I Want to Live, Andy!

I want to live, Andy!
Mr George, Mr George, are you alright?

Nurse Millie grabbed the surgeon by the sleeve, but he slipped past her and leaned his head into the crook of his arm against the clinics cold corridor wall, silent.

Millie, with a strange pride, thought fleetingly how doctors always give themselves to others, work so hard they nearly faint. No one ever really values that, she mused. The patient George had just operated on would never see this.

Mr George, whats wrong? Shall I call…

Dont, he said, pulling his head away from the wall and staggering towards the on-call room, Its fine, dont worry.

He dropped, exhausted, onto the old leather sofa. Was it really fine? It wasnt the first time hed been caught in a spell of dizziness. Overwork, most likely.

He used to have real weekends once, he remembered hazily enough to unwind after the chaos of the ward, to visit friends with his wife, take the kids to Hampstead Heath or Richmond Park.

Now, though, what did it matter? Every doctor covered three hospitals, there was no rest, and Georges second marriage, younger wife, schoolchildren, all cost money. Hed wanted to change the car recently too.

But that wasnt the real crux of it all. George craved being needed, the pride of being the best, of victories won and for twenty years he had achieved all that as a doctor, loved by patients and respected by his peers. Hed been invited, promised things, and paid handsomely.

Paul, he phoned the anaesthetist, Is Liz in today?

Hi, George, yes, shes here.

By the end of the day, George was already inside the MRI scanner, its jarring noises barely masked by the headphones soft music.

Suddenly, fear gripped him the sort where you want to squeeze a bell till they haul you out of the suffocating tunnel. He tried to distract himself with pleasant memories, but nothing came.

He drifted down the staircase of his memory. Second marriage… He pictured himself, a practising surgeon and father, married to his daughter Lucys primary school teacher.

The MRIs relentless rattle drowned out attempts to recall any real happiness from that time: just work-home-work. His first marriage was worse, memories tainted by an ugly divorce.

Student days, then? Yes. That was something. The first four years.

His memory hooked onto that line and reeled him back, away from the grinding of the scanner, to the young medical student he had been, in an unfamiliar city York with his mates: Victor and Andy.

Andy had been a gentle soul from a small town, glasses perched on his nose, brilliant but unassuming, with a strange charisma in his quiet blue eyes behind thick lenses.

Andy remembered everything, could answer almost any question.

Victor was his opposite: a big, cheerful lad from the fens, loud, blunt, always talking, good-natured, prone to befriending an entire floor rather than actually studying.

George worried about the exams too, convinced hed be the one to fail amazed by Andys knowledge and Victors glibness. In reality, only their fourth flatmate didnt make it. The three of them became close friends.

No halls for first-years, though. Andys bustling, caring mother found them a flat to share.

God bless you boys! shed said, fussing over them after stacking the freezer with homemade British casseroles. Behave now.

Cor, what a legend your mum is, Andy. What does she do?

She works at the church shop, he mumbled through a mouthful.

Where?

St Stephens. Sells candles, bits and bobs…

So shes… religious?

Of course. So am I, Andy said softly.

The others gazed at the little icons on the window ledge.

Are those yours, then? I thought your mum left them.

She did. For us. Well, for me, Andy said, lowering his eyes.

Victor never held back:

Are you daft? This is science whats the point in all that? Gods meant to fix it all, is he?

A doctor heals bodies; God heals souls, Andy answered.

After that, faith was a topic they left alone. They saw Andy cross himself quietly but kept their peace. He calmed their rows with gentle wisdom. Little upsets didnt worry Andy; where the others argued over cleaning, Andy simply grabbed a mop and started on the floors himself.

Is this really worth a row? Lets just get it done.

It was as if Andy was gifted: he sailed through his first-year exams, Latin came naturally, and somehow he became the thread binding them together.

He fell in love first, oddly enough. Elected to the student union, he met his future wife, Gill, a petite, lively girl with a sharp fringe who took his hand in second year and never let go.

Victor, for all his country ways, proved an enthusiastic medic in practice by second year he was already working with ambulances, loved at the hospital, competent enough for tricky procedures, a regular unpaid helper at the regional cancer clinic.

George studied steadily, had no striking success, but was absorbed by medicine he wanted to be a good doctor.

***

The MRI rolled him out; he gazed out of the window and gulped air, surprised by the claustrophobia.

