SJ Lakes

Chapter 14

The long shift is, at the best of times, exactly what it sounds like. After arriving at work on Saturday evening, I won’t leave until Monday morning. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that the hospital started phasing out these marathon shifts a couple of years ago, so I normally only do one a fortnight. The previous generation of junior doctors used to work 80-hour weeks every week, and at a lot of other hospitals they still do. There’s no other profession in the world that would stand for that kind of routine abuse.

After speaking with Chris, tonight goes more excruciatingly slowly than usual. I feel terrible to have had to deliver such awful news to anyone, especially a case I was so keen to solve – a patient I had gotten myself so set on curing. Normally I’d give him a pamphlet or something with some patient information and support group details, but FFI is so rare that there’s no such resources available. Instead I did some internet searching and printed him off a couple of pages in fairly plain language, so he and his family at least have something to refer to. The hospital runs a general support group for terminal conditions, and I’ve given Chris one of their cards as well.

I’m feeling so down that I volunteer to supervise the pair of medical students who are doing sutures tonight. Normally I’d try to avoid such a lame job, but I don’t much want to interact with patients at the moment. This way I just have to watch the students and take notes to appraise their work. I make myself a cup of hot coffee from the machine in the break room and settle down with my clipboards behind the corner desk in the suture room.

I think I’ve met the first student before. She looks familiar but I don’t remember her name – she tells me it’s Maya. I check her student ID and note down her details on one one of my supervisor forms. She seems happy enough to be here on a weekend, but then I guess you have to be happy about that sort of thing to get through medical training.

The second student turns up a few minutes later and all I can do is laugh. He’s a tall young guy wearing a nice, fairly expensive-looking pair of wire-framed glasses. The effect is slightly displaced by the fading blue dye that makes his short blonde hair look almost grey. We’ve definitely already met.

“Hi, Dr… Klein,” he says, glancing at my badge. “I’m Quinn.” He unclips his own ID from his coat and hands it to me to check. Unsurprisingly, his hair is not blue in the photo.

“I bet the senior doctors have been hassling you about that hair, Quinn,” I smirk.

“Yeah,” he says apologetically. “I wash it and wash it but it won’t come out properly.”

“You bleached it first?”

He nods.

“Go to a hairdresser, if you can spend about a hundred dollars,” I advise him. “Otherwise you can try dying over it yourself with a darker colour from the supermarket, or just shave it off and start over.”

“Thanks,” he says with a little smile, taking back his student card as I finish copying his details.

I notice Maya has been listening to us, and feel my cheeks get a bit warm. “I used to sometimes dye mine pink or purple when I was an undergrad,” I explain to them both. “But patients are unhappy enough about being seen by a student doctor, it’s best not to make it worse by showing up with punk hair.”

Quinn takes a seat behind the other suture table in the little room and starts looking over a couple of laminated reference cards taken from his shirt pocket. I smile a bit to myself, remembering our encounter at the club, and I wonder if I might have seen him around the hospital before he dyed his hair.

It’s a fairly normal Saturday night after that. We get the standard range of patients coming through the suture room, and both of the students do a decent job. The only one I step in for is a woman with a small facial laceration who makes a lot of noise about not wanting a scar.

“Why can’t I see a senior doctor?” she demands as I stitch her cheek. Over the patient’s shoulder I see Quinn and Maya exchange a quick roll of eyes.

“I’m the senior medical resident on duty, ma’am,” I tell her, feeling a bit facetious as I really don’t mean her that much respect. I finish the last of the two stitches and cut the thread. “There was a lot of blood, but it’s really only a small cut,” I add. “I’d be surprised if you end up with a visible mark once it’s healed.”

She makes a few more snide, hysterical remarks about her precious face. I imagine she’ll probably be bothering a plastic surgeon about the little cut before it’s even healed. Fine, I think, then she’ll be the surgeon’s problem.

By the time I succeed in moving this patient along, the intern scheduled to cover sutures for the rest of the night has arrived. The two students gather up their things; I assume they get to go home now after working to midnight. I collect my papers and head to the break room to finish filling in my assessments over some dinner.

I grab a can of diet cola and one of my cheese sandwiches from the fridge, then sit down with my clipboard to do the last of the paperwork while I eat. As I start eating, Quinn enters the break room. He’s changed out of his lab coat and is now carrying a backpack on his shoulders.

“On your way home?” I ask as he takes a seat opposite me at the table.

He nods and looks a bit awkward. “About the other week-”

I cut him off. “What happened the other week? Because I don’t remember meeting you before today.”

He digests this fairly quickly as I level a pointed look at him. The prospect of a perceived conflict of interest has crossed my mind, and I’m sure his too. I’ll have to try to avoid working with him again.

