The January Wish (27 page)

Mark smiled. ‘Looks like you’ll be trying acupuncture sooner than you thought.’ He peeled back the hem on her trousers, rolling it up to the knee.

Despite being still in pain, Sylvia quickly leaned forward, trying to remember if she’d shaved her legs. Some days in winter she’d give it a miss, but she couldn’t stand the stubbly feeling and was usually a regular shaver. Relieved to find no stubble in sight, it finally registered what Mark was about to do. ‘You’re not going to stick needles into my sore ankle are you?’

Mark repositioned the icepack to the underside of Sylvia’s ankle and wiped the alcohol swab on a few areas of her foot and leg. He then picked up something small and held it just under her kneecap, and tapped at it. When he removed his hand a tiny hair-like needle protruded from her skin.

‘That’s it?’ she asked.

Mark simply smiled and nodded, before doing the same thing twice more, to a spot at the base of her toe, and then, right on the ankle. She didn’t even feel them go in!

‘Dr Greene, you are now experiencing the benefits of acupuncture,’ he said smugly.

‘I don’t know about benefits, the pain’s still there,’ Sylvia assured.

‘Give it time. I’ll also do some other points to help with your anxiety.’ Mark opened another alcohol swab.

‘Anxiety? I’m not anxious, I’m in pain!’

Mark swabbed a spot on her wrist, and another on her ear.

‘My ear? Don’t you dare stick a needle in my ear!’

He tapped a needle into her wrist, then brought his hands to her ear. ‘I see you’ve got your ears pierced. This’ll be nothing to you.’

Sylvia braced herself, but a quick tap later it was done. Nothing. It didn’t hurt. But she probably looked like a pincushion.

‘I’ll leave those in for about fifteen minutes. Just close your eyes and try to relax, while I make a herbal compress for your ankle.’ Sylvia watched as Mark put his iPod into a dock on his desk, then went to the bench on the side wall to make whatever he was going to make.

Relaxation music softly permeated the room, and she finally did as she was told and closed her eyes, trying to relax despite the rhythmic throbbing in her ankle. After a while, Mark came over to her and began removing the needles, pushing down on her skin with a cotton ball after he removed each one.

‘It’s not so bad now, is it?’ he asked.

The pain had certainly reduced, it was no longer a ‘Holy Mother of God!’ type of pain, but more of an ‘Oh, Geez!’ type of pain. ‘I think the ice has numbed the pain a bit,’ was all she was prepared to say.

‘Now I’ll remove the ice, you still need some blood flow to the area.’ Mark gently pressed a herb-soaked cloth into her skin, and wrapped it around her ankle. ‘Leave this compress on for a while, then alternate between that and the ice every twenty minutes.’

‘Okay, but…I do have to get home you know, I can’t stay here all night.’

‘It’s alright, I’ll drive you home. But I think you should give work a miss tomorrow so you can keep the ankle elevated, and use the ice and compress every two hours.’

‘I can’t miss work! My hands and brain still work, I can just stay seated and elevate my foot at lunchtime,’ Sylvia demanded.

‘Well, it’s up to you, but my advice would be to rest. Otherwise you could have a sore ankle for a few weeks, but if you follow my advice it may only be a few days of discomfort,’ Mark said. ‘Look, while we wait for the compress to do its magic, why don’t I call Joyce to let her know what’s happened, and I’ll call the patients booked in tomorrow to reschedule them?’

He was right. And Sylvia decided she’d much prefer to recover from this injury sooner rather than later. ‘Okay then,
Dr Bastian
,’ Sylvia said. ‘As long as you don’t mind?’

‘No problem,’ he replied, and turned the music up a little before walking from the room.

Wow. He was prepared to play receptionist for her? That would be a lot of phone calls he’d have to make. Plus, Mr Benson was due in tomorrow. He’d probably keep Mark on the phone for hours. Sylvia took a deep breath, deciding to make the most of the time by mentally planning her day tomorrow. If she was going to stay home she didn’t want it to be a waste. First, she’d catch up on reading the medical journals she’d stored away. Then, she’d call her parents to double-check they were all set to come to the charity concert this weekend. Then, she’d indulge and spend time reading a novel, which she normally only did in the evening before bed. She could keep some food on her bedside table, and order a pizza delivery for dinner. Hmm, apart from the sore ankle, this might actually be fun! In a way it was nice to be a patient for a day instead of a doctor.

