I’m a specialist in asthma and respiratory care. Because my boss is recognised as one of the leading professionals in the field, my team gets to trial the newest drugs and techniques on the market. The day of the incident that led to my suspension had been proceeded by a hellish night caring for Cherry. The sight of her coughing up blood was the heartbreaking signal that it wouldn’t be long now. That death would soon claim her. I arrived at work exhausted, hopelessness dragging at my feet. I looked at all the patients on the respiratory ward, wondering how it was that I could save them but not Mummy Cherry? She was the woman who understood my obsession with my hair. She knew when I needed to be hugged tight. How could I perform medical miracles for strangers but not for the woman I loved?
I did my rounds that morning and by the time it was Patrick Walsh’s turn, my head was buzzing with a brutal pain, my nose filled with the stench of Mummy Cherry’s impending death. Long story short, I nearly gave Patrick Walsh a lethal dose of a prized drug on the market that needs to be handled with extreme care, due to its potential high levels of toxicity. I realised my mistake in the nick of time. The horror of what almost happened hit me so badly I excused myself and dashed to the ladies where I sobbed for dying Mummy Cherry.
Unfortunately for me, Patrick Walsh is an expert on the drugs and dosages used to treat him. He is a serial complainer, barrack-room lawyer, hardcore letter writer and general pain in the butt. He wrote a scathing and damning letter to my manager, accusing me of trying to kill him. And now he’s suing the hospital. I was summoned to see Janice Baker, my clinical manager. My manager is a legend in the respiratory-care community, a pioneer in developing new techniques and trialling drugs. I lucked in when she took me under her wing as my mentor.
She called me into her office. The awards and certificates that adorn her walls is an impressive sight. Our conversation is etched on my memory like an epitaph on the tombstone of my career.
‘Is there any validity to the issue that Mr Walsh has raised?’ That’s Janice, straight to the point.
‘I spotted the error in plenty of time and rectified it. No harm done.’
Janice peered at what I assumed was Patrick Walsh’s letter of complaint. Then she looked up at me. ‘Patrick Walsh is suing.’
I gasped. I wasn’t expecting to hear that.
Janice continued. ‘Mr Walsh is one of my regular correspondents. He’s convinced everyone is trying to kill him. The only way to get on with him is to share his enthusiasm for UFOs and conspiracy theories. Tell him you were abducted by aliens, and he’ll be your friend for life.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I pleaded. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen.’
Janice gave me a soul-searching look that made me drop my gaze. ‘How is your mother doing?’
‘Dying.’ Bitterness clogged my throat. ‘What’s the use of all my medical training if I can’t help her?’
I expected Janice to give me the talk I’d heard from her a dozen times: ‘When death approaches the care we offer is one of comfort and dignity.’
She told me something else instead.
‘The maternity ward was one of the first places I started my training. The baby of one of our mothers was stillborn. The poor mite was born with the cord wrapped around her neck. They covered the baby with a towel and wouldn’t let the mother see her.’ Janice shook her head. ‘I will never forget that mother screaming to see her baby. She didn’t care what her baby looked like, she just needed to hold her in her arms, cast her gaze lovingly over her daughter’s face.’
Janice held my gaze. ‘You’re at the stage with your mother where no one can help her. Forget the ugliness of her disease. See her, look at her, hug her.’ With a sniff she slid back into manager mode. ‘Because Patrick is suing the hospital, I’m sorry but the board has decided that you will need to take leave with immediate effect.’
The rhythm of my accelerating heart reached my ears. The shock of her words left me floundering.
‘I’m too busy. I have got a number of new patients who need me. Others who are responding so well to the latest drug tests.’
Janice got to her feet. ‘It’s all been arranged. Your patients and other duties are covered. There’s no need for you to worry.’ She added, ‘And you must stay away from the hospital until the matter is resolved.’
And that was it, part of my world swept from under me. Suspended under the leafy umbrella of ‘leave’。 Janice can’t even begin to conceive of what this job means to me. Since the age of eight, ‘working hard equals success’ has been the mantra Sugar has instilled in me. And you keep working hard and harder. Other people self-medicate with drink or illegal substances or prescription medication. My drug is work. As long as I’m working, I’m not thinking about the past.