“Thanks for your advice tonight about getting rid of my hair dye from the other week,” says Quinn.

I smile. “No problem,” I say. Nice save.

He leaves me to finish my paperwork. I chew my sandwich thoughtfully as I scrawl comments for each student on their forms.

The hours after midnight are always the longest. Once the sun comes up it always feels like a new day – even though it really isn’t – and tricks my body into putting out a bit more energy for a few more hours. Until then, though, it’s an uphill battle to stay alert.

None of the patients coming through emergency are particularly interesting tonight. I’m especially unimpressed by a guy a bit older than me who drunkenly assures us the stinking vomit on the front of his shirt isn’t his… I dread to think.

Around five o’clock, with the first morning sun beginning to stream into the hospital, Dave arrives to take over from the night shift registrar.

“Why don’t you take a break, Luce,” he says, looking over the staff roster. “See you again at six.”

I nod thanks and head straight to the on-call room. I don’t even remember getting onto a bed before I fall asleep.

Chapter 13

I wake up to mid-morning sun shining on my face through the blinds. I startle for a moment, thinking I’m obscenely late for work, until I remember I’m on the evening shift today and don’t need to leave until this afternoon.

I realise I’ve slept naked and last night comes flooding back to me. Waking up a bit more, I notice I’m alone in my bed. I glance around the room but don’t see Heidi. When I manage to get up I look around the small apartment and confirm she’s gone. For a second I feel mildly insulted, but then again, it was just a casual date. I couldn’t really expect her to stick around for breakfast, and for all I know she might be at work this morning.

I pad barefoot into the bathroom and put on my light summer robe, then walk back into the living room to turn on the air conditioning. I’m starving; there’s no cereal left in the kitchen, but I find a container of instant pancake mix in the cupboard. I check that it’s not expired, then fill the container with water and shake it while I get out the frying pan.

It’s been so long since I’ve cooked anything without using the microwave that I’d forgotten how quickly the stove heats up the whole kitchen. I take my robe back off and turn the air conditioning up higher, wiping sweat from my forehead so it doesn’t drip into my breakfast.

I’d also forgotten how long it takes to make pancakes. It takes about half an hour before I’m done, with a big pile of mostly-unburnt pancakes on a plate, and having eaten two during the cooking process. I look in the fridge and see I’m also out of maple syrup. I sprinkle them with sugar and lemon juice instead and park myself on the sofa. I balance the plate on my bare thighs and turn on the television while I eat.

I’m not too surprised to see that Saturday morning television is pretty awful. I settle for music videos. When I finish eating I put my plate in the dishwasher and let the music keep playing in the background while I settle back onto the sofa with a couple of textbooks. I haven’t been studying as much as I should lately, so I figure this is a good time to catch up on my reading.

The alarm clock in my bedroom goes off at four in the afternoon, about an hour before I need to leave for work. I groan as I realise I only got through a few pages of my book before falling asleep on the sofa. Oh well, I must have needed the rest, I think. I get up and turn off the television and the alarm clock, then take a quick shower and throw some clothes on before leaving for the train.

I arrive at work with a little time to spare. I head down to the cafeteria and buy an energy drink, and run into Dave on my way out.

“Hey, Klein,” he says.

“Hi, Dave,” I reply. “How’s it going?”

He shrugs. “Not bad. You spoken to Tran yet?”

“No, I don’t start for another few minutes,” I say, opening my can and taking a drink. My eyes widen as I make the connection. “You mean about my neuro patient?” I add.

“Yeah,” nods Dave.

“Oh, god,” I mutter with a frown. “I guess I’d better go up to pathology now.”

“Okay,” says Dave, apparently missing how upset I am, “Do you want to catch up properly some time this week? When are you off work?”

“Um, okay,” I say. “I’m on the long weekend shift now, but then I have… uh, Tuesday off. Want to come over for a beer?”

“Cool,” says Dave. “I’m still living at Spring Hill, so I can just walk over. Let me know when.”

“I’ll text you,” I promise, draining the last of my energy drink and dropping it in a bin on my way to the elevator.

Pathology does have the test results for me. There’s a sticky note attached to the report asking me to see Tran before I speak to the patient, so his office is my next stop.

“Evening, Dr Klein,” he says when I enter.

“Hi, Dr Tran,” I reply, gesturing with the report. “You’ve read this?”

“Yes, well done,” he says. “I would never have thought to look for FFI. What made you think of it?”

I feel myself blush a little bit, and make an effort not to shuffle my feet like I sometimes do when I’m embarrassed. “Just luck, really,” I say. “I came across it when I was reviewing some neurology stuff, and I realised later that could be it.”

