A Nurse In Crisis

‘Would you be?’ she retorted weakly. She’d lost weight since he’d last seen her, just before the surgery, and it was starting to show in the loose fit of her clothing, though there had been a time, long before he’d known her, when she had been far, far thinner than this.

‘You have some news for me, don’t you?’ It came out abruptly, coloured by the accent she hadn’t lost even after more than fifty years away from her native Germany.

‘Yes, I do.’ He sat down in the armchair at right angles to the couch where she lay, her legs and torso covered in a mohair blanket. ‘And not good news, I’m afraid.’

He knew she wouldn’t appreciate prevarication. Even his tiny pause now was pounced on.

‘Don’t keep me in suspense, then!’

‘There was cancer throughout your liver, and the surgeon was unable to locate the primary tumour. That means the cancer didn’t originate in the liver. It has metastasised from a primary tumour elsewhere. Chemotherapy is an option for you, but it won’t be a cure. It’ll give you several more months, that’s all. I’m sorry, Hilde, there’s no easy way to say this.’

She’d taken a sharp in-breath as she’d understood the truth, and now she was nodding slowly. ‘I’m dying, then.’

‘Yes. It was a surprise. Had you been feeling more discomfort and pain than you told me about?’

‘Ach! Pain!’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s relative, isn’t it? Where’s Marianne? You sent her off to the kitchen, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Thank you…’

They could both hear the rattle of bone china teacups on their matching saucers, and the sound of cupboard doors opening and shutting. ‘Shall I call her in?’ Marshall asked.

‘No, let her wait for the kettle. I’ll just…digest this.’

She sat in silence, thinking, and he waited, wondering whether to reach out and touch her hand. He decided after a moment that she wouldn’t appreciate it, and stayed where he was.

Then she looked up. ‘So, may I articulate this situation more precisely?’

‘Of course, Hilde. Any questions, anything at all…’

‘I’m seventy-two years old. I am dying from a cancer that has spread throughout my body. I can choose to let death come soon…How soon?’

‘A few months,’ he offered. ‘Three or four, perhaps. It’s very hard to say.’

‘Or, by having a course of chemotherapy, I can live longer. Again, how much longer?’

‘Three or four months more. I’m sorry, it’s so hard to be specific. Everyone is different.’

‘The chemotherapy will make me sick.’

‘Probably.’

‘And I’ll lose my hair.’ She touched the grey knot on top of her head.

‘No, actually, you won’t with this particular treatment.’

‘Ah, a plus! Not that my hair is so magnificent!’

They both smiled a little. In the kitchen, the kettle began to sing. Mrs Deutschkron was silent.

‘I’ve fought death before, you know,’ she said suddenly. ‘In Berlin, in the war, and in a place in Poland which I won’t name!’

‘I know you have.’ He nodded. Of her entire extended family, she had been the only survivor of those nightmare years in Europe, and had come to Australia in 1947, aged twenty.

‘But do I wish to fight it now? That is what I have to decide.’

Marianne came in with teacups, cosy-covered pot, milk, sugar and a plate of biscuits on a tray.

‘What is it you have to decide, Mum?’ she said.

When she heard, she burst into tears.

‘She’s urging her mother to have the treatment, but I’m not sure if that’s best,’ Marshall told Aimee. ‘As you know, a lot of people react very badly to it. I hope Mrs Deutschkron feels able to make her own decision.’

‘Her daughter cares about her?’

‘Oh, very much. Which can make people selfish sometimes.’

‘And the reverse. It can make people sacrifice their own desires and needs.’

‘I have a sense that Mrs Deutschkron is going to think about it all very carefully before she makes up her mind. I’ve told her there’s no rush. She needs to be healed from the surgery first. I’ll wait a few weeks before I press her for a decision.’

‘Yes, it’s not something to rush, is it?’

They stood in silence for a moment, and Aimee felt the sleeve of Marshall’s shirt warm against her bare arm. Although it was only the end of July, this Friday afternoon was sunny and mild, and she’d taken off her light jacket to reveal a black-and-white-striped knit shirt beneath. Zebra stripes. Appropriate for a visit to the zoo.

She hadn’t understood, at first, when Marshall had suggested the idea. ‘Since we’re both off work on Friday afternoon, can I extend the dinner plan we’ve already made to include something else?’ he’d said to her the previous day, catching her during a quiet moment in the corridor at the practice.

‘That would be lovely,’ she’d answered, having had to conceal just how much her heart had jumped with pleasure at the thought of spending more time with him. Quite shamelessly, she hadn’t cared a bit what it was! An invitation to help him fill out his tax return? Delightful! A trip to the local garage to get the spare tyre fixed? A dream come true!

‘I’d like to introduce you to Felix, you see.’

‘Felix…’ she’d echoed blankly. Who was that? Not his son, she knew. A brother? Evidently someone important…

But he’d grinned. ‘Can’t quite call him a friend. More of a protégée.’

‘Ah.’ She’d nodded seriously. A young medical student from a disadvantaged background, perhaps? But that didn’t seem…

‘I sponsor him. The name’s not official, by the way. He’s a black-necked stork at the Taronga Park Zoo. I’ve told him all about you and he’s dying to look you over.’

‘Oh, Marshall!’

Another grin, quite shameless.

‘You really had me going there!’

‘I know, but I’m very fond of the zoo. I’m a “zoo friend”, and a diamond sponsor member. There’s a collared peccary at the Western Plains Zoo with whom I have a special relationship as well.’