The January Wish (26 page)

‘Um…maybe someday. I just need to let it all sink in for a while,’ Grace replied, then shook her head in what seemed to be amazement and disbelief. ‘Max Reeves! Who would have thought?’

Sylvia was glad he wasn’t a celebrity of unfavourable character. Although trying to keep the past behind her, she’d followed Max’s career, watched him in the Olympics, seen him being interviewed on numerous occasions, and even voted for him when he competed on
Dancing with the Stars
. But when he’d made a brief visit back to Tarrin’s Bay to give a talk at the high school, she wasn’t in town at the time and didn’t have to deal with the idea of seeing him in person again.

‘Did he always want to play basketball for a living?’ Grace asked.

‘Yes. He told me it was the only thing he was good at. The one thing he was passionate about, and that life wouldn’t be the same without it.’

Grace nodded. ‘That’s how I feel about my music.’

‘I understand,’ Sylvia replied.

‘Yeah, that’s how you must feel about medicine, isn’t it?’ Grace folded the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table.

‘Oh, of course,’ Sylvia replied. And it was true, although she was thinking of something else. Something else she was passionate about that hadn’t been part of her life for a long time. Sylvia quickly pushed an old memory back to its allocated place in her mind, and folded her hands in her lap.

Grace appeared to think for a few moments, then brought up another memory for Sylvia. ‘Did I cause you much trouble, you know, when you were pregnant with me?’

‘Well, apart from turning my flat stomach into a bulge the size of a large watermelon…nah, no trouble!’ Sylvia tried to make light of it, preferring not to remember how special she’d felt, carrying a growing being inside her. Because then she’d feel sad, having missed out on the bit that comes afterwards, the bit that most parents can’t wait for, the bit that she willingly handed over to someone else. Not that she necessarily regretted giving Grace up, she’d made the decision she and her parents thought right. But that maternal part of her, however immature it was at age sixteen, somehow longed to take her baby home and care for her. ‘I had a bit of morning sickness, but not as bad as some women get, so I was lucky,’ Sylvia said. ‘Apparently, my experience with pregnancy and childbirth was a “text book” case. Although at the time I didn’t appreciate being likened to a text book, especially considering I was studying and my days were spent reading them!’

Grace laughed. ‘So you’d rather be likened to a large watermelon then.’

‘Of course!’ Sylvia laughed too. ‘Then I’ve got one over “Baby” who only carried a watermelon for a few minutes. I carried one for nine months!’

Grace looked at Sylvia with a face of confusion.

‘You know,
Baby
, from
Dirty Dancing
…the famous line, “I carried a watermelon”?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Sorry, nope!’

How can she not have seen
Dirty Dancing
? It was a classic. ‘Never mind then. But you should watch it sometime, it’s a trademark movie from my youth!’

Grace smiled a cheeky grin. ‘So I guess it’s in black and white then?’

Sylvia picked up the newspaper and whacked her playfully on the arm. Sounded like something Mark Bastian would say. Although, he was only a couple of years younger than her degenerative age so it wouldn’t be as ingenious a joke. ‘Don’t feel too pleased with yourself, you’ll be as old as me one day.’

‘I hope so,’ Grace said quietly.

Oops. Sylvia made a mental note to be more careful with things she said. Grace was obviously still unsure of her future and whether she’d stay free of the cancer. Sylvia placed a comforting hand on Grace’s. ‘Of course you will. I’ll tell you what, when you turn thirty-five, I’ll even throw you a huge party, how about that? I’m sure I would have been “event-planner of the year” in a past life, if I had one.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll hold you to that,’ Grace replied. ‘Although, by then you’ll be fifty-one, so do you think someone of that age could handle the responsibility?’ Grace shuffled away from Sylvia on the couch to avoid the inevitable newspaper whack, but it came too quickly, then she snatched it off Sylvia and whacked her with it, until Sylvia picked up a cushion and used it as a shield to defend herself.

They collapsed on the couch in laughter, and for the first time since they met, Sylvia actually felt like Grace’s mother. But then she felt guilty that Maria Forrester was missing out on this, and that somehow Sylvia had taken Grace from her, perhaps subconsciously willing Maria out of this life so she could get the chance she didn’t take eighteen years ago. Why did she always experience these conflicting emotions? Sylvia had grown so used to the guilt that as soon as she felt anything other than that around Grace, she’d feel guilty for not feeling guilty anymore, and then everything would go back to the way it was before; feeling as though she’d had her chance to be a mother and blew it, and didn’t deserve another one. Silly, she knew, but the subconscious mind was a complex thing. Grace seemed genuinely okay with having been given up for adoption, but Sylvia’s scientific mind needed proof; she needed to hear her say it.

