Note: No copyright infringement intended.

The content of Dr. Turner's letters to Sister Bernadette has bothered me for some time, so I have imagined them here. I have no timeframe for how long a TB treatment and convalescence takes ... but I'm assuming it was rather lengthy.

Week 1

Dear Sister Bernadette,

I hope you don't mind my writing to you while you are undergoing treatment. My regard for you has grown so much … not that I didn't have a high regard for you in the past. I always did. Your skill with patients, your patience with patients, your care for every person with whom you come in contact … you have the kind of caring that all of us in the medical profession should have as a core skill.

I first observed your skills with various mothers-to-be. Without having gone through the same experiences as them, you manage to calm them, reassure them and even give them confidence in what's coming. By your very presence, you communicate such concern for everyone around you.

Who cares for you? When you need seeing to, who takes care of you?

I hope that you will allow me to be one of those people, that I haven't lost the right to care for you by my forward and unforgiveable behavior. You questioned: who's to say what's unforgiveable, and I'm not exactly sure what you meant by that, but I will attempt a brief answer. It was not my intention to kiss your hand that day, or disregard your position or vows or anything else. I was overcome by several things which came together all at once: your allowing me to tend to you, touching you and your general proximity. You did nothing wrong. It was me. Suddenly, I didn't see (or feel) boundaries. I just wanted to be closer to you and for you not to feel alone.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by your presence and how much I care for you, and I expressed it by kissing your hand. I'm so sorry I didn't stop and think and ask your permission … I was just compelled to act. As I said before, I hope you can forgive me.

In the hopes that you'll receive regular news, and possibly in an effort for me to sort out my many feelings and get all of them out of my system, I'm going to continue to write to you while you convalesce. Maybe your journey of healing can be one for me as well … my healing will, I expect, happen on the inside. My soul feels to be carrying an illness akin to the one your body is … and I think there is no prescribed course of treatment for what I'm going through at the moment. I know I need to figure it out on my own. I hope these letters will be illuminating, and that you won't feel threatened by anything I say or write. My intentions are of the best nature I think, even if they're not all fully formed or clear to me now. As two people who are connected in ways that neither of us understand, I think, if you don't mind, I'd like to work this out privately with you. Do take care of yourself and continue to get better.

All the best,

Dr. Patrick Turner

Week 2

Dear Sister Bernadette,

I trust your treatment is progressing and you are beginning to feel better? I have not heard from you personally, but I have spoken with your primary doctor at the facility, and it appears you are obeying every instruction. Although he does tell me that you don't talk much, and seem to keep pretty well to yourself.

Do you ever talk much? I find I cannot remember ever having much in the way of conversations, except our brief shared cigarette following the delivery of the Carter twins. I think that was one of those times I found myself completely captivated by you on every level. Your professionalism and calm during that difficult delivery was nothing short of astonishing. I felt such anger when the one sister threw you out of the way. I literally saw red … how could anyone hurt you – whose only intention was to help them during their time of need? And although you're half anyone's size, you bounced back, focused and continued to work, almost as if nothing had happened. From where do you draw your strength? How do you maintain such focus in the face of such chaos?

Of course, in retrospect, I was falling under your spell even more, even if it wasn't a fully formed thought in my head at that time. When you asked for a puff of my cigarette, and shared a small slice of your family history before becoming a nun, I was hooked and intrigued. Until then, I'm not sure exactly what I thought of you overtly, but all of the events during that delivery showed me your courage, your resilience, your focus and your caring.

When I say falling under your spell, I don't mean that you were casting any such thing, as much as I was suddenly having my blinders fall off, and seeing new dimensions to you. And every dimension I saw was more intriguing and interesting than the last. I have a feeling that you've got so much more depth and nuance that I've yet to see or explore. I find I want to know everything about you. Is that crazy? Is that even a possibility, given your choice of a religious life and calling?

And yet, you haven't completely shut me down. You haven't returned my letter unopened or unacknowledged. You didn't shy away from me at the summer fete. You continue to offer care and love to Timothy (who thinks you walk on water, by the way, after helping him win that race at the fete), in ways that help him. You do it with unassuming grace and thoughtful kindness that few other people even see, let alone acknowledge.

