Hayley...
It hurt her to do it, but she felt like she had no choice. She couldn't ruin his marriage, even if not telling him the truth would cost her happiness.
All day today her hands had been shaking, her mind filled with 'what ifs' and 'could bes', full of her hopes and fears of the future. For today, she was a useless surgeon, her hands so unsteady that she couldn't even write without finding a way to jog herself.
'Pull yourself together Jac!' she mentally yelled at herself.
'Jesus Christ!' she thought to herself, 'I'm meant to be in theatre today with Connie Beauchamp. She's only just forgiven me for dropping her in it. I have to prove myself, and I can't do that with the hands of a Parkinson's patient!'
Exhaling deeply, then inhaling just as deeply to maximise her oxygen intake, she slowly felt herself starting to relax, and her hands steadying.
Composing herself a little further, she visualised the thing she wanted the most. Him and her. Nothing or no one else. Just the two of them. But now, for 2 reasons, this wouldn't be a reality. But it didn't hurt to imagine, well, it did hurt her, it hurt her a lot, but it hurt less than her life without the fantasy.
Pulling on her scrubs, she repeated the mantra she had used since she was in medical school. Nothing matters, except my career. Nothing matters, nothing matters, nothing matters. Nothing at all. Just push a little further, and make yourself the best.
Once she was ready, she scooped her hair into a bun and left the room, arriving at theatre slightly late, where a ticked off Connie Beauchamp stood before her.
'Miss Naylor,' said Connie with a stony tone. 'May I ask why you were late?'
'Sorry Mrs Beauchamp,' she said apologetically. 'I was just finishing up with Mr Davies.'
'Fine,' she replied sharply. 'Get scrubbed in, we'll be beginning soon.'
'Okay,' said Jac, pacing towards the sinks hurriedly, scrubbing her hands with a nail brush, and rinsing up to the elbow. Quickly covering herself with a robe, she pulled on the latex gloves, double gloving for optimum sterility.
Hastening into the theatre, she said, 'Okay, I'm ready. Shall we begin?'
'I'm impressed with your efficiency and speed,' said Connie with a grin. 'And yes, let's begin. Scalpel please.'
Jac handed her the scalpel, her hands still shaking.
'Miss Naylor,' said Connie sternly. 'Your hands are shaking! You cannot possibly do a high standard job today with hands so unsteady. Get out, go home and rest, you're obviously stressed. Sort yourself out, and come back tomorrow, without the jerky hands.'
'But...' said Jac pleading.
'No excuses! Just go!' yelled Connie, pointing to the door.
'Yes Mrs Beauchamp,' said Jac solemnly, leaving the room, throwing her gloves and gown in the bin in a huge angry gesture.
Gazing at her hands, still shaking, she said, 'STOP DOING THAT!'
Frustrated, angry and scared, Jac fled theatre, ran to the staff room to get her bag, then retreated to the toilet.
'This is something I should've done as soon as I noticed,' thought Jac to herself, opening the box.
The longest 2 minutes of her life awaited her. Covering the little window that could potentially give her a life sentence of misery, she closed her eyes, and counted slowly, her lip trembling as if she was about to cry.
'5, 4, 3, 2, 1, NOW!' she thought to herself, but not opening her eyes. 'Come on Jac, open your eyes, it's now or never!'
Trembling even more extremely than before, her hands moved so that she could see the result.
'Shit,' she said out loud, shoving the test in her bag, flushing quickly and uprooting herself, leaving the toilets.
Practically running to her car, she got into it and pressed her back against the seat. She couldn't believe what was happening.
One night. One stupid night, and now she was in this impossible position. One night of pure drunken passion, something she thought could be love one day, like it was before, has lead to all of this. This would ruin her life, her career, her figure. She had to do something about it.
She was going to be a Mum. And Joseph Byrne was going to be a Dad.