Despite it being the first day of winter, Sylvia took off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves in anticipation of her six-monthly cleaning ritual at the clinic. They had a professional cleaner of course; it was necessary in an environment frequented by tons of sick people, not to mention children with perpetually runny noses and the odd insect stuck in a bodily orifice. But this was a different cleaning job. This was the biannual complete rejuvenation of her consulting room, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. No cleaner, professional or otherwise, could do as good a job as she.

She’d remove everything from the desk, shelves, storage cabinets, and even remove the pictures from the wall, in order to clean every corner and crevice of the room. Then she’d discard old items, and reorganise the others, putting them away in the most appropriate place to allow for a clutter-free look and efficient withdrawal when the item was needed. It was a shame Dr Bronovski didn’t aspire to such heights. Once, when Sylvia went to his room to borrow a book on spinal injuries, she’d opened the book only to have a spider crawl out and onto her hand, her reflex response causing the spider and the book to be flung against the wall behind her. Probably giving the spider a spinal injury of its own, the poor thing.

‘Hi Dr Greene,’ a woman said as Sylvia exited the storeroom carrying a stepladder, an array of cloths, and a bottle of Spray & Wipe.

The woman was a heavily pregnant Samantha Roseford. ‘Samantha, how are you?’

‘Pretty good. Could pop any day now,’ she said, rubbing her belly. ‘All’s looking good for a natural birth at this stage, which is good, but scary at the same time!’

‘Natural is better whenever possible. Have you just had an appointment with someone?’ Sylvia asked.

Samantha nodded. ‘The physio. My back’s been killing me. Feels much better now, but there’s only so much you can do when there are two human beings pressing on my nerves. Not to mention my bladder!’

Sylvia nodded in sympathy. ‘Well, take it easy. And remember, early labour can sometimes feel like a backache, so if it persists or gets worse, make sure you contact Dr Engelstein or the hospital, okay?’ Sylvia remembered the sensation. A dull, crawling ache spreading throughout her lower back, like a grey storm cloud looming on the horizon. Then the tight pain, extending around to her front, sharp like one gigantic hailstone trying to erupt. And just when you think you can’t take any more, the relief comes like a breath of fresh air. But only for a moment. Soon, the stormy pain becomes a tornado within, increasing in intensity with each heartbeat. Sylvia winced at the memory. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She thought she’d been prepared, but nothing could have prepared her for the enormity of the pain, or how feverish and out of control she’d felt during each contraction.

‘Yep, don’t worry, I’m going straight home to put my feet up. Mike’s on cooking duty till these munchkins are born, and probably for a while after, I’d say!’ Samantha hobbled past Sylvia then stopped, curiously eyeing the cleaning equipment. ‘I didn’t know you were a cleaner as well as a doctor.’

Sylvia laughed. ‘No, I’m just giving my room a bit of a spring clean—in winter.’

‘Feel free to come by my house anytime, Dr Greene,’ Samantha said, winking.

Sylvia farewelled Samantha and made her way into her consulting room. She opened up the folded stepladder and placed it below the wall shelves, before placing her hands on her hips and surveying the scene, mentally planning her mission.

An hour and a half later the mission was nearly complete. Sylvia stood on top of the ladder putting folders and archive boxes away on the top shelf, when a knock sounded on the door. Mark Bastian popped his head around the door.

‘I’m off, you right to lock up?’

‘Of course,’ she replied.

‘Good.’ Mark disappeared for a moment before popping his head back in. ‘How’s Grace? She must be feeling a lot better by now?’

Grace had been taking the required tablets religiously, so she said, since her hospital visit almost two months ago. Sylvia had managed to get her to stay a whole week at her place before Grace said she didn’t want to impose any further, and that she’d be fine back at the caravan. She’d cut back on her sporting endeavours, but returned to taekwondo, and kept up a consistent practise schedule on Sylvia’s piano. ‘She is, thanks for asking. Levels aren’t completely back to normal, but they’re well on their way.’