How can I help myself? How can I deny these powerful feelings? And yet, at the core of all my feelings is this: you are ill with a powerful disease and have a long road to recovery. You have a vocation which unequivocably has no place for someone like me in your life except possibly as a friend. Is it possible for us to maintain a friendship, I wonder, given all of these pressures? And yet, I know I want you in my life, whether in small doses, like our current situation if that's all we can manage, or in larger doses, if that's at all something you're willing to consider.

Should you feel like sharing your thoughts on any of the above, please feel free to write to me, completely confidentially of course.

All the best and with kindest regards, Patrick Turner

Week 3

Dear Sister Bernadette,

Timothy has sent you a specimen for diagnosis from the medical professionals in your new circle, who are undoubtedly more knowledgeable about chronic butterfly conditions than his old dad. He has such high regard for you, and I think he loves you in the way that children do. He was so young when his mother died. He cried and cried for the longest time when we were alone immediately following her death, and then, for outsiders (and possibly for me also, not sure), he put on a brave face. I encouraged him to develop a sense of independence and self-sufficiency, both of which he needs with my crazy work schedule, which as we both know, is not my own. Babies have a way of coming at unexpected (and certainly unplanned) hours, and medical emergencies happen all the time in Poplar.

The fact that Timothy loves you merely adds to your charms in my eyes. He's a thoughtful boy … he's smart and funny and says the most outrageous things. Mostly, I don't think he's trying to be outrageous, but his insights into people and his ability to put those insights into comments … well, he's positively prescient at times. He thinks the world of you, and he asks me all the time how you are doing, and when are you coming back, and all of that.

I don't have any news to tell him, however, because you haven't communicated with me. So I tell him that TB treatments are individualized for every patient, and there is no exact, predictable timeline for curing someone. Mostly, I don't want to tell him that I haven't heard from you. I hope I have not offended you by all that I've written so far. I have observed many things about you in the past … among your many excellent qualities is a strong sense of openness and fairness. I don't think I've ever seen you be meanspirited or unkind, nor judgmental of how others live their lives. In fact, I'm counting on that spirit in you as you consider how I appear to be laying out before you my thoughts, as muddled as they are, as I try and sort through everything in my heart.

We've known each other for more than 10 years, so you know that my behaviour has now wandered into new territory. When I was married, I was happily married, and focused on my family and my patients. Now I'm in uncharted waters. I was not looking for anything, relationship-wise. And I don't know, maybe that's why you happened. You who have been here all along. You who are completely unavailable. You who are unthinkable, given your relationship with God.

I'm not really a believer in the traditional sense, as much as I am a man of action and science. I found no comfort in losing my wife to illness and being left alone to raise Timothy by myself. And yet, I find myself questioning if the kernel of attraction within me isn't somehow God-given. Who finds themselves attracted to nuns? And it's not nuns in the plural, but only one, you, in the singular. How could this happen? You must be wondering yourself … how to let me down kindly, how to avoid me, how to move on elsewhere. I don't imagine you've had much experience with this sort of thing.

But I am waxing philosophical and a bit tiresome. I'll stop for now. I would so love to hear from you, even if it's only to ask me to stop writing you or that you're getting better (for which I pray every day, another unexpected happening in my life … prayer and focus on someone other than Timothy and me). Please take the very best care of yourself. I look forward to you allowing me to visit at some point.

Yours, Patrick Turner

Week 4

Dear Sister Bernadette,

I understand from Trixie and some others that you've been writing to them, although you provide a "shocking lack of gossip" about the medical doctors who are caring for you. So you're clearly communicating with others, just not with me.

I'm not sure how to take that, although I recognized that what I want to communicate about is complex and challenging for both of us. Let's face it, you don't want to offer me false hope, if in fact that is your preference. Nor do you wish to encourage me, given you are a nun and a suitor (or boyfriend, or whatever) isn't part of that plan within the religious life. Because even I can recognize that you would not be untrue to your vows and your way of life, nor to your sisters, who've been a key part of your life and dedication for many many years, particularly Sister Julienne.

