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Stacey’s shoulders rose up and down as she inhaled deeply and then sat silently. I knew she was crying, her free hand swiping at her eyes. My fists clenched.
“I’ve seeing the psychologist this afternoon,” she muttered. “I’ll be fine.” She looked up to the ceiling, sniffing. “I said I’ll be fine.”
She then hung up.
Stacey was not fine. Her shoulders trembled with the struggle to keep her sobs under control in front of Simon.
I wanted to reach into my computer and hold her.
Simon cleared his throat. “Um, that’s everything,” he mumbled. “Thank you for letting me do this.”
Stacey half-turned to him, with a curt nod.
Simon hesitated, the camera moving from the right and then to the left, as if he meant to say something else. Then, he excused himself and the camera dropped to film the floor as he exited to the corridor.
The camera flipped up to his face in a dizzying change of perspective. Simon’s eyes were glassy, full of sadness.
“Sorry, mate. Had to get out of there. She’s, well, she’s upset and it felt weird filming, you know?” He paused, averting his eyes for only a second and when he looked back down the camera lens, he grinned. “I think I got enough for the assessment. Perfect woman for you. She’s going to be a nurse and she used to race cars. And we all know how much you like both.”
He laughed, sniffing. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Fuck, sorry. She almost died. Lost her dad in the same fire. Brother was burnt too. Can’t even imagine what that family is going through and how they are going to run their farm. I mean how do you keep going after that?”
How did I miss this before? How much he emotionally took on with patients? It’s ultimately what he said in the note he’d left us and his parents. That he couldn’t stand watching his patients die. That he couldn’t do enough for them.
Simon had admitted during our first year out of med school he struggled to keep a professional distance from his patients. He’d said he was always feeling their pain and grief.
I’d thought he’d get over it. First year out is a bitch for most graduates, trying to find your feet in the hospital system and deciding how you wanted to specialise.
And I’d thought he’d learned to manage it. Said he was okay when I’d followed up with him and not to worry.
But Simon had gotten better at hiding his pain. And in the end, his pain took him from this world.
I opened the assignment document and quickly scanned the paragraphs, finding where I’d mentioned the patient had lost her father, I vaguely recalled being mortified at the idea of losing my Dad. How easily a fall from the painting scaffolds could end in tragedy. That thought had fuelled an all-nighter to write the assignment for this case study.
I flicked back to the video file. Here I was staring at Simon’s ghost from seven years ago. He’d also said in his final note that he’d never measure up to expectations of the surgeons, how he was letting everyone down. How could I even consider going back to work at the hospital where senior staff had bullied him and left him broken?
I missed him so damn much.
“Now, Doctor Tradie, bloody well pass this subject because your father needs you more as a doctor than a painter. Get your assignment in and I’ll see you at drinks after footy on Friday.”
And then the video stopped at three and a half minutes.
I went back to the assignment. I had looked up the researchers Simon suggested and wrote about my concerns about their experimental trials with respect to a patient who was struggling with being out of work. I also discussed what the effects would be on her family with post-op care, being in a rural community and possible exposure to infection with livestock to human transfer, and most importantly, her psychological state and mental health. I’d even looked up how she could manage her healing and still race cars in a special suit designed to regulate temperature for drivers.
How she could heal and achieve her dreams.
I’d thought seven years ago she wanted to be a nurse, and then had assumed the same thing a week ago.
The assignment I’d written was one of the best I’d ever handed in. I’d received the highest mark for the assignment and passed the subject overall. My friends had shouted me beer at the end of the semester. My lecturer forwarded my assessment to a country doctor, George Larcombe, who then contacted me about doing a rural placement at his friend’s general practice in Walston.
I’d never met Stacey while on my Walston placement. I’d travelled home every weekend to help Dad with getting back to work and doing painting jobs on weekends.
Never explored the area. Never even made it to the racetrack for local race meets.
And now, Simon and George had brought us together again.
I pressed play for a second viewing. And a third time.