Liz came in to remove the kit from his head.

Well, Liz? Seen them?

Hold on, let the doctor type it up. Ill call you in later, she said, eyes lowered, maybe just worn out herself.

Ill collect them tomorrow. I want to go home.

But before he could leave, she called, bringing the notes, disk, and scans herself.

George, you know what youre looking at. Dont hang about. Go see Dr Atkinson. Have him check.

George glanced at the report, watched the images flicker on his screen, struggling to recognize his own brain, his own sharp lesion so distinct, so real.

It felt as though he were scrolling through the brain of a patient, not his own. The truth wouldnt land, even as he drove home. He refused to believe it was possible. Not to him.

***

Dr Kit Atkinson was the hospitals leading neurosurgeon.

Ill be honest, George. Youre a fine surgeon yourself. No need to mince words. You can see for yourself.

I see. Is this the end?

Oh, come off it, Atkinson frowned. This is hysteria. You know as well as anyone its in the surgeons hands, and the Lords as well.

It doesnt… It cant be me. I was meant to go to London next week for the Medics Day. They invited me. I wanted to take the family, get away… Now what? What would you do?

Id go to London, but not on holiday. Straight to Simon Rockford. Miracles in that clinic. The numbers are top notch. Only…

Only what?

Hes not operating now, its his team. But the wait there is a year at least. Getting in is another story… But youre well-connected. Well try.

George worked and operated and wrote up notes. The pain hardly troubled him just faintness and dizziness. He found medical ways to keep working, searching for an in with Rockford. Kit was right getting operated on there was almost impossible.

He had to tell his wife Helen. She started packing straightaway.

Helen, Ill have to go to London alone.

What do you mean? She frowned over a blouse, lowering her hands, hurt. Are you serious? And the kids?

Its not a conference, not a show. Im going to hospital. I have a brain tumour, he said, slowly, amazed even as he spoke the words aloud. Saying it made it real.

Helen gazed at him, tears gathering.

Oh god, George… How? Must mean… Ill come with you then.

No, Helen, the op isnt scheduled. I may have to wait. Thats why I need to be there already, waiting for my slot. But there might not be one for ages.

Its that serious, then? she sat, voice trembling, and George told her everything, as best he could, like a lost child: vague suspicions, the tests, the results, his thoughts, memories, hope.

She listened, hands clenched in her lap, silent and he was glad to have someone to talk to. He thought, somehow, his first wife and he never had this kind of trust.

***

Jehovahs Witnesses refuse transfusions, quoting the Bible, Only, you shall not eat flesh with its life, its blood.

It was fourth year, a lecture in Clinical Ethics.

Clergy object to organ donation. The Church opposes all artificial paths to childbirth: surrogacy, donor gametes. They invent rules to suit themselves. Faith in supernatural forces and medicine are incompatible.

Thats not right, came a voice.

What? The thin, tired lecturer blinked. Who said that?

Me, Andy stood, Church and medicine do the same work to help people live well.

Want a debate, do you, young man?

No, what for? It just is so, Andy replied.

No, lets have it out. Come up here. Please, the lecturer smiled slyly.

Andy went to the front. Calmly, he answered each challenge about faith, medicine.

The church cares for the soul. If a couple cant have children, even with medical help, they should accept this as a path. It may be part of Gods purpose. Perhaps a child waits to be adopted. The church allows artificial insemination within marriage, but not from a donor that breaks the marriage bond, breeds irresponsibility.

And why is the church against surrogacy, then, when the gametes are from the parents? Explain to us poor fools.

Because you must think of the surrogate, who carried the child, and the child themselves… It disrupts…

Nonsense! the lecturer barked, So faith should come before happiness? Once, I saw an old believer refuse to donate her dead sons heart. Another boy died as a result. That, in your view, is Christian?

Yes. They just couldnt. Its…

Theres your religious opiate! Faith, the greatest block to science! the lecturer shouted. Afraid, arent you, that science will outdo God? The brain is all!

The class was rapt: Andy, accused and backed up against the desk, never lost his calm, responding with scripture, defending his mother, his church, all believers. The more Andy reasoned, the angrier the lecturer got, and deep down, even he knew the students thought Andy had proved his point.

After that, Andy had trouble. Called to the dean, he withdrew, spoke little, confiding only in Gill. She wouldnt say what was happening.

