I'm staring at my open wardrobe, at a row of crisp, white shirts order by date of dry cleaning, but my mind is a thousand miles away. I'm dreading this weekend. James's first birthday is Friday and Louisa wants to have people over to celebrate. Why? He's going to be one year old, it's not as if he be aware of why these people are here or will even remember that they came. Louisa insists that celebrating such things is part of being in a community. Community. I've been a part of one or another all my life. The population of students, the student body of Imperial, the cadre of residents, the Royal College of Surgeons. None prepared me for the community of Portwenn. I've been here over four years, and I still don't understand this assortment of intellectual misfits. And yet, I've given up everything I once held dear to attach myself to this Cornish backwater, or at least two members of it. It was one year ago that I came so close to escaping this disaster once and for all.
Alright, Ellingham – last day of patients. Storage facility booked. Flat hired, painted and furnished. Introductions on the 3rd, induction on the 4th. Rounds begin on the 6th. Back to a world of quiet serenity interrupted only by intense professional productivity. Heaven. But as I turn toward the bed to reach for my tie, I see the packet resting ominously on the bedside table. Would it be enough? Should I make the cheques for more? Will she take them or be offended? She wouldn't tell me how much she wanted. She never tells me what she wants.
The only thing that is clear is what she doesn't want. Me. Fine. She seemed surprised that I was leaving. Did she seriously think I would stay and watch the two of them, knowing how I wasn't welcome? Watching her find someone else? Listening to him or her call her Mummy and me…Doc. No, I won't subject myself to that. There's a world of respect and professionalism waiting five hundred miles away and in three days, it's mine.
I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I had to make last attempt to be a part of their lives and to my surprised, she accepted, welcoming me to her side as she gave birth. She seemed to have been waiting for me move first, probably based on feelings of rejection brought on by parents who seemed unfamiliar with the term reliability. I thought my life was going to be perfect. London, Louisa and our son. I had underestimated how attached Louisa was to her community. She couldn't leave, at least not for me. I'm not sure how much influence her preposterous mother had on this conclusion, but there it was. Standing in front of a fake castle, declaring a fake attachment to barmy chemist, the only option I had was to cling to the very real love I felt for Louisa. She was worth more than London. James was worth more than a surgical theatre. My fate was set.
In the whirlwind of Louisa moving back in and organizing our wedding, thankfully more than three weeks this time, I suddenly found myself the head of a family and forever in the center of this batty half-civilization. And then something went wrong. I still can't put my finger on it. One day I was fine and the next day it felt as if the walls were closing in on me. The house was too small, the road too noisy, my ties too tight, my family too irritating. All I wanted was to get a bit of space to clear my head. If I could just clear my head. And then a sound that still echoes in my ears – a car breaking followed by a sickening thud. It was the final straw for Louisa as she sadly told me she needed to break. The haze that I had been looking through snapped clear. I didn't know how to fix it this time – I have been so involved in my own misery, I didn't have any inkling as to what Louisa was going through and how to repair the damage. Thankfully Ruth, and oddly enough, my mother cleared my vision even more. She needed me to be a partner in her life, not just her marriage. Another dash to save her life. For some reason, she was willing to give me yet another chance, but I had to prove to her I was willing to make the effort. She's still here, so it's a good sign.
Ruth had recommended a contact of hers in London, Dr. Mariam Saryan. I dreaded this meeting – finally having to accept that something was indeed wrong with me. I had made previous attempts to speak to therapists, especially when my haemophobia had first reared its ugly head. Most wanted to diagnose with me half a dozen, easily documented disorders. (The irony of my behavior of seeking a diagnosis to explain anxiety was no lost on me.) Dr. Saryan has convinced me that where I was previously content to live a solitary life, I was actually just accepting what I believed to be inevitable. I felt myself unworthy of being loved and had convinced myself that isolation had always been my choice. In this vein, I couldn't accept that Louisa truly cared about me. I was pushing her away in preparation for the day that she woke up and made the horrified realization that she had attached herself to a miserable bugger who had no business intruding on her world. My relationship with Edith had fed into this– I saw her leaving for Canada as her moment of recognition that I was a broken appendage that needed to be amputated to save the patient. I had been dreading the moment when Louisa had the same insight, even more so as I had so much more to lose. My Tuesday sessions were a series of deliberations, trying to make me see that she had stuck by me through all my attempts to push her away. Every action was telling me she loved me and all she asked is an occasional return of the effort. She deserved more than that. I had to make myself able to give her that assurance.
Thankfully, she had agreed to move back into the cottage, even if not directly back into our bedroom. Mrs. Tischell's exasperated summary of our rocky relationship history of the numerous break-ups between the two of us still rang in my ears. Being with her every day, behaving like a proper family was a constant reminder of how much I stood to lose it I couldn't succeed at being a better husband. Little occurrences like chatting about the events of the day while helping James eat had become the highlight of my life. I could also imagine how the tongues would wag at the pub about the uptight Doc screwing up again with the charming Miss G. (If they knew about my Tuesday sessions, it would have been worse. The great Dr. Ellingham was as screwed up as they had always claimed.) I hoped our physical separation would not last too much longer. The more time I spent with Louisa, the more I missed lying next to her. She had a habit of her left had reaching behind her in her sleep. It would often come to rest on my right hand, as if she was subconsciously checking that I was still there while reminding me of her presence. I missed that.
Lately, I had noticed Louisa being more pointed about her explanations of why she was upset with me or what I had done wrong. Often, it was illuminating to see how she interpreted my actions. Most recently, I had learned that she resented my medical advice when she felt I should be "off-duty". How often had I expressed exasperation with my patients constantly ignoring my guidance, only to learn that my wife felt the same? I would have to bring this up on Tuesday.
I could hear Louisa and James moving around across the landing. Time to stop self-analyzing and start getting breakfast on the table. I grabbed my jacket and headed down the stairs.