Comfort Always
This takes place during s7e1 and explores Patrick's emotions after counseling Mr Gelin on his wife's expected passing. Several other authors wrote about this right after the episode aired, but I'm a slow writer even though I already had these ideas at the time. I think all of our stories turned out a little differently even though they deal with a similar theme. Thanks as always to ginchy-amanda, who wouldn't stop pestering me until this was finished and to my-little-yellowbird for additional encouragement.
"There's nothing to be afraid of...she's still Ruth, and she needs you."
These were the words Dr Patrick Turner left with Mr Arnold Gelin as his wife was slipping away, fading fast but still a part of this world for the moment. Driving away from the Gelin residence, he sighed; the death of a patient was always difficult, not just an "occupational hazard" as a certain head of the medical board had once put it.
Patrick Turner had been drawn to medicine as a career because of his passionate desire to help those in need and a curiosity of all things related to science. It was a long road of study and practical training, but that passion and curiosity never waned. Early lessons for anyone in the medical profession involved developing the skill of detaching oneself from each case. This was a necessity in health care in order to keep a professional distance and a clear head. The best doctors, he observed, were able to retain their compassion without losing their composure. The kindness and concern were essential in providing the best patient care and yet a physician must separate himself from the situation or risk ineffectiveness. He remembered witnessing emotionally overwhelmed medical students, unable to make wise decisions and frightening the patients. Over time he had honed a fine balance of empathy and reserve and it served him well, especially in cases like this.
Fortunately, these days he gave more good news than bad, especially as the NHS was well into its second decade and with the addition of the recent rapid advances in medical science. And yet there would always be diagnoses and information that was not good. As he navigated the MG away from the Gelins' street, he reflected on the guidance he had just given. He hoped he had said the right things to Mr Gelin, that they were the things he needed to hear. He thought so, because they were the same words Sister Julienne had once said to him. Words that as a doctor he knew, but as a husband he had momentarily forgotten, in the depth of his panic and fear in the realization that he could not hold on tight enough to Marianne's life, could not control her illness with his knowledge or his love.
The grief he felt from losing her was unfathomable. Nothing in his life thus far had come close to preparing him for it. Not the war, not the death of his parents, not even his own illness. With that, his war neurosis as it was called, he battled it, he fought back, he survived. But with Marianne's diagnosis he was cast in the role of patient's husband, albeit one who knew far too much to be blissfully ignorant of the prognosis. And there was nothing he could do to fight back.
Sighing again, Patrick parked in his driveway. He barely remembered the drive back what with the thoughts and memories swirling around in his brain. He grabbed his coat and medical bag and went into his home and to Shelagh.
She was drying her hands on a tea towel and turned when she heard him enter. One look at his face and she was at his side, taking his things from him, accepting his kiss on her cheek and wrapping him in her arms.
"Mrs Gelin?" she whispered.
"Not much longer now," he replied.
Taking his hand, she led him to the sofa and sat down with him, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Smiling a little sheepishly he answered, "I probably should." Squeezing his hand in encouragement, she nodded in agreement, as he continued, "It's interesting that what we've been through ourselves works its way out into our vocation; makes us better doctors and nurses."
"It's more than interesting Patrick, it's Biblical." He peered at her with a questioning glance. "Saint Paul wrote that God comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in similar troubles." She paused, then added quietly, "Maybe that's not what you wanted to hear; but it helps me in our line of work."
He stroked his thumb over her hand in a gesture to let her know he wasn't offended. They sat in silence for a while as she waited for him to continue. He thought about what she had said and marveled at the gift he had been given in her. She didn't speak of her faith in his presence very often, yet he knew she prayed for him. Oddly that was very important to him, even as little as he believed in her God; perhaps it was because he believed in Shelagh and the strength of her love for him and their family.
He began again, "I can see that. It took me some time though."
"After Marianne died?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Go on," she whispered.
Averting his eyes, he continued, "In the aftermath of her death, I struggled to regain control of things. I know I buried my pain in my work and wasn't there enough for Timothy." He felt her pat his hand in understanding. "I didn't realize it at first, but I suppose I became more 'briskly efficient' with my patients than warm. If anyone noticed, they never said." He looked up at her, then quickly away, "Did you notice?" he whispered.
