tear that dropped from her eye and tickled her nose under her surgical mask.

  “Let me?” A voice whispered beside her and she turned to see Staff Nurse Gifford holding a gauze swab. She pulled Willie’s mask down a fraction and wiped away the tear.

  “You... what are you doing here?” Willie asked, but there was a pronounced note of pleasure in her voice.

  “I’ve done a swap with Nurse Ford,” Gifford muttered, “Tell you about it later,” and Willie felt immediately better as she waited for Paul to be brought into the Theatre.

  ***

  She looked down at him, with his head swathed in bandages and with only the top of his scalp visible. The hair had been shaved. She expected that, but she felt it was an intrusion to have done that to him... He had such beautiful hair... Oh what the hell... Get on with it... Paul’s eyes and nose could be seen through the plastic mask that covered his face. Eyes that looked sunken into his skull... and with his nostrils, whitened and strained against the grey pallor of his skin. The anaesthetist gave the first injection of Sodium Pentothal and waited... gripping the oxygen bag and squeezing it at intervals as Willie’s hands shook nervously and she looked across the table to Nurse Gifford. The nurse nodded and her mask moved as she smiled beneath it. Willie wanted to scream... She wanted to run away and hide somewhere... but how could she... and if she could, where would she go. She could hear her own heart beat in time with Paul’s as she stared at the monitor screen on the wall. In... Out... In... Out... the anaesthetist would keep playing with that bloody bag... damn it. I wish he’d get on with it. She wanted to pull the Schimmelbusch mask from Paul’s face and to shout to everyone in the Theatre that what they were doing was a waste of time... A sham that they were all gathered there for this stupid ceremony. Why can’t they all let him die and have no more of his suffering? Why? Why? Why? Hadn’t he had enough she thought, and a hand touched her arm gently as she stood th
ere in sheer panic... Only the eyes, looking at her in their oblong spaces, between mask and cap, told her that she was doing the right thing... that she was doing everything that could... and should be done...

  She steadied herself, took a deep breath and stretched her latex clad fingers.

  “Towels,” she commanded and her voice echoed in the hollow cavity of the Theatre. It sounded loud and she lowered her tone as she repeated her command and Nurse Gifford handed her the four sterile clips, where she spread the towels over Paul’s head and snapped them into place showing only a space of about three inches square on the top of his head. Her whole mystical practice would be enacted within that small precinct. Paul’s sanity or his death lay in that calm, defenceless shaven area that could have belonged to anyone...

  She stared at the spot where she knew she should cut.

  “Scalpel,” she said and her voice was steady... more controlled.

  ‘Do it... Do it quickly,’ she told herself, ‘Don’t stand around. You’ve done it before now get on with it... CUT.’

  She drew her knife carefully across the three inch square stubble area, making a red bubbled line... and after that... she was alright and signalled for Nurse Gifford to come nearer.

  “Watch my eyes with the swab... We can’t afford tears,” she said defiantly as she continued to cut deeper into the skin, until she reached the hard surface of Paul’s skull.

  “Forceps... swab,” She laid the outer skin aside and dabbed the blood. “Drill,” she demanded. The skull was laid open and blood clot arrested.

  Five hours after having been brought into the Theatre, Paul Fehrenbach was returned to the ward and everyone was content that the operation had been successful, but Willie insisted that he should have his TPR taken every half-hour and she should be called personally, if there was even the slightest change in her husband’s condition ***