Physician Heal Thyself
Henrick Hanssen stood quietly in his office, looking into the mirror that faced him. Who was he trying to fool? His reflection showed a tired and cadaverous man; a man in fact that looked as if he needed heart surgery rather than the prestigious surgeon, which he was. He felt tired and very alone.
He turned away and as he did so, his gaze was drawn to the hospital comings and goings of below. Christmas tree lights twinkled in the distance and the all too familiar sound of the Salvation Army floated on the night's breeze. Christmas was a particularly hard time for him; both of his parents had passed away when he was young and apart from his work and two siblings, which he hardly ever saw, there was nothing.
Darkness descended upon his office like a shroud being pulled over a not so lucky patient. He shivered and clicked on the desk lamp. He usually delighted in this time of day; a chance to reflect upon all things; whether business or personal but tonight he felt strangely different. "Bloody Christmas," he cursed, it always did this to him. It left a large gaping hole; something of which even his most esteemed colleagues couldn't fill, all accept one of course. Thinking about her, he wondered how Sahira was coping; especially as this would be the first Christmas, without her husband. Telling her that day, that he had been unable to save Michael had been one of the most emotionally traumatic events of his lifetime.
Thinking of her he turned to his computer screen and opened up the folder marked photos. Scanning down he found the one that he had taken recently. There she was smiling back at him, thank goodness she was finally learning to smile again, it had been a long time. As he gazed at the image he reflected upon that day when he had taken her and the children sailing. It had been so perfect, her and the children. Why couldn't she love him they way he loved her? She had made it perfectly clear how she felt about him by dating Mr Douglas. As these thoughts echoed around in his head he began searching for his briefcase, what he needed now was his I-pod, and music. He placed the small device on his desk and pressed play. Immediately Phantom of the Opera began to bellow out, crisp and refreshing, "this was much better than Hark the Herald Angels sing," thought, a much more relaxed Hanssen.
He continued with reading his paperwork for what seemed an eternity when suddenly and decisively he stopped. No good, he needed a break. He removed his glasses, placed them to one side, and slowly making his way over to the office door, he opened it. Standing there he listened; silence was the only sound which screamed back. It was no good, tonight he needed to be near people. Stepping out into the plush surroundings he made his way to the lift. Once safely inside he felt better; even in this small space with its bright lights seemed favourable, compared to the bleak surroundings that he had just left behind.
As the lift doors opened, Hanssen was immediately greeted by nurses exchanging customary Merry Christmases. On seeing him they stopped, and only after he had wished them all a pleasant Christmas, did they relax and continue on their way. They had clearly started their revelry a little earlier than he would have preferred but what did it matter, this was a time of peace and goodwill to all mankind, right? He began making his way along the ill lit ward until he came to a small room, peering inside and to his amazement he saw Sahira. He was just about to knock on the door, when he stopped himself, how lovely she was, especially when she was concentrating. He just stood there observing her.
Sahira was staring intently at the computer screen completely unaware that Hanssen was watching her. She was really fascinated by the literature she was reading; it was a report on the Cook-Zenith approach, specifically a study on blunt traumatic aortic transections. It showed that out of 9 patients only 1 had suffered a fatality whilst the other 8 had survived. Obviously thoracic stent graft implants did work! Sadness showed on her face, "if only she had been able to save Michael," thoughts of him surrounded her this evening, with such poignancy that she wiped a tear from her eye. Much had happened since the death of her husband. Life had been both emotionally and physically difficult. Her colleagues had all rallied around and Greg had been especially supportive. However they both knew that despite how close they had become their relationship would never go beyond that, of a working one. Yes he was kind, yes he was great fun but there was always something lacking. What she needed was a man who presented himself as a challenge. Sahira knew just the man, "how did one go about telling the Director of Surgery" she said to herself quietly.
Hanssen, now aware that he had been standing there for far too long, turned and began retracing his steps back to his office. There had always been a spark between them, others he was sure would say fireworks, but the fact remained they both cared about their patients. She would frequently deliver well rehearsed speeches to him, in the privacy of his office and he in turn would retaliate by informing her that hospital policy came foremost. Many times she had accused him of being cold and manipulative, however when it came down to the nitty gritty; he knew what was best for her; and that meant life with him. She in turn could make him broody and quiet; an idiosyncrasy that she loathed. "Better to have, any emotion pour from her," he thought, even hatred or loathing than indifference. He had been torturously in love with her for near to 22 years and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her. However the fact remained he wasn't getting any younger. He must find the strength to move on and let her go!