For fifth year, Andy simply didnt return. A letter explained hed chosen another path thanked them, asked them to remember their friendship.

George and Victor were stunned. The best among them! He could have been a brilliant doctor. Hed nearly finished!

They called on Gill, but she kept her secret. So, one weekend, they visited Andys home. His mother, Irene, greeted them, proud Andy had gone to seminary.

They returned, bags laden with Irenes gifts, still unable to understand their friends choice.

How could he, honestly! Victor groaned.

See, were already echoing him. For Gods sake! Thats where God led him. Andy, you idiot… What a fool.

***

No candles, Kit. Im visiting a friend. Ive booked leave.

They sat in the on-call room, George was off to London in three days, ticket in hand. He was afraid to drive far now and hoped to be operated on there.

Which friend?

From student days, not seen him for more than twenty years. He left for seminary in fifth year, now hes a vicar. Nearby. Ill go tomorrow.

I wouldnt risk it.

Ill be fine.

The small cathedral town was bleak, despite all the guidebooks. Its most notable feature was an endless array of churches, one at every crossroads.

George headed toward St Marys Priory. Oddly, not once along the journey did his dizziness strike perhaps the road to God truly was a road to healing, he mused.

There, behind pines, he found white walls, towers, and gilded domes shining so bright he squinted.

He was told hed have to wait the vicar was leading Evensong. Not knowing how long, he wandered instead through the adjoining graveyard, then down to the river, well.

Elderly ladies climbed up the bank, not the steps, again and again, a little ritual he only noticed after a while. Across the river, over a high footbridge, the abbey continued.

Why was he here? Hed come to be operated on, not to potter about in the incense.

You not going to collect holy water? asked a smiling middle-aged woman.

Holy water? I…

There are bottles. You must climb the steps, then the hill, three times.

Why?

Only you know why youre here.

He almost said he was just visiting an old friend, but didnt. It wasnt simply a visit, after all.

He grabbed a bottle and climbed down, up, down, up, three times. It was harder than it looked. Afterwards, he drank deeply cold, sweet water, pure as a tear.

His spirits rose, absurdly, and he decided perhaps Andy had fitted himself into this place rather well. He smiled to imagine what Andy would say to that.

He returned as the congregation emerged. Then the vicar appeared: bearded, portly, kindly. It couldnt be Andy not tall enough, surely, and missing the famous glasses but then their eyes met, blue and fathomless, and it was.

He fell in behind

Hello, Vicar.

A parishioner shushed him:

Address the vicar properly Bless me, Father. Thats the way.

But Andy was already smiling.

George! My dear friend…

They embraced. Congregation gone, they caught up, strolling the flowered walks.

What a day! Gill will be over the moon.

Gill? Your wife?

Yes, the local GP. She wont give it up, and I dont complain. Five children. The youngests only ten.

Well, theres something! Ive three, a daughter from my first marriage her teacher, actually and two with Helen.

Life heres good for us. Theyve asked me to move, but the gardens are too fine. Work enough for both in the priory.

You look taller.

Only stopped growing after twenty. Had the eyes done long ago.

So the old religion doesnt reject medicine after all?

They both laughed.

Remember when we tried to pinch that book from the university library?

Yes Andy distracted the assistant, we dropped the book with a great clatter…

And I pretended I didnt even know you! Oh, I was mortified. God!

I remember visiting your mum, too Irene, wasnt it?

Yes, shes nearby, took her vows recently. Shes a nun now.

Well, thats promotion, isnt it?

Thats right, Andy chuckled.

A young woman in a headscarf called Andy away.

Sorry, people come from all over, I must go but a driver will take you to my house. Gill will welcome you, well talk more tonight.

As you wish, George sighed as Andy made the sign of the cross.

He followed the vicars car through winding lanes to an English cottage with a manicured garden, all brick and timber, and a small private chapel. Gill met him at the door, warm as ever. The house was filled with flowers, icons in the sitting rooms corner.

Yet it was just a bright, well-kept home, television, laptops, a modern kitchen. Gill busied about with tea and chat, speaking of how many parishes theyd served, how Andy tired himself out, and her worries for him. Only the youngest son was home.

George forgot why hed come. It felt like a gathering of old friends. He ate, skirted any mention of his illness, and passed out in the hammock on the veranda.

