Doctors in Flight Read online

  ‘And what will you do if I say yes?’ he asks, moving closer to examine the infant. ‘Get on a horse and start moving those cattle of yours?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she assures him. ‘I’ll drive the truck. That’s not very hard. All I have to do is pack up the camp and drive some way down the road then set up the new camp. The cattle don’t travel far.’

  I can feel GR’s indecision, but as it’s only two days since she had the Caesar there’s no way he can discharge her yet. So I’m surprised again—when doesn’t this man surprise me?—when he says, ‘I’d prefer you to stay in for another few days, but as long as you’re close enough to town to come straight in if anything happens—any bleeding, or any sign of infection—I suppose you can go. And you’ll have to keep the wound clean and change the dressings yourself.’

  Wendy’s nodding enthusiastically.

  ‘Sister’s already told me how important it is. I can do all that, and I’ll be really careful. I don’t want little Wade here to be an only child.’

  She smiles down at the infant in her arms, who’s finished feeding and is now asleep with his little milky lips parted slightly.

  So-o-o cute! I am totally hooked on new babies.

  ‘Stay here until I finish operating,’ GR tells her. ‘I’ll come back and check your wound then, and we’ll decide when I see it.’

  ‘You know how big this truck is, the one she’s talking about driving?’ I ask as we walk away. ‘As well as the gear for their camp, they carry spare horses and possibly a motorbike, horse tack, horse feed, water, fuel.’

  GR nods.

  ‘But the camp can’t move on until she’s back with them, and the cattle have been cooped up for three days now, so will have eaten out whatever grass there was when they were yarded,’ he reminds me. ‘The family’s livelihood depends on them keeping moving at the moment. We just have to trust she’ll be careful, and anyway, with the cattle feeding, they won’t travel more then ten or fifteen k. a day so she’s within easy driving distance of the hospital if she needs to come back in.’

  ‘You thought of all that while you stood there smiling at her?’

  ‘You have to think differently out here, Blue,’ he says—with no smile for me, I might add. ‘Though I would have thought you’d know that. Rosebud must be one of the most isolated cattle properties in the state.’

  ‘Just about,’ I agree, and for a fleeting instant I get a wave of nostalgia for the place. Then I remember the heat and the flies, clouds of them, zooming in after rain, flapping around your ears and eyes and nose, making your arm ache with the Aussie salute—hand waved in front of face to keep them away—and tell myself nostalgia is one thing, reality another.

  Only one patient to see in Gilgudgel today, and she’s a woman who’s having trouble conceiving.

  ‘I saw Dr Prentice last month and he wants me to go across to the coast to see a fertility expert, but he says my husband would have to go as well, and he won’t.’

  ‘Because he can’t get away from work?’

  The young woman, Julie Barker, shakes her head, and presses her lips together as if to prevent bad stuff coming out.

  ‘He’s unemployed,’ she says.

  I feel a wave of pity for the young couple—wanting a baby but unable to afford a trip to the coast.

  ‘You know you can apply for money to cover your fuel costs driving over there. The hospital office can give you the form to complete. And if you see the specialist at the hospital, the consultation and treatment will be free.’

  Julie is not appeased by this information and finally the words she’s been holding back come flying out.

  ‘It’s not the money—we can afford to go.’

  Sympathy wasted!

  ‘He doesn’t want to go because he doesn’t want to do the test. He says it can’t be anything to do with him, he’s fine and so’s his sperm, and if I start telling people there’s something wrong with him he’ll leave me.’

  And would that be so disastrous? That’s my first thought as I contemplate this man. My second is that he needs a good slap about the head, but I’m more diplomatic to Julie.

  ‘Some men feel taking sperm-count tests threatens their masculinity. Perhaps, if he’s unemployed, he’s already feeling stress about not being able to get a job and provide you with a more comfortable life.’

  Julie gives a snort of disbelief.

  ‘He loves being unemployed,’ she says. ‘It means he can lie on the couch all day and watch TV, or meet his mates in the pub.’

