Bernie spoke quietly, as in a trance: "If I don't work – if I lose my job, it's like …I'll lose myself. I don't know how I got where I am, exactly – I was lucky, I guess – at the right place at the right time, for once. But …if I stop, I'll lose my way, and I'll never find it again. Never find myself again. I can't mess that up – not that – it's the only thing where what I do matters. If I can't work, I'm afraid I'll disappear. Just vanish. And now I'm losing that too, and it's all my fault, and …I just don't know what to do."
The colonel remained silent, her hand still on Bernie's arm. She could see the younger woman's eyes were wet. She handed her a tissue, and looked away to give her the time to regain her composure. Then she turned towards her again: "But no one's expecting you to succeed at everything. No one wants you to be invincible – we're all humans – and that means we're not perfect. You're not, I'm not, there's not one perfect individual in the whole bloody British army. You've got the right to be sick, you've got the right to ask for help. Self-sufficiency only goes so far. As for 'it" all being your fault …And all your fault – I've never seen anyone more self-centered than you!"
Bernie smiled a little: "A friend once called me a power-crazed megalomaniac…"
"Nice friends you've got … From one surgeon to another, I guess that's why we chose this – because we believe it gives us the power of life and death. But you're certainly not a megalomaniac – you're determined to self-destruct and to blame yourself for everything. Could you learn to give yourself a little credit? You're a brilliant professional, Berenice – but there's no shame in admitting you can be hurt, or ill. This won't lessen your excellent abilities."
"Thank you, ma'am."
The colonel stood up: "Right – glad we agree. Now you're going to orthopedics, and then you've got four days' sick leave – time for your arm to heal a little more, and for you to see Andrew Arnold again. Don't think I haven't noticed you haven't actually told me what's wrong with you. I've got to get back to work. Just close the door behind you, will you ?"
And the colonel left her office, not giving Bernie time to object. She wasn't really in a state to, anyways. She wondered if she should have told the colonel about the panic attacks, the nightmares, the flashbacks. Or said she didn't want to go to see the shrink again. Pleaded, even, not to have to go back…
She got up slowly and made her way to the orthopedics department. The trauma ward sent them many patients, and she had already met most of the staff. She surrendered to the attention of one of her colleagues, who berated her soundly for not having come sooner. As Bernie was still feeling somewhat shell-shocked by the scene in the colonel's office, she swallowed her dignity and endured the scolding meekly – something which usually happened once in a blue moon.
She briefly wondered if she could get away with taking off the new bandage and the sling to drive home, but she decided it wasn't worth it. She didn't relish arriving at Serena's with it either, but she didn't see a way out of it. She nearly decided not to go at all, but some instinct made her change her mind, and she gave Serena's address to the cab driver.
She found two empty bottles on the coffee table – scotch and gin, apparently , and Serena slumped on the couch. For a second, panic seized her, and her emotional brain nearly took over her rational one. A second only, however, before her medical training kicked in and she bent over Serena to check her breathing and pulse – both were slow and shallow, but not enough to be life-threatening. Bernie tried to wake her up without success, and she was on the brink of calling 999 – training was good, but if Serena went into a coma, she had to be in the hospital – when she spotted the box of sleeping pills which had slipped under the table. Paradoxically, it reassured her – now she had the full clinical picture, she could deal with it. The box wasn't empty, but the mixture of alcohol and drugs explained Serena's state. She rearranged Serena's body so she was lying on her side – not easy with only one arm – covered her with a throw and went to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. Then she settled in an armchair for another sleepless night.
Bernie's mind was working furiously – she'd never seen Serena so drunk before, and when she'd gotten the pills, she had promised she would use them sparingly. Indeed, she'd always said she hated the feeling of slipping into unconsciousness they gave her. What could …she slapped herself on the forehead – How could she have forgotten? How could she have been so preoccupied by her own affairs as to forgot that a year ago …
In her nightmares she saw Afghan and Iraq, she saw blood and sand, she saw severed limbs and death, but she didn't have to be asleep to see that terrible day all other again. Trying desperately to save Jason. Finding Eleanor unconscious. And then … one of the hardest things she'd ever done in her life – telling Serena, seeing her eyes.
She'd dealt with it by closing off her emotions entirely – if she'd allowed herself to feel, she couldn't have done it. If she'd allowed herself, even for one second, to be engulfed in Serena's pain, she would have drowned entirely. So she'd retreated behind her clinical mask, and had become entirely practical – a glass of water, organ donation, the need to call Edward. Other words would have been too raw, too exposing – if she could have suffered Serena's pain instead of her, she would have, but you can't transfer pain – you can only steal someone's grief when you adopt it as your own.
Even now, a year later, Bernie was still feeling responsible – if she'd never gotten involved with Serena, the row between Eleanor and her mother would not have happened, and Eleanor wouldn't have taken the car in a rage, and … Her throat hurt and was tightening – her chest closed, and she fought for breath – the panic attack she'd been fearing all day had launched in full force… She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of everything – focus on breathing ! Just focus and count – in and out, in and out …She retched and only just managed to reach the bathroom before throwing up the contents of her empty stomach, acid bile that burnt its way up. But the guilt and the memories were etched deeper, and burnt even more fiercely.
(to be continued)