We’ll save the clinic for tomorrow when we’re fresh.”
“I want to find out about getting out to the Great Barrier Reef,” Wendy said.
“I can’t wait. I’ve heard it’s the best diving in the world.”
“Why don’t you hop in the shower first?” Marissa said.
“I want to look up Female Care Australia in the phone book and figure out where it is on the city map.”
Wendy didn’t argue. She scooted off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom while Marissa flipped through the phone book on the night-table between the beds. The clinic was located in a nearby suburb called Herston. Checking the map provided by the hotel, she noted that Herston was just north of Brisbane. She grabbed a scratch pad bearing the hotel’s name to write down the address.
Marissa. was about to replace the phone book when she thought about Tristan Williams. Opening the directory to the his, she ran her finger down the column.
Just then, the door to the bathroom opened. Steam billowed out.
“Your turn,” Wendy called. She had one towel wrapped around her head, another around her body.
“I can’t believe how good it felt, especially washing my hair.”
“Our pathologist friend’s not in the phone book,” Marissa said.
Wendy smiled.
“That would have been too easy.”
Marissa put the phone book away, then stepped into the bathroom for her shower.
When the phone rang, Marissa had trouble rousing herself.
Groggily she groped for the receiver. A cheerful voice at the other end of the line told her it was noon. Marissa hardly knew what to make of it. It wasn’t until she saw Wendy soundly sleeping in the bed next to her that she recalled where she was.
Lying back down again, Marissa almost fell back to sleep. But remembering her own advice, she forced herself to get up. For the moment she was so exhausted that she was nauseated, yet she knew she had to adapt to the time difference.
Wendy hadn’t budged. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Marissa. gently shook her friend’s shoulder.
“Wendy!” Marissa called softly. Then louder: “Wendy, time to wake up.”
“Already?” Wendy asked groggily. She pushed herself up to a sitting position. Then she groaned.
“Oh, my word! I feel awful.”
Marissa nodded.
“I know it’s hard; I’m still exhausted. It feels like midnight but it’s only noon. We’d better get used to it.”
Wendy threw herself back on the bed.
“Tell the tour director I died,” she said.
An hour later, Marissa and Wendy descended in the elevator to the lobby, feeling much improved. A second shower and room service “tucker,” as the bellboy had called the food, had revived them more than they’d expected.
Once they were in the lobby, Wendy went to a nearby travel agency to make inquiries about the Great Barrier Reef while Marissa waited in line to speak with the concierge concerning Brisbane sightseeing. The two rendezvoused half an hour later.
“I got it all figured out,” Wendy reported.
“Take a look at this.” She smoothed out a map of the entire Queensland coastline including all the offshore islands.
“Holy Toledo,” Marissa. exclaimed.
“How long is this reef? It looks like it goes all the way to New Guinea.”
“Practically,” Wendy said.
“It’s well over a thousand miles long and in area it’s larger than Britain. But we’re going here, to Hamilton Island.” Wendy poked her finger halfway up the peninsula.
“It’s part of the Whitsunday Island group.”
“Are you sure I’m going to like this?” Marissa said. She wasn’t big on diving as her friend.
“You’re going to love it!” Wendy said.
“Hamilton Island is a good choice because it’s got an airport that takes regular jets. We can fly directly from Brisbane with Ansett Airlines. Usually they’re pretty well booked, but it turns out that April is offseason.”
“Even that doesn’t sound so good to me,” Marissa said.
“If it’s offseason, there’s usually a good reason, like it’s not a good time to go.”
“I was told that we may have a thunderstorm or two, but that’s the only negative,” Wendy said.
“Is diving on this reef dangerous?” Marissa asked.
“Don’t worry! We’ll have a dive master with us,” Wendy assured her.
“We’ll charter a boat and head out to the outer reef.
That’s where there are the most fish and the clearest water.”
“What about sharks?” Marissa asked.
“They didn’t say anything about sharks,” Wendy said.
“But sharks stay out in deep water. We’ll be diving on the reef itself.
I’m telling you, you’ll love it. Trust me.”
“Well, I have some tamer information,” Marissa said.
“The concierge recommended we take a city bus tour. At first she said to walk around, but when I told her we’d just flown in, she told me about the buses. She said we should be sure to visit the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary.”
“Wonderful!” Wendy said with glee.
“I love koalas.”
The bus tour was their first order of business. They were driven around in air-conditioned comfort and viewed such sights as the French Renaissance-style Parliament House and the Italian Renaissance-style
Treasury building. The streets were loaded with sidewalk cafes. Marissa couldn’t get over how relaxed and casual everyone looked.
Fatigue eventually took over again. During the second hour both Marissa and Wendy nodded off as the bus slowed for a viewing of the new Queensland Cultural Center. They roused a bit for the visit to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary. Not only were there more koala bears than they could have imagined, there were dingos, kookaburras, kangaroos, and evena platypus. They were able to walk among the kangaroos and feed them by hand.
The strength of the animals’ curled front paws came as a surprise.
The most appealing creatures by far were the koala bears.
Wendy was ecstatic when she learned she could hold one, but when she did, her enthusiasm waned. They had a peculiar odor that she found unpleasant.
K
“It’s because of their eucalyptus diet,” one of the keepers explained.