Tran nods. “You know the prognosis, then?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, glancing away from him.

“I’d like to be there when you speak to the patient, if you don’t mind, Lucy,” he says.

“Of course,” I say. It might actually be very good to have a specialist to back me up for this. Dr Tran probably knows a lot more about Chris’s condition than I do.

We enter Chris’s room on the ward. He looks so tired, with deep shadows around his eyes, and his bed sheets are visibly damp with sweat. I clip the lab report into his chart and take a seat in one of the chairs next to the bed. Tran remains standing.

Chris eyes us a bit warily. “Last time two doctors came in here it was to tell me about the MS,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah, we’ve got some pretty major news for you again, Chris,” I say. I take a breath. “The good news, such as it is, is you don’t have MS. So we can stop the treatment now.”

“No more needles in the belly,” he says with a thin smile. He turns to look expectantly up at Tran.

“Dr Klein has discovered why you are really sick,” Tran says, and makes a small gesture for me to go ahead.

I exhale slowly. “We did a genetic test for a disease called Fatal Familial Insomnia,” I tell him.

Chris closes his eyes. “I don’t suppose it’s just a name,” he says hollowly.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “The test was positive.”

“How long have I got?” asks Chris. His voice is steady but his eyes are shining with tears.

I don’t have an answer for that. I turn to Tran.

“Your symptoms have come on at a relatively young age and worsened quite rapidly,” says Tran, sitting down in the chair next to mine. “I would estimate at this point somewhere between six and twelve months.” He pauses. “It’s a very rare prion disease that runs in families. Your family will need to be tested as well.”

“How did I get a prion disease?” asks Chris. “Isn’t that like mad cow?”

Tran nods. “It’s a related disease, but you can’t just ‘catch’ FFI like mad cow disease,” he says. “It’s caused by a genetic mutation. It’s hereditary, so someone with the mutated gene has a fifty-fifty chance of passing it to their children.”

“Jesus,” Chris says quietly with a sniffle. “I’ve got to get my dad to have the test too.”

I feel myself beginning to get teary and struggle to hold it back. I don’t have much experience giving this kind of news to terminal patients. Stay professional, damn it.

Chris turns back to me. “What’s going to happen to me?” he asks.

“We can keep treating your symptoms to try and make you comfortable,” I say.

Tran clears his throat. “You will get worse over the next months,” he says. “As the disease damages your brain you’ll become more confused and even have hallucinations. As it progresses sleep will become more and more difficult, and you’ll probably stop being able to eat. Eventually the disease causes dementia. We’ll transfer you to a palliative care unit where they’ll be able to look after you and keep you as comfortable as possible.”

Chris closes his eyes again and a single tear spills down his cheek. “I think you’d better call my family,” he whispers.

Chapter 12

When I get back home there’s a message flashing on my answering machine. I’m a bit surprised when I play it to hear that it’s Heidi. Guessing it must be about my eye surgery, I call back the number she left.

“Oh, hi, Lucy!” says Heidi. “No, we’re still good to go with your surgery. Actually, I wondered if you might want to just… catch up. You know, socially.”

I feel myself blushing a little. “Um, okay,” I say. “When did you have in mind?”

“How about tonight?” she asks. “Are you free?”

“Yeah, it’s my day off,” I tell her. “Well, shall we meet at my building at, say, six?”

“It’s a date,” says Heidi. She sounds like she’s about to hang up.

“Wait, let me give you the address,” I say quickly.

“Oh, right,” she says. “Hold on while I grab a pen.”

I give her the address and we hang up. I check my watch: I’ve got a couple of hours before she arrives. I guess I’d better figure out what I’m going to wear.

I’m not sure where Heidi and I are going, since I didn’t think to mention it on the phone, so I’m not sure what I should dress for. Eventually I decide on one of my nicer pairs of jeans with ballet flats and a fairly plain silver fitted satin shirt. I tie my hair up in a loose twist, figuring this should be about the right point between formal and casual to cover most date-type activities.

It’s a few minutes before six when the intercom buzzes and I realise I have butterflies in my stomach. I pick up the handset and tell her I’ll be right down. I check my lip gloss one more time, grab my purse, and head out the door.

“You look gorgeous,” says Heidi when I meet her in front of the building. She puts an arm around my waist and draws me close to kiss me on the cheek.

“Thanks,” I mumble, not sure what else to say. “It’s, um, been kind of a while since I’ve really had a date. You look nice, too,” I add.