Sahira picked up the telephone, she must check in to see how mum was coping with the kids. Dialling her own number she was greeted by her answer phone. "Hi mum it's Sahira, hope the boys are okay and not running rings around you? I should be home around midnight, so don't wait up. Oh and Merry Christmas." She was about to hang up when her mother interrupted. "Oh hello love, don't worry the boys are fine they are asleep at last. Bless them they are so excited. We have put the mince pies and whiskey by the fireplace and the boys have placed a pillow case on each sofa. I think they worry Father Christmas will get the presents mixed up." Her mother gave a small laugh. Sahira smiled it was times like this when she longed to be with them but knew she must finish her shift. "Okay mum thanks, I'll see you soon." As sahira replaced the receiver she knew that it was time to see Henrick. Leaving the room, she made her way to the nursing station.
"I've just got to go and see Mr Hanssen, about something if there are any problems, just page me". "No worries, we've got things covered here, anyway perhaps on your way back, you can join us for a festive drink; some patient has sent us a case load of champers! You'll find it in the staff kitchen". Sahira nodded and started for the kitchen, sure enough 2 wooden boxes, marked champagne were sitting there. She picked up a bottle, found two plastic cups and preceded to make her way, up to Hanssen's office. The stairwell was cold and uninviting, and with each step she took she hoped that Hanssen would be there. What was she doing, would he have a drink with her? Just then her thoughts were interrupted by the need to open the door that led onto the Directors floor. All the rooms were in darkness, albeit one. Quietly she walked across the plush carpet to where his room was. Sure enough he was there, the door had been left open and both light and sound emulated from his office. It was a welcome relief to see him sitting there, eyes closed listening to music. She approached the door and knocked gently.
Slightly startled he responded with "Ah Miss Shah, I see you bring gifts; not quite Gold, Franken sense or Myrrh but..." Interrupting him she said, "No, something better and for goodness sake Henrick call me Sahara. I've a bottle of bubbly and thought we could have a glass or two."
"Ah yes, the mysterious case that was so generously donated by an anonymous and grateful patient." Reading the inference in his voice Sahira said, "Could this patient by any chance be a Mr Hanssen, too worried what his staff might think of him for saying thank you, after such a difficult year?"
"Top marks," he said wearily, "anonymity is such a blessing don't you find?" "No not always Henrick, no, especially when sometimes all we want to do is thank those around us for, helping." Answering her with a "Right and eyeing the plastic cups, he rose from behind his desk and said "let's see if I can't find a more suitable receptacle. Opening his cupboard door he pulled out two decorative champagne flutes. Handing her one he reflected, "these were give to me by my grandmother when I became a consultant. "I'm honoured, they look very precious," she said turning the glass in her hand.
"Not as precious as the person holding ..." his voice trailed away to silence. He had been careless, how could he have exposed his thoughts like that. Trying to add some humour to the moment he filled her glass and said, "I do hope you are not trying to get me drunk Miss Shah?"
She giggled, "would that really be so very terrible Henrick? You really must learn to lighten up, if only your staff could see the same man that I know. A shy and caring man, despite his surgical brilliance, a man who doesn't always like being manipulative and following hospital policy. One who always tries to maintain a balance between what has to be done and what is right for the hospital."
"Now who sounds like Hanssens's girl?" he mocked. "Well I've come to realise I was wrong about you, not the manipulative part, of course." She smiled, "but I am grateful for all you have helped me through these past few months, without you I really would have crumbled." With that Sahira raised herself out of the chair and standing, began to move towards him. Cupping her hands to his face, she slowly drew him to her.
He was as still as the night. "What is it?" he asked looking into her deep penetrating eyes. "Oh Henrick, don't you understand, I'm in love with you"
There were no clever words now, or witty retorts but only recognition of what she had actually said. As she kissed him, he placed both his arms around her waist and drew her closer. "Could this really be happening he wondered," He hesitated, she looked at him and with her eyes he captured the look of "It's okay," continuing he placed her smooth fingers to his lips and began kissing and sucking on each one. As she watched him, a thrill of excitement passed through her being. Could this really be the tyrant who she had so often opposed? Burying his face into her softness only served as a further stimulant to both of them. He finally moved his head to face her and smiled. How she loved it when he smiled. So many other harsh expressions normally haunted this handsome face. "I love when you smile Henrick, I always did. You have been so distant of late I thought I had lost you."
"Never, "he said kissing her forehead. "Imagine what Ms Naylor would have to say about all of this?" Hanssen smiled. "Now who cares what people think," she said removing his tie. Placing her fingers to his thick dark curly hair made Hanssen relax further, his desire knew no boundaries tonight, after all he had waited over 22 years for this moment.
As she began kissing his chest, he stopped her and placing her hand to his heart said, "promise me that whatever happens tonight, you will always take care of this heart." Lowering herself further and looking up she whispered, "Always Henrick, always."