Perfect
Pauline had left for the day, as well as his obtuse and germ-laden patients, and Louisa had finally put her school supplies away and was taking a nap on the sofa. Martin was at his desk, organizing the report he needed to file with the GMC. So it was quiet, at last; other than for the gentle snore of Louisa and the tick-tick of thermal expansion as the oven baked their dinner.
Martin liked it late in the day like this. Not just the quiet, that was enjoyable enough, but for the absolutely empty feel of the surgery. Martin valued privacy, and dare he admit it, being alone. At such times he was beholden to no one and could do the tasks he had set for himself.
He got up and carried his now empty water glass to the kitchen. He put it on the counter to be cleaned later, then walked into the front room to check on Louisa. She was curled up on the sofa, lying on her right side, which she had reported was most comfortable. She had a pillow between her knees to ease the hip pain she was experiencing due to the effects of advanced pregnancy on her hip joints and pelvis, for the pregnancy hormone relaxin loosened her pelvic muscles and ligaments. She had pulled a light rug over her legs (she was wearing the light blue polka-dotted dress, so her legs were bare in it) for it was slightly cool I the room.
He adjusted the rug, then sighed, remembering her comment of the morning that was probably the last time she might wear that dress for it was too tight. Wisely, Martin had refrained from telling her that the dress was not smaller, but she had grown larger and wider. Those nasty school children making fun of her pregnant body still stung her because she kept mentioning it so she did not need him to make remarks about size.
For women body image was an issue. Driven by film, TV and the press, the image of slender and svelte (while also voluptuous) women was a pervasive influence. Martin had seen it exhibited in London as well as the village, because some of his female patients here were into dieting, exercising and all that. Worse, some asked for 'diet pills.'
Martin had seen here as well as in Town, women who were admitted to hospital because of their extreme weight loss. It could become a mental problem; and in the extreme life-threatening. Anorexia could be hard to treat.
He turned his mind away from women who were too small to regard his wife. The pregnancy was on course; maternal weight and development of the fetus was all in the normal range. Her blood pressure was normal, not when she got upset, but so far there was no sign of preeclampsia, excess protein or sugar in the urine, or other… he stopped that line of thought.
Louisa was not his patient he reminded himself, and she was not ill (she kept repeating) but pregnant. Inside her body a new human being was growing – a perfectly natural process.
Yet Martin fretted, for he knew of any number of problems which might occur at this stage or during delivery. He had to force himself not to dwell on those possibilities. A small, yet quiet, gasp came from him, which he rapidly bit off. No other woman stirred him the way that Louisa Roberta (nee Glasson) Ellingham) ever did. Just the way she softly said his name 'Martin' sent his senses aflame. God he loved her so much, and although they had disagreements, such as how much she was working, or how he could be rude, he considered her a perfect partner for him.
Louisa stirred slightly and then opened one eye to stare at him. "Martin."
"Yes."
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Just five and a quarter."
She yawned and stretched. "How long did I nap?"
"Ninety minutes."
"Not eighty-nine or ninety-one?" she smirked.
He checked the time. "Um, no."
She kicked away rug and pillow and levered herself up to sit, groaning as she did so.
"Louisa?" he asked in alarm.
"Resting on the sofa on my side wasn't good for my back," she groaned as she rubbed a place over her lumbar region.
"Ah."
She stretched, as much as she was able, then rocked her neck from side to side. She held out her hands to him. "Help me up."
Martin tugged her upright. "Steady," he said as she swayed against him.
She turned the sway into a hug. "God, I need to wee," she muttered.
The pressure of the enlarged uterus would press on the bladder as well as restricting its size, and along with the increased fluid volume of late pregnancy, frequent urination was common. Martin did not say that, but of course he thought it.
Louisa looked at him sweetly as she pulled him closer. "Hi."
"Hello." He had come to enjoy these up close and personal moments.
Her body stiffened in his arms. "Louisa?" he asked, alarmed.
"Braxton-Hicks again." She bit her lip. "Now… it's… gotten better."
"Do you need to sit? Drinking enough water?"
"Martin, I am up to my ears in water. Loo." She released him.
He watched her waddle away. Yes it was a waddle; relaxin having widened the pelvis and thereby shortening her strides. He turned to the kitchen to prepare their salad and green beans for dinner. The fish and potatoes were already baking.
As he worked in the kitchen, he had to be careful of a sore finger – left index – which he had jabbed with a screwdriver while assembly the baby cot two evenings ago. It had not bled much, but even such a slight crushing injury of the capillary-filled finger ends hurt as the injury healed.
He was laying out the place settings when his mobile rang. Damn, he thought, hopefully not a patient. Without looking at the screen he took the call.
"Ellingham."
He heard a female voice say. "Yes. Is this, uhm, Dr. Ellingham?"
"Yes," he replied. "Who is this?"
She responded, "I'm calling for Dr. Dashwood. Please hold."
Dashwood? Martin thought hard. He seemed to recall a Dashwood from somewhere.
A man's voice came on the line. "Martin? This is Robert Dashwood."
"Yes." Then he knew. "Dr. Dashwood. We met at the…"
"Surgical seminar in Greenwich, four years ago. And now, I… I understand you are working as a GP? Down in Cornwall?"
"I am."
"Well, I am heading a search committee. Sorry, let me explain. I am at Imperial Hospital – London."
Martin's heart skipped a beat. "Yes."
"And head of committee. Dreadful process. I cannot tell you how many… well, you probably can imagine… far too many unqualified people apply for these sorts of positions."
Martin cleared his throat. "What committee? For what position?"
"Ah, yes to the point. Dr. Montgomery, you see that Edith Montgomery gave me your name some time back. You know she's off to Canada? Still don't know why she took off like that. But all the same, your name came up."
"For what, exactly?" Martin asked as he heard the toilet flush and then water began to run in the loo sink.
Dashwood cleared his throat. "Teaching and surgery – Head of Vascular. I reread your paper on Surgical Revascularization of End-to-End Anastomosis of the Lower Intestine for Colostomy Reversion." He paused. "I learnt a few tricks by just reading it. I can imagine what an asset you would be to our hospital and medical staff."
Louisa was coming back to the kitchen when she heard Martin say into his mobile. "You're offering me a job… in surgery." His voice was calm as he said it; matter of fact.
Standing at his elbow, she asked him, "Martin?" He held up a hand, so she stayed quiet.
"Yes," Dashwood went on. "You haven't applied for the post, but I think you'd be perfect for the job. What say you come up here and talk to me about it? Show you around the shop; that sort of thing. Peak in on a surgery or two if you wish."
"Come up to London?" Martin asked, as his left index finger throbbed under the plaster. He had a bad moment that night when the blade had stuck into the finger and blood ran out. Blood…. and plasma… saliva flooded his mouth.
"That's where I am, yes. Not bloody Cornwall."
By now Louisa had put two and two together. "Leave the village?" she asked sadly.
Martin held up a finger to her, asking her to wait. Gulping down the fluid in his mouth, he asked, "Teach surgery and perform it," he repeated.
"That's the idea, Ellingham," Dashwood told him. "Move you back to surgery where you belong. Away from earaches and influenzas." He paused. "But you'll have to explain to me, the committee, why you went out there to be a GP. You'd have to really want this job."
Martin said flatly, "Um, as a surgeon. Surgery."
"And teacher. From your record, and experience, I think you'd be perfect for us," Dashwood told him, while Louisa stood off to the side biting her lip with a worried expression while the baby kicked quite strongly.