He had no urge to leave that night. He had holiday, and still some time before his trip.

***

Then you know the story?

Of course. We all wrote to Victor the first years, called once mobiles came. Lost touch, sadly I lost his number, our eldest tried to find him online, but Its in Gods hands now.

Do you resent me?

God judges, men have their own truths. Speak, George whats wrong? I can see it…

Malignant brain tumour.

Andy sighed.

Bad news. Youll join the service tomorrow, sit if need be, then confession, and communion. Then well see…

You make it sound like a funeral.

No, but only you can help yourself. A priest shows the way; the soul and heart do the rest.

Shall I tell you, then, how it all happened…?

Save it for confession.

Oddly, by morning, the story George had lived with for decades how hed stolen Victors fiancée had changed character. It became repentance, not explanation.

Yes, best friends turned bitter rivals in a single minute.

***

Service over, church nearly empty.

Andy read a prayer, told George to bow and said:

Christ stands invisible here, receiving your confession. I am only a witness. Speak, George.

And George began.

I was always jealous of Victor. In the department, in hospital, everyone loved him. In the flats, Vic, Vic. All the girls… and then there was Anna.

Briefly: at the hospital where Victor worked, a visiting London official arrived with his daughter Anna in tow. She haunted the hospital during her fathers illness and struck up something with Victor. After theyd left for London, they kept up, meeting in both cities.

The doors to a London career opened for Victor.

I was bitter, you see George shot a glance at Andy, then back to his hands It hurt. You remember Victor a country bumpkin, but he got everything. So I invented stuff, told Anna he was seeing Kate behind her back. I made it up I repent.

At a friends wedding, it all blew up. Victor, the liveliest, came with Anna, then spent the night making everyone laugh. Anna got bored. We stepped out on the balcony. Later, I was told Victor saw us there, paused a long time, then left the wedding. We didnt notice. We were kissing.

He moved out the same day; Anna and I soon rented a place together. I was proud. Afterwards, Victor and I didnt even speak at medical school. He looked through me.

Life punished me well enough, Andy. Anna was sweet at first, but in London, her parents kept us on a leash. When her father died, her mother seized control and remarried. Anna began to demand riches. We moved back to York, I got a good post, but there Anna showed her true face. We split in the end.

And thats not even the biggest wrong I did Victor. Ive made worse mistakes. A patient died on the operating table my error. An old man, but still my fault. Not the first for a surgeon.

And I cheated. Remember, in school I was not that type, but once married the nurse on the shift would smile, and Id… Once, I got a beautiful one sacked for not responding. I abused my power. Who gave me the right? But then I met Helen she steadied me. Shes good, from a village family, was my daughters teacher. She and Lucy are close still; Lucys at teacher training college. Helens a good woman. I betrayed her too, not often, but enough.

He fell silent, out of words.

Will you absolve me, Father Andy?

God absolves, not I. True repentance is everything, George.

George nodded, tears starting to sting, clinging to the carved wood, falling to his knees.

Tell God Im sorry, Andy, he whispered, I want to live, I want to love Helen, raise my children, send my son to university. I want to work, I dont need grandness. Ill be a simple doctor, anywhere. Just let that surgeon in London take me, let there be a place. Or yes, Ill go to York, if I must…

Andy prayed, laying his hand atop his friends bowed head.

Finally silence. George looked up, met those open, blue eyes.

One thing, George. Find Victor. Ask his forgiveness, Andy leaned in.

Where would I find him? Im off to London the day after next.

You must find him. Hes in Manchester, in the cancer hospital there. Forget London. Go there.

Oh, Andy, youll say I should be operated on by him too.

Why not?

Shows youre out of touch with medicine. Theyre in the dark ages there. Rockford has the latest kit. Cant compare.

Perhaps. But Victors done a lot in neurosurgery, has a PhD even, teaches in London now and again. But above all, you two must speak.

Maybe so. But first, London. Time matters.

And the nurse who lost her job, you must find her too…

Thats easy. Ill manage that… It hurt to remember, but, Ill do it. He caught Andys eye Pray for me, will you? All I want is for the London surgeon to admit me, find me a slot. Otherwise, Manchester it is.

Before leaving, George climbed the bank at the river over and over, each time drinking from the well, again and again.

The faithful looked on, crossing themselves and him. May God help.