Page 5 of Reckless

“Useful is a good place to start,” I said, and Button John’s smile grew.

Then, he looked at a dust bunny that had blown in under the partition wall, and said, “Hey, doc, I bet you need someone to mop your floors though, right?”

My only scheduled patient for the day was Anna Hooper.

Anna had a Medicare card, and a patient file as thick as my forearm. I didn’t have to look through very much of it to realise that I was going to be seeing Anna a lot—but not for long. She was twenty-four, a heartbreakingly young age for a diagnosis as grim as hers. Like a lot of women, she’d dismissed her earlier symptoms of bloating, exhaustion, and abdominal pain until the ovarian cancer had spread into her pelvis and stomach. Surgery and chemotherapy had bought her some time over the past couple of years, but she’d declined any further treatment. I didn’t blame her for deciding she’d had enough.

“Do you have support at home?” I asked her, thinking of the two little kids she’d left sitting in the waiting room, snacks and books spread out on the floor.

Anna folded her thin hands on her lap. Her eyes shone. “Archie, my husband, he works on one of the boats. Nipper Will is good about giving him time off when he needs it. And Julie Dinsmore, my cousin, takes the twins a few hours a day. People are always dropping in with meals, or to see what needs doing.”

“It’s going to get harder,” I said.

“I know.”

“There are hospices I can refer you to, for end of life care.”

“No.” She drew a shaky breath. “I don’t want to leave the island.”

“Okay, then we’re going to do everything we can to make sure you’re not in any pain.”

She blinked and nodded sharply. Her mouth trembled before she spoke. “Thank you.”

I wanted to rail loudly against everything she was facing, but she didn’t need me to remind her of how unfair the universe was. Who knew it better than she did?

“So at the moment we’re going to keep you on the midazolam, which is for when you’re getting those breathless spells, and also for your anxiety.”

Her mouth twitched, and so did mine. As though “anxiety” was a large enough word to cover everything she was facing.

“And your morphine, of course,” I said. “Whenever you feel like you need a stronger dose, I can prescribe that. If you start experiencing any nausea and vomiting, we can look at meds to control that too.”

“I thought that stopped when I ended the chemo.”

“Unfortunately, it might happen again as things progress.” This journey wouldn’t end happily, but at least I could help Anna make her choices and retain her dignity for as long as she had left. “And when the time comes, we’ll make you as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you,” she said again.

“In the meantime, is it okay if I drop in on you at home a few times a week? Just to see how you’re getting on? And you have my mobile number, of course. You can call that at any time and I’ll come and see you.”

“I don’t think I’ll have to bother you too much.”

“It’s not a bother,” I said. “I’ll drop by, make us a cuppa, and you can tell me all about the who’s who and the what’s what of Dauntless.”

It would do her some good, psychologically, to have someone to talk with on the days when she wasn’t too wrung out, and I didn’t come with the emotional baggage that family and friends did. Every conversation with me didn’t have to be a reminder of who she was leaving behind, and how her death would shatter them.

“I can do that.” She smiled. It was a weak, tired smile, but her eyes lit up. “But you know everyone wants to know all about you.”

“About me?”

“Of course. You’re a suspicious incomer.”

“A suspicious—” I huffed out a laugh when she failed to hide her teasing smile. “Well, I’m an open book, actually.”

“Not to us.”

I felt a jolt of unease. I’d come to terms with Neal’s death, hadn’t I? Except the thought of having to explain it suddenly felt very complicated. How was I supposed to react to expressions of sympathy from well-meaning strangers, when the strongest emotion I’d had for Neal’s death wasn’t heartbreak, but just a slow, heavy sense of regret? I wished things had been different for us. I wished we’d both tried harder and done better. And of course I wished he hadn’t died—just like I wished we’d still loved each other at the end.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” I said. “My entire life has been about work, which is one of the main reasons I decided to come here. I got tired of looking up at the hospital ceiling and wondering if it was day or night outside. I’ve taken to having cups of tea in my garden in the morning. The view from there is a lot nicer than the hospital ceiling, that’s for sure.”