The Surgeon's Perfect Match

‘You must have realised how impossible it would be for me to accept.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re offering something I wouldn’t even ask a blood relative for. You’re my boss, Ryan. Way above the level of being equal as a colleague. We’re not even…’ Holly searched for a word that could demonstrate the gulf between them in a personal field. ‘Friends,’ she concluded unhappily.

‘Aren’t we?’

Something in his tone made Holly feel ashamed of what she’d said. As though she was rejecting something of great importance to Ryan. But it was easier from his side of the fence, wasn’t it?

‘You’re my boss, Ryan. You’re older and far more experienced than me. You’re my teacher. A mentor.’ In a position of power that precluded anything as levelling as a personal friendship. ‘Our lives don’t touch outside working hours.’ She sighed, staring down at her tightly linked fingers. ‘And I’m a woman, trying to succeed in what is still a male-dominated career path. I’m also trying to cope with a fairly debilitating illness. I resent the limitations it imposes on my life and having to accept help.’ She glanced up again. ‘That’s not to say I’m not enormously grateful for your help. God knows, I’d never have got as far as I have if it hadn’t been for you, but you’ve done enough, Ryan. I couldn’t…wouldn’t accept any more.’

He looked so disappointed, Holly tried to smile.

‘Imagine if it didn’t work? There I’d be still struggling along and you’d know you’d gone through all that pain, not to mention the risks of having a general anaesthetic, for nothing. I wouldn’t be able to work with you any more because I’d feel like such a failure. I’d feel terribly guilty. As though I’d been given a precious gift and I’d just thrown it out or lost it or something. Nobody would blame you for resenting that. It would be way too much of a burden.’

‘There’s no reason to think it wouldn’t work.’

‘So there I’d be with a debt of gratitude instead of guilt. It would still be enough to prevent me ever stepping up and working alongside you as an equal.’ Holly straightened her back. ‘And that’s exactly where I intend to be, one day.’

A silence fell, laced with unpleasant hints of how unlikely that scenario was going to be unless Holly did get a successful kidney transplant. Holly ignored the vibes. She was really no worse off than she’d been yesterday, was she? And tomorrow was another day. She had learned long ago to take things one day at a time. And maybe…tomorrow, even—that pager on her pocket that linked her to the transplant unit would sound and a well-matched, anonymous kidney would be waiting for her.

Ryan nodded slowly, seeming reluctant but resigned to accepting Holly’s point of view. But then he smiled. A real Ryan smile, full of warmth and understanding.

‘Think about it anyway,’ he said softly. ‘Please.’

As if she could think about anything else!

Ryan Murphy was the most genuine, caring person Holly had ever met. He couldn’t have known how disturbing his offer would be because he would never do anything to deliberately hurt anyone. It hadn’t been fair to suggest that their relationship was less meaningful than a friendship because Ryan meant far more than that to Holly.

Far more.

She had the utmost respect for him as a surgeon and the deepest admiration for him as a person. He was, simply, a wonderful man and Holly had wondered on more than one occasion why there wasn’t an adoring wife in the picture. As far as she knew, Ryan wasn’t in any kind of relationship and that certainly wasn’t due to any lack of opportunity. Holly couldn’t fail to notice the way women looked at Ryan and she knew exactly what they were thinking. If Holly had been looking for a perfect partner herself, she’d be thinking the same things. Ryan Murphy would have more than fitted any bill of that type.

But she wasn’t in a position to be looking, was she? And while Ryan’s concern and support for her had been so much more than she could have wished for, it had never crossed any professional boundaries. They might think highly of each other but they were colleagues on very different rungs of a professional ladder. Not friends, because they knew nothing of each other’s lives outside work.

Holly wouldn’t have a clue what Ryan might be eating for dinner that night. She put the frozen supermarket dinner into her microwave with a grimace. This meal was a cop-out. Only acceptable because the level of protein and probably anything else in the nutrition stakes was low enough for the occasional use not to tip her carefully balanced diet into disarray. Whatever Ryan chose or possibly cooked for himself, it was bound to be more appealing than the plastic-looking pumpkin and spinach lasagne she was heating.

He certainly wouldn’t be counting out pills to have with his food either. Working her way methodically along the row of canisters adorning her window-sill, Holly shook out the phosphate binders, vitamin and mineral supplements, the iron tablets and her doses of diuretics and anti-hypertensive medication.

Maybe Ryan had exotic spice jars on his kitchen win-dowsill. Or herbs growing in pots. Holly wondered what his kitchen looked like. And his house. She had never thought about Ryan in such personal terms before and some of the anger she had felt earlier returned when she couldn’t shake her current train of thought.

Too tired to be hungry, she forced herself to eat and wondered, in some dismay, whether just voicing that extraordinary offer had been enough to seriously undermine her professional relationship with the man who headed her chosen department.

Holly didn’t want to have to leave St Margaret’s Children’s Hospital. She’d have to go offshore to find anything similar and with the support team she had in the renal department of the nearby general hospital, she couldn’t afford to look elsewhere. Neither did she want to leave her home town of Auckland, New Zealand. This was her home. Where she wanted to live. And work.

