Nyla pauses at the door to the treatment room and looks at me hesitantly. ‘I shouldn’t,’ she begins, but decides not to finish the sentence. ‘Or we could cook together,’ she then suggests.
‘As long as it’s not buckwheat with kale, I’m in.’ I wink at her, whereupon her cheeks turn pink. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘At my place we’d have to share the kitchen with up to four other doctors.’
So we’ll be cooking at my place. Which means I’ll have to skip training to tidy up. ‘Then eight o’clock at mine?’
That way I’ll have enough time to stuff everything that’s lying around into the storage room, vacuum, and polish the kitchen until it shines.
A mixture of anticipation and uncertainty flits across her face. ‘I’ll do the shopping.’
So, buckwheat with kale it is. I ought to protest, but instead I feel my features soften. ‘I’ll send you my address. The doorbell’s broken, take the spare key from under the drip tray for the shoes.’
Her smile makes my heart beat faster and I’d most like to kiss her on the spot. Unfortunately, she turns back to the door far too quickly. ‘Ms Rodriguez is waiting.’
We enter the treatment room, Nyla explains to our patient that the newly measured potassium level is within the normal range.
Ms Rodriguez beams. ‘So that means I can go home?’
Yes, she can. She probably just had a brief circulatory weakness. Thanks to the fluids she received via IV, everything has settled down again. I nod, and her smile grows even wider.
‘Well …’ Nyla leafs thoughtfully through her file. ‘Your values are largely fine, and over the last few hours your condition has stabilized.’
‘I’m feeling better again, too. No nausea, no heart palpitations,’ our patient adds eagerly.
Nyla studies her intently. ‘What about the feeling of weakness?’
‘Nowhere near as bad as before,’ Ms Rodriguez replies, then lowers her voice conspiratorially. ‘My grandchildren are already waiting for me. I promised them I’d cook paella for them today, you know?’
Nyla puts the earpieces of her stethoscope into her ears. ‘I’ll listen to your heart again.’
Any other doctor would have discharged the woman long ago, I’m sure of it. Nyla instead checks the patient’s heartbeat. But she no longer has that deadly serious expression she used to wear; she seems more caring now.
With easy movements, she loops her stethoscope back around her neck. ‘Okay, Ms Rodriguez, you may go home,’ she says then. ‘But someone else is cooking the paella today, all right?’
‘I’ll take it easy, I promise,’ the old lady replies, getting up from the examination couch.
‘We’ll see each other in three days for a checkup.’ Smiling, Nyla sets the file aside.
I hand our patient her handbag, and she says goodbye with a hug. Once she has left the room, Nyla leans against one of the cabinets. Satisfaction is written across her face.
I step up to her, very close, and gently stroke her arm. ‘Done for the day?’ I ask.
She nods. ‘See you at eight.’
The pizza boxes, the dirty hoodies, the frayed-at-the-corners cushions, the old dish towels, the drying rack, the rickety dish drainer by the sink—all of it has already disappeared into the storage closet. The dishwasher is running at full throttle.
Standing in the middle of the living room, I look around and marvel at how different my apartment feels. No more chaos, no clothes lying around, no pile of dishes in the sink. The kitchen counter is gleaming, and the light under the wall cabinets is brighter than it has been in a long time.
I stroll over to the bistro table and straighten the two chairs. I don’t own a tablecloth, but I might still have some candles somewhere.
Does Nyla like candlelight?
Nyla.
A tingling spreads in my chest and turns into something that would have scared me only two weeks ago. That fear hasn’t disappeared, but there is also a longing. For the kind of freedom they gave me for a moment yesterday. For the hope of one day being able to be more again and to have more than just the moment.
But can I do that? Is that actually possible?
