Chapter 14

3 more days. Just 3 more days. He kept telling himself that as he finished his salmon and asparagus evening meal. The clean, very modern flat was satisfactory he noted. It had beautiful scenic views and was in very close distance to the hospital. 3 more days until he saw the two people he only ever wanted to see. He made his way to the bedroom and very soon got his blue pyjamas on before lying completely still in bed. He was still trying to digest everything. He wondered how they both were and wondered how Joan was getting on. He had received a text from Louisa the day before just to update him that they were both ok and the baby was feeding well. 3 more days.

All the while, the impending test of all tests sat just a few hours in front of him. At 8.30am he would be scrubbing up to perform his first surgical operation in almost four years; with supervision of course. An amputation, but below the knee so that gave him some consolidation. He was nervous. Very nervous. But he knew the lack of sleep would only make matters worse so before drifting off, he turned onto his side and blinked at the beautiful view on the other side of his window. 'What's the point of beautiful views when its not where you want to be' he sighed.

XXX

Whilst Martin battled to nod off even if just for a few hours, Louisa slumped over the arm rest of her sofa. She was so exhausted she could now fall asleep sitting upright! Her head flopped whilst every other bone in her body surrendered. She was of course taking him to bed every night; his cot right next to hers. Sometimes even in bed with her(!) although she daren't tell Martin. But very occasionally after usually a substantial feed during the night, the hike back up the stairs seemed just impossible. So she would settle baby into his Moses basket and she would drop off on the sofa, eventually. Another thing she just knew Martin would not approve of. But Martin wasn't there, she was alone and she desperately needed the baby to settle during these times.

Little kicks. Then a little stir. And then some more kicking. She then sat bolt upright, wide awake as if she had developed a sixth sense. She scooped him and put on a very dim light. She was exhausted as she prepared to feed and burp the little man again, but she would never be exhausted of just being with him and just looking at him. She cradled him and felt as though these moments was when she truly had some quality, bonding time with her son. The past week had just been one big whirlwind with everybody wanting to show their support. Also, she couldn't even believe she had been a Mum for a whole week! 'We're so lucky aren't we?, and everybody just adores you. Because you're beautiful and you're mine forever' she whispered and tenderly kissed his forehead. She watched him in his tiny white Babygro and noted how he would look beautiful in absolutely anything. It was these moments that she was full of hopes and dreams for him; what would he become? Maybe a doctor like his Dad? What would be his hobbies and interests? What would make him laugh? Would he like Cornwall? She dearly hoped so. She glanced at the kitchen clock- 5.45am.

XXX

5.45am and he was suited and booted- already. He had more than 2 hours before surgery but he couldn't lie in bed any longer. He had showered, polished his shoes, ironed some shirts and had looked and looked again at the day's schedule.

'Aah Martin, the man himself has finally made it from the back and beyond of Cornish soil' Arnold was genuinely pleased to see Martin back in his first love. Martin grimaced.

'Good morning, I trust you have the surgical team all scrubbed and prepared for today's procedures? Has everyone turned up? Or are they somewhere herding cattle?'

'Ah you're usual hilarious self, Martin' Arnold gave an unimpressed look.

And with that, Martin slowly proceeded to the operating department. He had drank his espresso but feared it may make its way back up in the near future! His knees rattled as he took a deep breath and walked cautiously to the operating table. This procedure would drain all of his will.

Arnold was confident and at ease, of course. 'Right, Martin. I'm sure you know but let's run through one more time- never does any damage. 68 year old man, Chronic hypertension, Type 2 Diabetes, Chronic ulceration hence this intervention. Silent myocardial infarction about 3 years ago so we'll need to watch this one. Poor chap, been really worried about this procedure'.

'Mm, not worried enough to change his diet though'.

Arnold scoffed in disbelief.

And so the procedure began. It was not an easy ride. The whole time, Martin felt that sensation at the back of his throat. His hands were not the steadiest and neither were his legs. Arnold scrutinised every move which Martin expected.

'Martin you need to be firmer with your team. The ODP had been standing idle for the past 20 minutes. Get them working- assisting you!'

'Arnold, I think this patient's life is slightly more important than whether your ODP has sneaked off for a coffee. I can manage!'

But was he managing? He had no idea who the ODP was or any of the nurses. He could barely remember the patient's name. The patient appeared stable but even so, Was he managing? He handed the instrument to Arnold. His face as white as a ghost, his stomach clenched. And before he could even reach the theatre's double doors to escape, he hit the solid floor- he had fainted.

XXX

Martin had somehow composed himself, removed his surgical scrubs and shoes and made his way to the canteen- slowly and carefully!

He breathed out a sigh as he looked down at his paper cup filled with Americano. Wasn't his favourite but was the best that the canteen could provide- so he scoffed at the waitress, paid and sat down without a word.

The steam from the cup dancing its way around his nose was the last thing he needed right at this minute. He was still sweltering from the adrenaline of what had just happened. His heart pounded against his skin with flushed cheeks. His shoulders were tense, well, every part of him was tense. He was so angry. In came Arnold, who looked just as angry.

'Martin' he said rather bluntly. He sat himself down directly opposite him.

'Before you say anything, yes, I experienced a vasovagal syncope which I apologise for. But your surgical team aren't at all efficient which caused that procedure and probably many others, to be exhaustive and prolonged.'

Arnold looked in disbelief. Again!

'Is that really your argument, Martin? Is that all you can say?' Arnold's voice had risen a notch and his anger was evident from a mile away.

'YOU were the one that chose to come back to surgery. YOU were the one that applied for the job. YOU were the one so adamant that your issue had been resolved. And YOU were the one that fainted. You can't blame anybody else for this, Martin. Not even my apparent 'inefficient' team.'

Martin sat completely rigidly as he often did. He could still feel the sweat running down the back of his neck. His fainting was very unpleasant for him, even after all these years. Arnold moved his chair slightly closer and lowered his voice.

'Martin, let's stop the nonsense. The 'big boy talk'. We all seem to be skipping around the truth all the time, and for what? Martin, the truth is….your operating days are over now. And have been for some time. You're an excellent GP with extensive knowledge and experience. But you're a GP, not a surgeon and you know that, don't you? Time to let the dream go, Mate.' Arnold said with sympathy.

Martin stared at him with not an ounce of emotion showing on his face. But inside, it was turmoil because of course, Arnold was right. And it was if Martin had been trying to say it himself all along, but just couldn't find the words. Martin's lip twitched slightly at the corner.

'What would you advise?' was all Martin could say.

Arnold gave him a soft glance 'I advise that you go tell that girl you love her. Do what's right, Martin. She's lovely and she's not going to wait forever. Her or your boy.'

Words Martin had heard before. And Arnold was right. Martin couldn't argue.