She does look nice. Heidi is wearing a low-cut top that shows a bit of cleavage, a knee-length plaid skirt and casual sneakers. Her short blonde hair is ironed straight with a little butterfly clip on one side. Actually, she looks amazing.

“I thought maybe dinner first,” she says. “How do you feel about Japanese food these days?”

“That sounds good,” I reply. I realise that I am a little hungry, as I haven’t eaten since grabbing a cupcake for breakfast.

We walk a few blocks to a little restaurant above a bank, near the mall. The Japanese hostess (no, the host, I think, don’t be sexist) shows us to a table. It’s low to the ground, and for a moment I think we’re going to have to kneel, until I notice the Western-style bench seats are recessed into the floor.

Heidi impresses me by thanking our host in Japanese. I’d forgotten she had a pretty decent command of the language.

The restaurant is fairly quiet tonight. There are people at two other tables, but they’re on the other side of the dining room. Our table feels relatively private, especially once we take our seats under the low table.

“There’s a lot of vegetarian stuff on the menu here,” she says. “You are still vege?” she adds, glancing up at me across the table. I nod and begin perusing my menu.

“I’ve been thinking about you since you came into the clinic last week,” she says. “I wasn’t sure for I while if I should call you, but then I figured, you did come to see me.”

“Well, I didn’t know you worked there,” I say, a bit awkwardly.

Heidi nods but doesn’t look like she really heard me. “Anyway, it’s so good to see you again,” she continues, smiling happily.

I return the smile, having never been able to resist that look from her.

When our host returns, Heidi asks for the sashimi plate and I order some tofu rolls and tempura vegetables.

“And a bottle of warm sake,” Heidi adds. “For two.”

I’ve never had sake, but I guess this seems like as good a time as any to try it. We continue chatting while we wait for our meals. The sake arrives first, in a small decorative bottle. Heidi pours us each a drink into the tiny cups and raises hers in a toasting gesture before delicately quaffing it.
I take a hesitant sip of mine and raise my eyebrows at the strong taste of the warm alcohol. Heidi smiles with obvious amusement and I drink the rest a bit quicker. Immediately I feel a pleasant warmth spread through my stomach.

“That’s not bad,” I remark, feeling a touch giddy already.

“I thought you’d like it,” she says.

When our food arrives she pours two more cups of sake. I feel one of her hands on my thigh under the table as she expertly uses her chopsticks with the other hand to pick up pieces of sashimi. I fumble a bit with my own chopsticks; I’ve never been great with them, and I’m badly out of practice.

I manage to eat most of my dinner without making too much of an ass of myself. Heidi’s hand on my leg is a bit distracting, and the sake has definitely gone to my head, but I’m able to keep myself fairly steady and manage not to spill anything.

When our plates have been taken away Heidi stands up and slides around to sit on the same side of the table as me. She leans in close to kiss me. I can taste the sharp sweetness of sake in her mouth, as well as her strawberry lip balm. The taste brings back memories; I guess she must still use the same lip balm as when we knew each other at university.

I lose myself a little in her sweet strawberry lips and the softness of her skin. My hand is on her knee as we kiss. Forgetting for a moment that we’re in a semi-public place, I move my hand higher on her thigh, under her skirt. She puts an arm around my waist and draws us closer, her breasts pressing against me through our clothes. My hand moves further beneath her skirt and I realise she’s not wearing any underwear.

I give a soft involuntary moan and kiss her again, harder. When we break away I feel myself blushing, and glance around to be sure I haven’t drawn any attention.

“I think I’d better go and pay the bill… so we can get out of here,” whispers Heidi in my ear.

After furiously making out in the elevator, we fall giggling into my apartment. I kick the front door shut behind me. Heidi’s arms are around my waist, her hands in the back pockets of my jeans.

We make it as far as the couch, where I drop down onto the seat and Heidi straddles me. I put one hand on her lower back to pull her in closer, and slip my other hand up under her shirt, cupping a breast through her bra.

She bends a little to kiss me. The feel of her lips, her tongue on mine, is electric. I squeeze her breast lightly and trace the outline of her nipple with my fingers.

Eventually she gently pulls back and moves down from the sofa, kneeling on the carpet in front of where I’m sitting. She starts undoing the button fly of my jeans.

“I haven’t shaved my legs,” I protest, mentally kicking myself even as I say it.

“I don’t care about that, you dullard,” she says with a smirk.

In a few moments my jeans and underpants are on the floor. I arch my back and close my eyes in pleasure as she slowly kisses her way up the inside of my thighs. I feel like I’m going to explode by the time she reaches the top. I push against her mouth and tighten my grip on the sofa cushions underneath me as I come.

I take a minute to recover before we move to the bedroom.