‘How you manage that much of a patient load I have no idea,’ Mark said as he came back in the room over an hour later. ‘And Mr Benson likes to talk, doesn’t he? How’s the ankle?’

‘Resting is helping,’ Sylvia replied. She wasn’t yet prepared to say his treatment was helping.

‘I’m sure it is.’ Mark grinned. ‘I’ve put the herbal capsules and a bottle of liquid herbs to use for the compress in this bag.’ He held up a paper bag. ‘You’ll need to take three capsules every two or three hours, but don’t exceed eighteen capsules in the one day, got it?’

‘Got it.’

‘And every two hours, put ice on the ankle for twenty minutes, then the compress for another twenty minutes, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. I’ve brought the car round front, so let’s get you home.’ Mark slid his arms underneath her, ready to lift.

‘Wait. I need my handbag, it’s in my room,’ Sylvia said.

Mark walked out and soon came back, the bag strap across his shoulder.

‘Nice look, Marky,’ Sylvia teased.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He went to lift her again, but Sylvia stopped him.

‘I think I can walk out, if you grab me some crutches from the store room?’

‘Alright then. You’ll be needing them at home anyway.’ Again, Mark left the room and returned, this time with crutches under his arms, one foot off the ground, pretending to be Sylvia. ‘Holy Mother of God!’ he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

‘Ha ha, very funny. I’d like to see you deal with a sprained ankle that’s been whacked against a hard surface by an indecisive man.’

‘I’d like to see you try to lift a grown adult from the floor onto a bed,’ Mark rebutted.

‘I reckon I could,’ Sylvia replied.

Mark grinned as he helped Sylvia off the bed, wedging the crutches into her armpits.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in Sylvia’s living room, Sylvia’s foot propped up on the coffee table, eating Thai food and discussing their past injuries and illnesses.

‘When I was about seven, I was standing next to a see-saw in the park when my friend jumped on the other end of it, the wooden seat flying up and hitting me in the chin. Eight stitches, I needed,’ Sylvia said proudly.

‘Beat this—my brother and I were skateboarding one day when I was about eight, and we sat on them to roll down a steep hill. I careened into some shrubbery and a branch scraped into my leg as I rolled past. Fourteen stitches,’ Mark said even more proudly than Sylvia.

‘Well, when I was sixteen I spent thirteen hours in excruciating pain that no acupuncture needle could ever fix. As for stitches, I won’t even go there!’

‘Okay you win,’ Mark said, smiling.

Childbirth. Barring large kidney stones, it always won out for the most painful experience. Although during her hospital training in the emergency department, Sylvia had seen things that seemed contradictory to that. She’d enjoyed the excitement of the emergency rotation, but couldn’t do it all the time—too unpredictable. Chronic care in a relaxed clinical setting was more her thing.

‘I better get going and leave you to get some sleep,’ Mark said, getting up from the couch. ‘I’ll send you an itemised bill for tonight’s treatment, shall I?’ He raised his eyebrows.

Was he serious? Sylvia searched his face, his expression straightlaced, before it softened into a wide grin. The bugger!

‘Got you there didn’t I! Don’t worry, I’ll put this one down as a free trial,’ he said. ‘Now let me help you get organised for the night before I go.’ He switched off the lights, leaving the hall light on, and put the empty food containers in the bin. ‘I’ll put these in your room,’ he said, lifting up a bottle of water, the herbal capsules, and her handbag. Then he came over to Sylvia and despite her protest, lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed. He brought the crutches in and laid them against the wall, and wrapped a newly soaked herbal compress around her ankle. ‘Do you have an old stretchy sock you can wear over the compress to hold it in place and prevent staining your sheets?’

‘Top drawer, the one on the right.’ Sylvia gestured to her dresser. Thankfully her socks were kept neatly bundled in there along with only stockings and scarves. Her underwear was in the drawer on the left.

‘I guess you never have the problem of odd socks,’ Mark said as he opened the drawer. Her drawers had little narrow trays inside that housed everything neatly, in groups of like-colours.

‘I don’t understand how people say their socks go missing. You wash them, hang them to dry, roll the pair up and put them away. How hard is it?’ Sylvia said.

Mark simply smiled his recurring smile and held up a pair of thick woolly bed socks. ‘These do?’

Sylvia nodded.

He slid them onto her feet, careful not to irritate her ankle, then pulled the blanket and quilt over her body. ‘If you’re right for work on Wednesday I’ll pick you up on the way,’ he offered.

