BREAKFAST WITH AN ORANG UTAN - Epilogue
"Someday I'll find you, again" - Noel Coward
They took more than dead muscle away when they operated on Greg for the second time. They cut away his trust, his freedom and his optimism. They took his strength, courage and humour leaving only pain behind. Maybe this was the middle ground surgically but I knew they had cut to the very boundaries of his ability or desire to survive.
I couldn't blame the doctors there was only one person at fault I knew it and Greg knew it. I could see it in his dull pain-filled eyes, hear it in every shuddering intake of breath. I thought I was saving his life, I was told I had saved his life but for Greg this wasn't living, instead I had condemned him to a life sentence imprisoned by chronic pain and shackled by his shockingly damaged leg.
Jim Wilson and I took turns watching him and once before dawn when I was going down the corridor I thought I heard him scream my name. "Phillipa thought she heard Andrew screaming her name just before dawn one morning." Greg had told me in Singapore. Wondering if Greg had died in that moment I rushed back to his room. Wilson was dabbing Greg's face gently with a cool cloth. His face was wet with perspiration and tears he was in agony.
"Take over here Stacy" said Wilson handing me the cloth.
"I'm going to make them up the morphine." He squeezed Greg's hand but Greg was almost beyond hearing or understanding.
"I thought the operation was supposed to take away the pain." I said.
"So did we all. Greg knew. He called it" and with that Wilson was out the door.
I looked down into the face of the man I loved and he looked through me as if I was a stranger. His head pushed back against the damp pillow his body arched as he could no longer suppress a scream of pain.
"It'll be alright, darling. Wilson has ..."
"Don't .. talk." the effort of saying those two words seemed to bring fresh beads to sweat to his forehead. He shivered.
As I reached out, to smooth his sweat filled curls away from his face, he jerked his head.
"Don't touch me."
I sat down in the chair by the bed not knowing what to do. Greg was now in extremis but I dared not try to give him comfort.
That was the beginning of the end.
I visited him everyday. Sometimes we would talk. More often Greg was silent. I thought maybe reading some of Phillipa's letter to me might close the widening distance between us but I only got as far as saying "Do you remember when I was leaving Singapore Audrey handed me a letter?"
"Forget about Singapore. Forget about Phillipa. That's the past. Nothing will be the same again." His voice was cold and cruel and it was full of pain.
"But, darling?"
"I said forget it Stacy and I meant it." This was a command. It shocked me and I obeyed. I didn't think about Phillipa or Singapore for the next five years. It was as though that part of my life had been instantly erased.
I hoped things would get better. I hoped he would forgive me. I hung in there. He needed so much help when they allowed him home but he only accepted my help when he could not avoid it. I tried showering with him but he didn't want me there seeing or touching his scarred leg. It exhausted him to shower by himself grabbing the newly installed bars for support and being forced to sit on a plastic stool.
He did not want to make love because he knew it would hurt. And he brutally rejected my efforts to pleasure him with fellatio. The moment my lips touched him he pushed my head away saying that if he wanted a prostitute he would pay for one.
Still I stayed, still I hoped. I didn't realise why he was considering going back to work when it was obvious to me he was not ready. He said that if I had a medical degree I would be aware there could no further improvement.
He recalled how I had hammered away about amputation. He told me not to bring it up again because they had not left enough muscle for a viable stump which would support a prosthesis and even if they had a high transfemoral amputation would take 60 percent more effort to be ambulatory and he had no more reserves. He also rammed the information home that because of phantom pain amputation might actually have been worse.
I reminded him about Lisa Cuddy talking about kids with prosthesis doing the 100 yard dash. He told me that was for my benefit no doctor knowing the possible extent of the damage would buy that lame sales pitch.
That was when he told me how I had let him down as a lawyer. Not only had I failed to honour his instructions but now the money was running out. He believed there was no way he would ever be able to sue PPTH because when I signed the papers authorising them to exercise the 'middle ground' option I had not rescinded the waiver of responsibility that Greg had given them prior to the first operation. I knew if there were grounds the waiver would not stand up legally. But he did not want to hear that.
I'm not sure if Greg ever expected me to leave but I knew I could not stay. So I took off my sapphire and diamond ring and left it on the kitchen table with a note saying I would be in touch.
I didn't get in touch with Greg but occasionally I would meet with Wilson who would tell me how things were going. When Mark first showed symptoms I met Jim for dinner. I told him then I was married and told him my fears for Mark. Wilson told me I should take him to every other doctor in the country before bringing him to Greg. I asked him if he was going to tell Greg about my marriage. He told me he was not in the business of inflicting further pain on his friend. Wilson did not return my calls after that.
When Mark got really ill and no other doctor could find anything wrong I felt like I had no choice. I knew I had to see Greg.
After the infarction Greg smelt of hospital, disinfectant and medication. It was only when I came to see him to ask him to help my husband Mark that I was close enough to inhale Greg's scent. He smelt as I remembered him and the memories I had so long repressed came rushing back.
There was no denying it, Greg was the one. I loved him and would always love him and that was utterly terrifying.
I was completely lost.