  And you’re worried about him leaving you? I think, but, as I don’t know anything about marriage and find other people’s relationships totally confusing, I don’t say it.

  ‘Does he want a child? Perhaps he’s saying he doesn’t want to do the tests because deep down he’s not certain the pair of you should be having a child right now.’ This doesn’t sound quite right, so I add, ‘Given that he’s unemployed.’

  ‘Oh, he wants a kid. All his friends have kids, and they’re all unemployed as well. You get more benefits with kids.’

  And no doubt it affirms his masculinity—see what I sired!

  I grind a little tooth enamel off, strain my lips keeping back the words I’d like to say, and search back through Julie’s file to see what GR did when he reached this impasse with her.

  According to his notes, he’s examined her and can find no physical reason for her not conceiving. On a previous visit, he suggested she keep a temperature chart to determine her ovulation pattern and her most fertile time. A note, in GR’s strong, distinctive handwriting. ‘Her husband didn’t like her doing this—said it was stupid!’ The dot under the exclamation mark has been dug in so hard he’s practically made a hole in the paper.

  So the noble GR experienced a similar frustration to what I’m going through now.

  However, this isn’t helping Julie.

  ‘I think you’re just going to have to get tough with him,’ I tell her. ‘Tell him if he wants kids he’s going to have to go across to the coast with you. This isn’t medical advice, but maybe you can shock him into going. Suppose you said something like, if he doesn’t want kids, then you may as well stop having sex.’

  ‘Stop having sex? Tell him we have to stop having sex? He’d kill me.’

  Oh, boy! Is she for real? Have I gone too far?

  ‘Literally? Is he violent?’

  Julie actually smiles and shakes her head.

  ‘Darren? Nah! He’s too lazy to be violent.’

  ‘So he wouldn’t really kill you?’

  ‘Nah, but he’d be cranky and he’d probably yell, and when he’s had a few beers he’d think he can have it anyway.’

  I don’t think this is quite the time to point out such behaviour is classified as rape. As I said, other people’s relationships are a mystery to me.

  ‘Well, maybe we should forget about the no-sex idea, but you need to find some way to show him you’re serious about wanting him to make that trip to the coast. Go and stay with a friend or family if he gives you a hard time.’

  ‘Leave him? But who’d look after him? Who’d cook his meals and do his washing? I couldn’t do that to Darren.’

  I’d like to tell her that all grown men should be able to cook and wash and look after themselves, but she’d probably wonder what planet I’d dropped from to be even thinking such a bizarre thought. Women’s lib has been a long time coming in some sections of the community!

  ‘So, how did you get on with Julie?’ GR asks when we’re back in the plane heading to our next port of call.

  Suspicion flares.

  ‘How did you know I saw Julie?’

  He turns and smiles, making those lines deepen in his cheeks and crinkle at the corners of his eyes. It’s a beautiful smile and, although it’s causing little fluttering feelings in my stomach, I wish he’d use it more often.

  ‘We always see Julie. She’s the most optimistic person I know, always certain that this time, when she sees the specialist, he or
she will come up with some way she can get pregnant without Darren having to be involved in anything that might in any way threaten his masculinity. I’ve even offered to arrange the sperm count from Gilgudgel, but when I explained to Julie what he’d have to do, she went pink, looked shocked and assured me Darren couldn’t possibly do that.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s probably a good thing he’s not producing more little Darrens,’ I respond bitchily—it must be because I’m still squirmy from the smile, because this is the kind of terrible, judgmental remark I hate when other people make it. And GR obviously agrees it was out of order as the eyebrow rises and mild reproof is written all over his face.

  The rest of the day passes without incident, and I’m beginning to realise that, apart from the difference between country and city patients, it’s much like the work I’d be doing back in Brisbane.

  Until we get to my last patient of the day at Amberton, a very pregnant Melanie Webster who has come in for an ultrasound.

  ‘Did you have one earlier in the pregnancy?’ I ask, and she grins at me.

  ‘This is earlier in the pregnancy and, honestly, I’m eating well, but not overeating, and no junk food—as if that’s possible out here.’