This apartment would never be her ultimate goal, of course, but it was close to both hospitals. It was tiny and low maintenance, and while it might be without soul it was valued nonetheless for its contribution to Holly’s independence. Did Ryan have a house rather than an apartment? A cat? A garden, maybe, instead of a sad set of pot-plants on a minuscule balcony? The plants weren’t going to receive the attention they urgently needed this evening either. Not when she seemed unable to shake the imaginary comparisons between her life and Ryan’s.

That kind of thinking had the potential to destroy things between them. Holly couldn’t afford to be envious of anybody and particularly her boss. What if she became resentful that he had a life at all outside work when she didn’t? A home and garden to go to? That he had the prospect of that life continuing and including something as wonderful as a family? Something Holly could dream about only if she became healthy again.

Health that could potentially be restored by an offer she couldn’t possibly accept.

Why had Ryan made the offer?

Because he felt sorry for her?

Maybe he’d been influenced by recent media coverage of one of New Zealand’s foremost sportspeople, Steve Mersey, whose career and Olympic hopes were about to be ended due to the sudden onset of debilitating kidney disease. Complete strangers had started putting up their hands, offering to donate an organ. Had that given Ryan the idea? Did he feel obliged to emulate such altruism because of the type of person he was? Or had he realised how much further it was possible to go in helping someone like her and, having done so much already, felt obliged to go that extra mile?

Either explanation was pretty cringe-making. Holly had done the right thing in refusing to consider acceptance. The only thing she could have done. Now all she needed to do was to stop thinking about it, despite Ryan’s exhortation.

What she needed, above all, was rest.

And treatment, of course.

With all her essential chores completed, Holly moved to her bedroom, a small room in which the bed was actually the least significant piece of furniture. Tonight it seemed far more depressing than usual to retire to a room that would not have looked out of place attached to some hospital ward.

Her dialysis machine was the size of an average refrigerator. It would have been enough to make the room look clinical all by itself, but it was far from alone. The large water purifier was flanked by a tall cabinet that held ranks of huge bottles filled with the fluid needed for the machine. A chest of drawers beside that held saline and tubing lines. A trolley with slide-out trays housed alcohol wipes, needles, tapes, dressings and all the other paraphernalia that went along with home dialysis.

The routine of setting up was automatic. Inserting the two needles into the surgically enlarged vein on her forearm was virtually painless. Now all Holly needed to do was wait. In a matter of four to six hours, the entire volume of blood in her body would have passed through the dialysis machine at least six times, having waste products and excess fluid drawn out.

Holly often used most of this time to sit, propped up by pillows, in her bed, studying or catching up on journals. She had brought home a textbook she wanted to read, detailing the latest techniques in arterial-switch procedures such as baby Grace would need to undergo shortly, but she simply couldn’t find the energy or enthusiasm to open it.

On top of a physically challenging day, Ryan’s offer had left her utterly drained and Holly would have to sleep while the machine did its life-prolonging magic tonight. It also seemed the only way she could turn off the endless treadmill of the thoughts that interview with Ryan had sparked. Tomorrow she would feel so much better she’d be able to carry on as normal. And, with a bit of luck, Ryan’s offer wouldn’t change anything other than her appreciation of what a kind person he was.

The call to the intensive care unit came as Holly stepped through the front doors of St Margaret’s at 8 a.m. the following day. Rather than waste time by finding a phone to contact the unit staff, Holly just kept going. It was so good to be able to move along the still quiet corridors and feel as if she was walking normally and not pushing her body through air that felt as thick as treacle. At this rate she would be actually in the unit by the time she would have completed a phone call.

The speed of Holly’s response had far more to do with her renewed level of energy than the early morning absence of obstacles caused by people or equipment, and she took full advantage of the physical strength, bypassing any wait for a lift and heading for the stairs.

It had to be Callum that was causing concern in the unit and the page had been urgent. Hearing footsteps far more rapid than her own behind her on the stairs was frustrating. Dialysis might be magic but it couldn’t work a miracle, like giving her the sudden ability to race up stairs two at a time as someone else was obviously doing.

‘Holly!’ The steps slowed to match hers and Ryan’s smile was delighted. ‘You must be feeling a lot better to be using the stairs. That’s great!’

Holly just nodded, not wanting Ryan to know that climbing stairs half as quickly as him had left her somewhat breathless. He held the door open as they reached the second floor.

‘You’ve been paged by ICU?’

She nodded again.

‘Any idea what’s going on?’

‘We’ll soon find out.’ Holly’s words were clipped but not just by lack of breath. She was fighting a dread that her first VSD repair might be going pear-shaped. Had her stitches not been quite deep enough or sufficiently close together? Was Callum bleeding around his heart and suffering a life-threatening tamponade? Respiratory failure or a hypertensive crisis? Had he spiked a fever or developed renal failure?

Ryan touched her arm as they reached the unit. ‘Don’t worry so much,’ he said. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out. Together.’

Ryan’s reassurance, even his presence, was kind of like dialysis for her soul, Holly thought wryly. Fears and insecurities got filtered out and confidence renewed. She could focus and perform and not be intimidated when pushed to voice her own opinions.

Such as what she thought about the concern raised by Callum’s heart rate and rhythm. Disturbances were frequent following open heart surgery and fortunately the abnormal pattern being recorded on Callum’s ECG was not immediately life-threatening.

‘It’s supraventricular,’ Holly said in response to Ryan’s raised eyebrows. ‘The drop in blood pressure is most probably rate-related.’