After they’d watched a koala bear show and learned all sorts of koala bear trivia, they’d had enough. Boarding a city bus, they returned to the hotel.
“No, you don’t!” Marissa said as she restrained Wendy from collapsing on the bed.
“Please!” Wendy begged.
“Tell the tour director I have a touch of the bubonic plague.”
After their third shower of the day, they followed a suggestion from the concierge and took a short walk across the Victoria Bridge to the Queensland Cultural Center. In a rather modern restaurant called the Fountain Room, they relaxed for their first dinner in Australia. The view of the city across the muddy river was superb.
“I want to try something Australian,” Wendy said, hiding behind a huge menu. They ended up ordering barra mundi a type of Australian perch. To complement the food, they selected a chilled Australian Chablis. Once it came and was opened for them, the two women toasted their Australian adventure.
After tasting the wine, Marissa smiled contentedly. Its crisp finish was a delight to her palate. For the moment she was blithely confident the trip would mean just the right combination of relaxation and research.
“Ahhhh,” Wendy murmured, peering into her long-stemmed glass.
“Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Amen,” Marissa agreed.
The next morning, after a hearty English breakfast, Marissa and Wendy hailed a cab.
“Do you know this address?” Marissa asked. She’d given the driver the piece of paper with the FCA clinic’s address on it.
“Sure, luv!” he said.
“That’s the women’s clinic, it is. Buckle up and I can have you there straightaway.”
The ride to Herston was pleasant. As they entered the green and hilly suburbs, they noticed a number of quaint, wide perched tin-roofed homes built on stilts.
“Those are called Queenslanders,” the driver explained.
“Built in the air to keep ‘em away from water. The verandas are to keep em cool. Gets mighty hot here in the summertime.”
In minutes, the cab pulled up to a strikingly modern four-story building surfaced entirely with bronzed mirrored glass. The
ISI grounds were landscaped with gorgeous flowering trees and bushes.
Getting out of the cab, Marissa and Wendy were struck by the sounds of the birds. They seemed to be everywhere: brightly colored and chirping and squawking. On the sidewalk leading to the entrance of the clinic they ran into a flock of mynah birds quarreling over a piece of bread.
As soon as the entrance doors closed behind them, the women stopped, awed by the building’s interior. The FCA wasn’t like any clinic they’d ever visited. The floors were gleaming onyx. The walls were a dark tropical wood polished to a high gloss.
“This place looks like a law firm,” Wendy said uneasily.
“You sure you got the right address?”
There was a lush garden area in the center of the building featuring the same mix of flowering trees as outside. There was evena small pond with a waterfall constructed of red granite blocks.
At one end of the spacious lobby was an information area that looked more like the front desk of a luxury hotel.
“Can we be of assistance?” asked one of the two perky receptionists.
Instead of the white that was standard in American clinics, these women were dressed in brightly colored floral prints.
“We’re doctors from the United States,” Marissa said.
“We are interested in your facility. We were wondering if-” “From America!” the woman said with delight.
“I’ve just returned from California. How nice of you to visit. I’ll ring up Mr.
Carstans. One moment, please.”
The receptionist dialed a phone in front of her and spoke briefly. Hanging up, she said, “Mr. Carstans will be out directly.
Perhaps you would care to sit in our waiting area beyond those planters.” She pointed with her pen.
“Who’s Mr. Carstans?” Wendy asked.
“He’s our public relations man,” the receptionist explained.
Marissa and Wendy walked over to the sitting area.
“Public relations man?” Wendy questioned.
“How many clinics do you know that have public relations men?”
“My thought exactly,” Marissa said.
“This clinic must do a healthy amount of business to justify that kind of expense.”
After a few minutes’ wait, a man approached them.
“G’day, ladies,” he said.
Carstans was a tall, corpulent fellow with ruddy cheeks. He was wearing shorts along with a jacket and tie.
“Welcome to FCA. My name is Bruce Carstans. What can we do for you?”
“I’m Dr. Blumenthal and this is Dr. Wilson,” Marissa said.
“Gynecologists?” Mr. Carstans asked.
“I’m a pediatrician,” Marissa said.
“I’m an ophthalmologist,” Wendy said.
“Our fame must be spreading far and wide,” Mr. Carstans said with a smile.
“Usually we only have overseas gynecologists for visitors. Are you ladies game for a tour of our establishment?”
The women exchanged glances, then shrugged.
“Why not?”
Wendy said.
“It would be interesting,” Marissa agreed.
For the next hour Marissa and Wendy were treated to a look at the most up-to-date medical facility either had ever seen. The clinic offered a full battery of women’s medical services. There were X-ray rooms, a CAT scanner, and eve nan NMR machine.
There were examination rooms, waiting rooms, minor surgery rooms, as well as delivery and birthing rooms. There was also an overnight ward.
By far the most impressive part of the clinic was the infertility section, boasting its own surgical wing capable of major surgical procedures. There were also six fully computerized ultrasound rooms. Filled with the absolute latest equipment, they had a Star Wars appearance. The clinical infertility lab was a huge room with large incubators, centrifuges, and modern cryogenic units.
Marissa and Wendy thought they’d seen it all when Mr. Carstans opened a heavy door and stepped aside for them to enter.