  ‘Not from the outback, then,’ I say as I feel my way across her belly, wondering if I’m imagining things.

  ‘No, I was you three years ago,’ she says, still smiling though now, no doubt, because she’s enjoying my reaction. ‘First year O and G registrar, sent out here, met this gorgeous guy on the flight out. He was going on to Mount Isa to collect a new vehicle then drive it back to his property which is about forty k. from here. Not that he spent much time on it over the next six months. He was too busy commuting to Bilbarra. Then I gave up the job and married him.’

  ‘Which didn’t please GR one bit,’ I finish for her.

  ‘GR—oh, you mean Gregor?’ She stopped smiling and shook her head. ‘I wasn’t the first so, yes, he was really cranky, especially as he’d kind of earmarked the registrar before me as suitable wife material for himself. So you can imagine how he felt when I defected from the service to be a housewife on a cattle property. Not that he said anything much. Just a barrage of quiet disapproval washing my way for the month I spent working out my notice. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t had a scan before this, but…’

  She hesitates and looks up at me, her blue eyes wary and yet excited. I tuck away the bit of info about the second registrar for consideration later. In his account, surely registrar number two made a play for him? Was that just talk on his part? Blaming her to hide his own weakness? Did he fall in love with her and get rejected? Maybe GR’s conversation with Gran was just that—conversation. No truth in it at all.

  However, I can’t give that the consideration it deserves right now because something weird’s happening here.

  ‘But now you had to come because you can feel, and no doubt you’ve listened and can hear, more than one heartbeat?’

  Her smile returned.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? There’s more than one baby in there?’

  I nod, but I’m confused as well. I’m pretty sure there can’t be five—they move around a bit, tiny foetuses—but I know there are more than two.

  ‘Let’s do the scan,’ I tell her. ‘Then we’ll know for sure.’

  I walk with her to the X-ray room, pleased small hospitals now have ultrasound equipment.

  The nurse—I think she’s Ellen but Edenvale was a Helen so I might have it wrong—smears jelly on the distended belly, and as I pass the little instrument—ultrasounds send bursts of high-frequency sound waves into the body—over Melanie’s abdomen, we’re all watching the screen and counting the fluttering shapes.

  ‘There are definitely three,’ the nurse says, pointing to three distinct shapes.

  ‘And another behind them,’ Melanie says, so excited she tries to sit up. ‘Oh, dear heaven, I’m having quads.’

  Hopefully, I think to myself, knowing how difficult it is to carry multiple births to term—or even close to term.

  But Melanie knows this as well as I do, which is possibly why she’s now swearing quietly to herself and crying, but still looking pleased.

  ‘You realise this changes the whole outlook of your pregnancy,’ I tell her, as I make sure some of the images have been saved and can now be printed out. Boy, is that photograph going to be a surprise for the expectant father! ‘Let’s clean you up and we’ll go back to the consulting room and talk about it.’

  ‘Talk? I may never be able to talk again! And what’s Angus going to say? The shock’ll kill him. I’d vaguely sounded him out on twins and he thought that quite a good idea, thinking it would save me an extra pregnancy as he’s always wanted two kids. But four?’

  We’re walking back to the consulting room, and I see her shoulders slump, and know she’s gone from the high of finding out to a state of fearfulness. I guess, as a doctor who’s studied O and G, she knows the chances of delivering four healthy babies are slim. The chances of delivering four full-term babies are non-existent, but nature’s clever enough to compensate, and the lungs of multiple foetuses develop at a faster rate than those in a single pregnancy.

  All this information is rattling through my mind while I escort Melanie back from X-ray.

  Further down the passageway a patient is wheeled out of Theatre. I know GR only had one op so he should be available. First I settle Melanie in a chair, send Ellen or Helen for a cup of tea to help ease the patient’s shock, then explain to Melanie I think we need G—Gregor involved in the rest of the consultation.

