There was nothing to do but to throw myself into work. For the next few days all I could do was think about appendixes, sciatica and the odd case of pneumonia. It didn't help our cases were routine with no emergency admissions – emergencies took more time due to half hourly obs, they meant less time speaking to the young nurse.
Every time I looked at Delia I was met with two confronting, horrible emotions. In the first instance my heart leap forwards against my ribs, it pounded faster it ached for contact. My brain would then catch up, it would realise what my heart wanted, what every part of me wanted and would give me a mental slap on the wrist and shake me hard. What was wrong with me? This was not normal.
It was three days exactly when I finally received a knock on my bedroom door. I had been reading up on a new patient, one who had a type of haemophilia we rarely saw outside the royal family. I expected the knock to come from Matron, expected to receive my marching orders and be forced away from the job I loved. The job which had always been more than a job.
I jumped up from the cross-legged position on my bed, grabbing my dressing gown and tying it tightly around myself before I went to the door.
It wasn't the matron who stood there. It was Delia. She stood there in her own dressing gown, wearing a light coloured night dress with a lacy collar. Her dressing gown wasn't tied. My eyes took her in and for a horrifying second, settled on her nipples. I gave myself another mental slap, my eyes snapping back to her eyes. She looked worried, her face full of sadness and I found myself wanting to comfort her.
"May I come in?" She asked quietly, glancing around herself as I nodded and held the door open for her. I should have said no, I knew I should have said no. You don't help an alcoholic by putting a Gin under her nose, and I was adding to my own perversion by allowing this young woman into my room. I couldn't help myself, I simply couldn't.
She crossed the room and perched on the edge of my bed. Crossing her ankles politely. She had little feet, and her toenails were painted red.
"Patsy," she began, her expression pained so much that she couldn't look me in the eye. She bit her lip before she continued, thumbing the quilt on my bed.
"I know it's your duty to report me. I know you can't let it happen, but," she sighed and glanced at me quickly before shaking her head and turning back once more to the quilt.
"I read the signs wrong, I know that is no excuse. I felt something I have only felt once. I felt like it was in you too but I was wrong. I was so wrong and for that I am so, so-,"
"You weren't."
The words sprung from my mouth before I had even allowed them to do so. The feelings from deep in my heart had once again bypassed my brain and came tumbling from my mouth into the open air.
Delia's head snapped up to me, her expression full of confusion and wonder. She looked as though she believed those words as little as I did. Yet the words were true, they came from the heart which meant they could be nothing but the truth.
"You weren't wrong, Delia."
I couldn't look at her, suddenly feeling very shy and unnerved. My eyes found a spot in the wall paper and settled there as I spoke.
"I've been hiding it for a long time. Hiding my feelings. I have known since I was fourteen- perhaps even younger than that. I've tried to fix it, tried to stop these feelings. I have been with men."
With that I slid down into a cross-legged heap on the floor, my head buried into my hands and I began to cry. I had been hiding something else from myself, and now it was begging to be said. I needed to tell someone but I couldn't I just couldn't.
Again, the words released themselves without my permission.
"And now, I, oh good God, I think I'm pregnant."