you missed out on things, but you made your choice.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I hope you enjoyed your radio appearance.’
Sam felt an up welling of anger. ‘Do you know, Miles, you’re a real…’
‘Sam, walk away.’ Doug was standing at the open door. ‘Come with me and we can talk about it.’
‘It’s good advice,’ Miles said. ‘You allow yourself to get too emotionally involved with your patients. You just can’t afford to do that in this profession.’
‘Whereas you just don’t give a damn,’ Sam replied.
‘You shouldn’t have come back into work so soon, Sam,’ Miles said, getting back to his notes. ‘Give yourself a break.’
‘C’mon, Sam,’ Doug said, steering him out of the room. He let himself be led; feeling detached from the situation, as if he’d been possessed and things were only now coming back into focus. He didn’t know whether it was grief, shock, or just pure anger, but something had really taken hold.
‘Sam,’ Miles said, just before they exited the door. Sam stopped but didn’t turn around. ‘I don’t expect you to listen to my advice, but really, ask yourself whether you should be here.’
8
Sam peered through the glass of the door to the family room, steeling himself for the conversation to come. Tom Jackson was in the corner, alone. He was staring straight at the facing wall, his face blank, emotionless. Sam had seen that face a thousand times before in his years as a doctor – a face of total emotional shutdown in response to extreme grief. It was a sight he never got used to.
He took a deep breath and opened the door. Tom looked across at him, and Sam nodded a hello as he pulled up a chair. He didn’t say anything. Experience had taught him that this part of medicine wasn’t about making people better – they didn’t want to feel better in the immediate aftermath – it was about listening.
For around half a minute the two men just sat there. Sam glanced across at Tom. Tom and Sam were the same age, his wife Sarah three years younger. But the three years of heartache and chronic worry had taken its toll, aging the couple prematurely. Their daughter’s fight was sucking the life out of them, mentally and physically. Both Tom and Sarah had had spells on antidepressants, and their as yet unsuccessful attempts to produce a brother or sister for Sophie had added to the strain. Sam looked down at the toy rabbit Tom was holding in his hands. His fingers were stroking the fur of what was Sophie’s favourite toy.
‘I really believed everything was going to be okay,’ Tom said finally, still looking straight ahead at the wall. ‘I never doubted it – not for a second. Ever since she was born, since the first time the doctors told us that she had problems. Something deep down inside made me believe that it was all going to be alright.’
Again they sat in silence and Sam waited.
Tom shook his head, still absentmindedly stroking the rabbit. There were no tears. His face was a mask, hiding the torment. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe that our little Sophie, she, she might not make it. Our Sophie, we might never see her smile again. Never look her in the eyes. I just can’t get my head around it. It won’t sink in.’
‘I’m so sorry, Tom,’ Sam offered.
Tom pinched his eyes to stem a single tear. He looked at Sam. ‘Was I just deluded, believing that it would all be okay?’
‘No,’ Sam replied.
‘You believed it too?’ he said. ‘You thought she’d be okay, didn’t you? You really believed.’
Sam nodded, then added, ‘there is still hope.’
‘She’s a fighter, Sam,’ he continued, almost pleading. ‘You could see it from the very beginning. That first look she gave me in the delivery room, when I held her for the first time. She’s strong, isn’t she?’
Again Sam nodded.
Now the tears were really falling, dripping down onto Tom’s lap.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I hope you enjoyed your radio appearance.’
Sam felt an up welling of anger. ‘Do you know, Miles, you’re a real…’
‘Sam, walk away.’ Doug was standing at the open door. ‘Come with me and we can talk about it.’
‘It’s good advice,’ Miles said. ‘You allow yourself to get too emotionally involved with your patients. You just can’t afford to do that in this profession.’
‘Whereas you just don’t give a damn,’ Sam replied.
‘You shouldn’t have come back into work so soon, Sam,’ Miles said, getting back to his notes. ‘Give yourself a break.’
‘C’mon, Sam,’ Doug said, steering him out of the room. He let himself be led; feeling detached from the situation, as if he’d been possessed and things were only now coming back into focus. He didn’t know whether it was grief, shock, or just pure anger, but something had really taken hold.
‘Sam,’ Miles said, just before they exited the door. Sam stopped but didn’t turn around. ‘I don’t expect you to listen to my advice, but really, ask yourself whether you should be here.’
8
Sam peered through the glass of the door to the family room, steeling himself for the conversation to come. Tom Jackson was in the corner, alone. He was staring straight at the facing wall, his face blank, emotionless. Sam had seen that face a thousand times before in his years as a doctor – a face of total emotional shutdown in response to extreme grief. It was a sight he never got used to.
He took a deep breath and opened the door. Tom looked across at him, and Sam nodded a hello as he pulled up a chair. He didn’t say anything. Experience had taught him that this part of medicine wasn’t about making people better – they didn’t want to feel better in the immediate aftermath – it was about listening.
For around half a minute the two men just sat there. Sam glanced across at Tom. Tom and Sam were the same age, his wife Sarah three years younger. But the three years of heartache and chronic worry had taken its toll, aging the couple prematurely. Their daughter’s fight was sucking the life out of them, mentally and physically. Both Tom and Sarah had had spells on antidepressants, and their as yet unsuccessful attempts to produce a brother or sister for Sophie had added to the strain. Sam looked down at the toy rabbit Tom was holding in his hands. His fingers were stroking the fur of what was Sophie’s favourite toy.
‘I really believed everything was going to be okay,’ Tom said finally, still looking straight ahead at the wall. ‘I never doubted it – not for a second. Ever since she was born, since the first time the doctors told us that she had problems. Something deep down inside made me believe that it was all going to be alright.’
Again they sat in silence and Sam waited.
Tom shook his head, still absentmindedly stroking the rabbit. There were no tears. His face was a mask, hiding the torment. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe that our little Sophie, she, she might not make it. Our Sophie, we might never see her smile again. Never look her in the eyes. I just can’t get my head around it. It won’t sink in.’
‘I’m so sorry, Tom,’ Sam offered.
Tom pinched his eyes to stem a single tear. He looked at Sam. ‘Was I just deluded, believing that it would all be okay?’
‘No,’ Sam replied.
‘You believed it too?’ he said. ‘You thought she’d be okay, didn’t you? You really believed.’
Sam nodded, then added, ‘there is still hope.’
‘She’s a fighter, Sam,’ he continued, almost pleading. ‘You could see it from the very beginning. That first look she gave me in the delivery room, when I held her for the first time. She’s strong, isn’t she?’
Again Sam nodded.
Now the tears were really falling, dripping down onto Tom’s lap.
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