  She looks a little apprehensive, then admits he has more experience than the pair of us put together and agrees. I excuse myself and scuttle off to find him because I want to explain who the patient is before he sees her. After all, she’s one of the reasons he’s so against women O and G specialists, and I don’t want him telling her it serves her right, or rehashing old annoyances.

  ‘Ah, on time for once, Blue!’ he says, as we meet outside the operating suite. He’s taken off his theatre gear, but the cap has mussed his hair and I’m momentarily diverted by an urge to smooth it down. To feel its texture. Is it rough or silky?

  Get with the programme here, Hillary!

  ‘No, I’m not on time—I mean, I’m not finished. In fact, that’s what I came to tell you—that we’re going to be late—so do we have to let Dave know, or just leave him waiting?’

  ‘The pilot always waits—why wouldn’t he?’

  Of course.

  GR’s frown gathers and the grey eyes do a stern look behind the glasses, but any look from those eyes is now notching my heart rate higher, so I try to concentrate on his collar as I explain.

  ‘Melanie Reid? Having quads?’ He’s even more disbelieving than Melanie and I were, which is saying something.

  ‘Actually, she’s Melanie Webster now. I think she’s still in shock at the moment, though she knew there were more than one. The problem is, how do we monitor her from here on. She’s fifteen weeks and huge, and should really be seen every fortnight from now through to twenty weeks, then weekly if at all possible, but we’re only here six-weekly, and there’s no other doctor in town at the moment. Though Ellen was saying the hospital expects to get a new appointee before long, but even if that happens, he or she will be barely past internship so I don’t know how effective he or she will be, or how aware of subtle pregnancy-induced changes—’

  GR touches my shoulder, which effectively stops my rush of words, mainly because my mouth dries up immediately!

  ‘Calm down, we’ll handle it,’ he says, his voice so soft I barely hear the words. Shifting my attention from his collar to his face, I catch a glimpse of a smile as soft as the words, and I know what I’m feeling isn’t purely physical.

  Great—I go from being dumped by Pete, when bells rang and whistles sounded in his life, to falling for a man who wants a tall brunette. With the help of hair dye I could manage the brunette part!

  Do you t
hink twenty-seven and a half is too old to start growth hormones?

  By the time I’ve handled the daunting revelation of my weakness for the boss, and told myself not to be stupid about the growth hormones, GR’s moved on, and is whistling his way down the corridor as if his ex-registrar being pregnant with quads is the best news he’s ever heard.

  I arrive back at the consulting room in time to hear him say, ‘Well, you never did things by half-measures, did you, Mel?’

  He bends to kiss her, and the kiss, added to the shortening of her name, makes me reassess this patient. Tall, brunette, probably fairly quiet and self-contained. Probably never wore really high-heeled sandals, and probably never fell over!

  Did he earmark her as a potential wife?

  I decide I hate her, but I’ve never had a patient having quads before so will have to put personal considerations aside.

  ‘You know all we’re going to tell you, about taking things easy—from now on, I mean, Mel—eating well, following a balanced diet, making sure you take iron, folate and other micronutrients. In fact, I’ll speak to the dietician at Bilbarra and get her to send you a diet chart and list of supplements. I want your blood pressure checked at least weekly and your urine tested—you can probably take home some test strips and do it yourself—just as often. And any changes in anything—and I mean anything, Mel—you phone me or Blue here immediately.’

  ‘Blue? You call this poor woman Blue? Don’t you realise she’s probably grown up hating that name? You haven’t improved one little bit, Gregor Prentice. In fact, sometimes I wonder if you became an O and G specialist because you enjoy seeing women suffer.’

  I feel like applauding Melanie for her defence, but I’m too worried about sending her back to an isolated property to bother with what GR calls me.

  ‘How big is your place?’ I ask her. ‘Are there other women out there?’

  Melanie smiles. ‘Only my mother-in-law, two sisters-in-law and various workers’ wives, one of whom is a nurse. It’s a big spread.’

  ‘And her husband has a plane so he can fly her across to the Isa or down to Bilbarra if there’s any sign of trouble.’ GR adds further assurance, then turns back to Melanie.