Sylvia yawned and nodded at the same time. All this excitement had worn her out and she was desperate for sleep. Mark just sat there, on the side of her bed, looking at her with an expression that seemed familiar. When had he worn that face before? Of course. It was the night they’d played candlelit scrabble. The night before they almost…

Just as Sylvia recognised the expression, Mark’s face came closer and his breath warmed her face as his lips gently met hers. Tentatively at first, he cushioned her mouth with his, then pressed more firmly, gathering her bottom lip between his hungry lips. All the pain melted away. Forget acupuncture and pain killers, kissing won out big time. ‘Is that part of your treatment protocol for my ankle?’ Sylvia whispered when they pulled away from each other.

‘I’ll add it to the bill,’ he said, kissing her one last time and closing the door behind him as he walked out.

When Mark arrived at work on Friday morning Sylvia was in the kitchen, washing out her coffee mug. He’d driven her to and from work the last two days, but today she assured him she could make her own way, as she was meeting Larissa for an early breakfast in town. He’d had dinner with her every night this week too, and spent each evening talking, laughing, and cuddling with her on the couch, except last night as Grace was there practising piano. Things were looking up, and the stab of guilt he’d usually feel around Sylvia wasn’t as strong anymore, more like a subtle tap on the shoulder. He didn’t feel completely ready for a relationship, but this was a start. They could just take things slow.

‘Good morning. I see you’re walking around quite normally now,’ Mark said as Sylvia put her mug away and walked up to greet him.

‘Yeah, it’s not too bad now,’ she said casually.

‘Not too bad?’

‘Okay, it’s much better than I’d imagined it would be at this stage.’

‘So you’re a total convert to natural medicine now?’ Mark asked expectantly.

‘Not quite. Let’s just say I’m…pleasantly surprised.’

‘That’s good enough for me, doctor,’ Mark said, giving her a peck on the lips. ‘How’s Grace? Is she excited about the concert tomorrow?’

‘She seems fine. But I think she just wants to get it over and done with. I’m going to join her at the dress rehearsal tonight.’

‘Well, I can’t wait to see her performance. And the others, I hear there’s quite a line-up.’

Sylvia nodded. ‘Should be a good night.’

‘Hey, I forgot to ask, where did you have to rush off to yesterday?’

‘Oh. One of my elderly patients died. I had to examine the body and sign the death certificate,’ Sylvia said.

‘Sorry to hear that, are you okay?’ Mark rubbed Sylvia’s arm.

‘Yeah, I’ve done quite a few, I’m used to it. She was a sweetie though, Mrs Johnson. Her husband died right before Christmas last year, and her sister told me she’d never stopped setting the table for him every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When I went into the bedroom to examine her body, I noticed a photograph of her husband on the pillow on his side of the bed. The sister told me she always kept it there, couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping without him by her side. Poor thing.’

Sylvia was silent for a moment, and Mark realised something. He knew exactly how Mrs Johnson had felt. He understood completely why she did those things. He never set a place at the table for Cindy, but he still had her picture on his bedside table, and on the wall in the entry foyer of his house. Cindy was everywhere. And there was still that mountain of boxes to sort through.

A yell from the waiting room broke the silence. ‘Sylvia, come quick!’

Mark and Sylvia rushed from the kitchen to see Joyce fussing over a patient in the waiting room. The overweight man was clutching his chest and had half collapsed onto the chair next to him. Another patient sat nearby, clenching the armrests of her chair, her face lined with concern.

‘Mr Benson,’ Sylvia said as she approached the patient. ‘It’s Dr Greene, are you having pain in your chest?’

So that was the talkative bugger he’d spoken to on the phone on Monday evening. Mark felt a twinge of guilt for feeling annoyed with him, and hoped he’d be okay.

Fear darkening his eyes, Mr Benson nodded. ‘And my shoulder. So tight!’ Tiny buds of sweat grew on his forehead. ‘Dizzy too,’ he panted.

Sylvia calmly turned to Joyce and asked her to call an ambulance, then took a few pillows from the Kids Corner of the waiting room and placed them under Mr Benson’s head, lifting his feet onto the row of chairs so he was semi-reclined. ‘How bad is the pain on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Nine,’ Mr Benson strained.

‘Do you have your nitroglycerine pills with you?’ Sylvia asked.