‘That’s good. She came in a few weeks ago and was much better then, so I was hoping things were still improving,’ Mark said.

‘Yes, she mentioned how she quite enjoys her acupuncture sessions now. Says they’re relaxing. But how anyone could enjoy having tiny needles stuck into their skin is beyond me!’ Sylvia managed a friendly laugh.

‘You should try it sometime, you might be pleasantly surprised.’ Mark’s lips formed that incredibly charming smile, and Sylvia looked away.

‘Hmmm…we’ll see.’ She placed the last folder on the top shelf and stepped onto the rung of the ladder below her feet. Her right toe didn’t quite grab though, and it slipped downwards. A sting burned her ankle and a jolt jumped up through her body as her bottom landed with a thud on the floor.

‘Are you alright?’ Mark asked, kneeling on the floor next to her.

All she could do was scrunch up her face as though she was in labour. ‘Ow!’ A red swelling grew on her ankle, and she clutched at it in effort to stop it.

‘Here, let me get you up on the bed.’ Mark gathered her in his arms, just as he’d done with Grace the night she’d collapsed. Mark didn’t make a sound as he lifted her, but Sylvia knew he held back a grunt. She wasn’t that heavy, but lifting another adult usually required at least
some
verbal strain. He paused in front of the examination bed, Sylvia still in his arms. ‘On second thoughts, let’s get you onto
my
bed. I mean, the bed…table thingy in my room…the one I use for acupuncture!’ Mark’s face was almost as red as her ankle, but she wasn’t up to making a joke about it. Mark, along with his cumbersome load, swivelled around quickly towards the direction of the door, but Sylvia’s ankle collided with the bed.

‘Owwww!!’

‘Sorry!’

‘Christ! Why did you have to go and do that!’ Sylvia yelled. ‘Holy Mother of God this hurts!’ Sylvia bit her lip to stifle the pain, and Mark swivelled this way and that, seemingly unsure of whether to put her down or continue with his decision of transferring her to his bed, er, table. As Sylvia continued her blasphemous expletives, Mark scurried into his room and placed her onto his acupuncture table, elevating Sylvia’s leg on a pillow.

‘Ice. You need ice. Hold on!’ Mark disappeared then returned with an icepack covered in a flannel pouch. He placed it on her ankle and wrapped a bandage firmly around it.

‘Arghh! Too cold!’

‘Tough. You need it. You know—RICE?’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t need rice! Arghh!’

‘Not rice, R-I-C-E. Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. Basic first aid?’ Mark teased like she’d forgotten the sum of two plus two. ‘The ice will numb it a little soon, then I’ll see what magic I can summon from my bag of tricks.’ He smiled at her, clearly amused by her low pain threshold.

‘Magic my arse, get me some pain killers now!’

‘Sylvia, don’t be so quick to resort to drugs. I can help you, just trust me.’

Trust me? Whenever anyone uttered those words the situation never ended well.
Dear God, help me!
Although, he probably wasn’t listening to her now after all her cursing.

Mark left the room and returned with a glass of water. He took a container of something off a shelf, and paused before opening it. ‘You’re not on any blood-thinning medications or immune suppressants by any chance are you?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Take these, it’ll help.’ Mark held three capsules and the glass of water in front of Sylvia, and she scrunched up her face even more.

‘What are they?’

‘Anti-inflammatory and pain relieving herbs, plus some nutrients.’

‘Forget that, get me some Nurofen, please!’

‘Sylvia, just give these a go. It’s the same formula I took to heal my old soccer injury. They’re perfectly safe, and very effective,’ Mark urged.

‘Oh yeah? Show me the clinical trial results.’

‘They’ve had some basic studies done on them, but unfortunately there’s no funding for the incredibly expensive process of a clinical trial,’ Mark said. ‘That doesn’t mean they don’t work though. I can trawl through the research on the ingredients now if you like, might take me an hour or so. Or…’ Mark held the capsules close to Sylvia’s mouth. ‘You can open your mouth and swallow the bloody tablets!’

‘Okay, okay!’ Sylvia put one capsule on her tongue and took a swig of water, before swallowing the remaining two. ‘There. Happy now?’

‘Not yet. A combination of therapies works best.’ Mark ripped open an alcohol swab.

‘What are you doing?’ Sylvia inched her head back, cowering in her vulnerability.