She's an extraordinary woman. I remember when she first came to Nonnatus House. She's obviously younger than some of the sisters, and yet, almost from day one, she was in charge, a mantle she has worn graciously and well, as she has navigated challenge after challenge with the National Health Service, the role of midwives in our community, and the community itself. Add to that poverty and the constant demands for more, more, more … from every aspect of her life, and it's a miracle that she has thrived under those circumstances.

And yet, you and she seem to have a special bond. She seems to be like a mother to you. Now that I think of it, you seem a bit like a daughter to her. You're following in her footsteps, you're a critical part of her mission and outreach in the community. Remember when you were her stand-in for encouraging the council to bring the TB screening to Poplar? You were a worthy substitute when she was called away, despite your discomfort with me and my clumsiness.

Your passion for caring for the residents of Poplar is another thing that is enormously attractive about you, at least to me. Obviously, I have chosen this district as my and Timothy's home. We share a commitment to this community and understand the people in ways that few people outside of Poplar can. I was so moved when you came with me to the Council to speak so passionately about how impactful a TB screening would be here. And look at the results! So many people, including you, are under treatment and we've stopped (or at least slowed) the spread of this horrible, easily transmittable disease because of your ability to persuade the Council to step up their schedule and include us.

You were so amazing that day.

I wanted to hug you, but that would have been wrong. But I wanted to. I still want to, I won't deny it. There's something very human in hugging a person, don't you think? I don't hug many people. Timothy of course, but not often, because men don't hug, even fathers and sons. I used to hug my wife, but I can barely remember that now, except that I remember liking it. I hope you don't mind me talking about her. She was quite wonderful, and I'm not sure why she married me, except that I know at some point we fell in love and that was that. She put up with my foibles, my service, my commitment to Poplar, my work schedule. I felt so helpless when she fell ill and there was nothing I could do, except watch her waste away, unfortunately, fairly quickly. She admonished me to stay strong for Timothy, and to find someone else who would love Timothy and be a good mother to him.

Anyway, I've strayed off track once again. I trust you are getting better. I understand from your doctor that your progress has been textbook, and you are on the way to recovery, with enough rest and all of that.

I think about you constantly, and pray you are well in body, mind and spirit.

Faithfully yours, Patrick

Week 5

Dear Sister Bernadette,

How are you? I have heard from the medical staff that you're getting better, so there's that. I would so treasure a word or two from you, just to know you have read my letters and don't think less of me for writing them. They have never been about making you feel uncomfortable or anything like that.

If anything, before your health crisis, I think I sensed in you a fellow traveler who was also searching for something. You never said anything specifically like that, but as I say, I sensed a kindred spirit of sorts. I hope I was not wrong.

I've never been a man of leisure, of sitting around when action could be taken. The problem here is: I don't know what action to take. So I've resorted to this letter writing campaign, which is really all one can call it. No, that makes it sound more organized and deliberate than it really is. I think I was right the first time. It's an epistolary journey. Apparently, it's a one-man journey, since I've yet to determine if there's anyone else on this journey with me.

I so hope that you might be on the journey with me. Or would consider it. I know it's farfetched in so many ways. You've chosen something else, but as I say, I thought I sensed a kindred spirit, a fellow traveler or some such. I further think that a future together (in whatever manner you are comfortable with), would perhaps offer benefits to both of us.

Companionship and friendship for starters. I've operated by myself for so long, I've forgotten what it's like to have a partner of any kind. You've had the Nonnatus House crew – nuns and midwives all – as your family for as long as I've known you. Perhaps they would not approve of any changes to the status quo? But because you are so quiet, it's possible there are layers to you we've yet to discover.

But more than companionship or friendship to us? I don't know. We haven't explored any of that. I'd like to talk to you about any or all of this, if that's not too daunting.

I think I will sign off for today. Have they scheduled your release and return to home any time soon? We miss you fiercely.

Your Patrick

Note: Should I continue with Shelagh's thoughts, etc.? That's kind of where I'm going with this.