"Yes," she said softly, "but it never caused your competency to come under question, Patrick."
He blew out a breath before continuing, "It was a bit like a protective armor; against the pain, Shelagh." His eyes filled with tears, and she held him to her, her own eyes overflowing. They stayed that way for several minutes and she rubbed his back until he was able to control his emotions again.
"Do you know when I noticed it myself?" he asked as he pulled back a bit, so he could look at her again.
She shook her head, "Tell me."
"It was around the time Chummy arrived. She was assisting me with Brenda McEntee and I was explaining her previous problems in childbirth, far too abruptly it would seem. Mrs McEntee burst into tears but Chummy was the picture of compassion. I wasn't able to change right away, but I became conscious of it then and worked towards becoming more human again."
She smiled a little sadly at that.
"You know that also put me on the path to opening my heart to you…"
Her eyes grew big at his confession.
Laughing softly, he clarified, "Not right away, of course, but I know it laid the groundwork." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, then shuddered suddenly as he pulled back.
"What is it?"
"And then your diagnosis," he sighed and watched her nod her understanding. "It wasn't exactly the same; there was a treatment, there was hope. Add to that the fact that you weren't mine to lose…but you know I missed you and had so much concern for your welfare."
"I have the letters to prove it," she said, lightening the mood just a bit.
"Well, yes, there is that," he replied, a little self-deprecation creeping into his tone, but only for a moment. "Then just when I'd thought you and I had conquered every obstacle…"
"Timothy," she finished.
"I'll never forget seeing him in that iron lung; my own child, it was an entirely new level of helplessness."
"I know," she replied, and he knew that she did. She had been a mother to Timothy even then. How they had relied on her during those first few days and weeks. She had been their strength and their comfort, in the crisis and throughout Tim's recovery.
He thought back to the beginning of this conversation, about the correlation between their personal experiences and their work. For some time now, he had carried the experience of both grieving spouse and parent, and yet his pain hadn't broken him. Shelagh was right, he knew it made him a better doctor; more compassionate and with better advice, the advice of someone who has been in their position providing the words and guidance they needed to hear. He was still a competent physician, but with the added gift of empathy, especially in cases like today.
As if reading his mind, Shelagh spoke, "How will Mr Gelin be?"
"He'll be alright, I think. I impressed upon him the importance of staying by her side, as long as she is still here. I hope he can tell her everything he needs to-" his voice broke a little and he cleared his throat before adding, a little too briskly, "Nurse Crane will see them through."
"Of course," she agreed, and the more professional manner in her voice told him she had sensed he was ready to move on from so much sentimentality.
"And he has his daughter; I think he'll move in with her," he continued, in the same business-like tone.
"Children are a blessing," she smiled, following his lead, "would you like me to make us some tea?"
He nodded, then leaned back and closed his eyes as she set about the task, comforted by the domestic sounds he could hear coming from the kitchen.
In much less time than it would have taken for the kettle to have boiled, her footsteps approached from behind the sofa and he felt her hands smooth over and through his hair. He made a contented sound as he relaxed into her touch.
"Thank you for letting me in, Patrick. You've come so far in being able to share what you're feeling with me, and I treasure it. We both have really; and conversations like tonight give me the confidence that there will never be a time when there are things left unsaid between us."
Without waiting for him to respond, she leaned down and kissed the top of his head before returning to the kitchen in anticipation of the impending whistle. In this one simple gesture he understood her generosity, for as much as she needed this connection she was content with whatever he was able to give, and that meant the world to him.
As he heard her return with the tea, he opened his eyes and watched as she sat the tray and herself down, but instead of reaching for the tea things, he reached for her. Quietly they held tightly to each other, as they silently communicated their love and their gratefulness that they still had each other. There was loss in the world, but not for them just now.
He reflected that Shelagh herself was part of what made him able to serve and restore. She filled him up in a million different ways so that he could in turn give to others. As the night grew deeper, they continued just as they were, as the tea went cold, and she whispered her healing words of comfort and love.
Paraphrased Biblical reference is from 2 Corinthians 1:4