Between the Pipes

Chapter 15

The following week, Sarah worked her way through the day sheet and listened to the last patient of the day with a growing sense of dread.

Jerry Angus was a stoic sixty-six-year-old man who had visited the emergency department one year ago because of rectal bleeding.

"They shoved a tube up my ass, and I don't know what they saw, but I wasn't havin' no surgery. I told 'em so. So they says, there ain't nothin' we can do for you. That's what they told me – there ain't nothin' they could do.

"Fine. If I was gonna die, I wasn't gonna spend my last days just sittin' waitin' for it to happen. So I quit work, sold my house and everythin' in it, and took off for Europe and Australia. I always wanted to go there. So I packed up and off I went.

"I've had a few bits of bleeding from my bee-hind while I was gone, but nothin' like that first time. In fact, I feel great, never better.

"But I'm runnin' out of money. Didn't think that would happen. Thought I would run out of life first," he said with a snort. "Pretty much have nothin' left – no house, no stuff, just the shirt on my back. So, I'm askin', when's it gonna happen? When's the big day?" He looked at her, his eyes wide.

The whole thing was very odd. If he'd been diagnosed with cancer of the bowel or rectum, he should've been much sicker by now. Sarah glanced at his chart. The last note was from the emergency department visit. She frowned. "Have you had any weight loss, Jerry?"

"Nope, none to speak of."

"Any night sweats or fever?"

"Nope."

"Have your bowel movements been regular?"

"Yup. Once a day, like clockwork."

Something didn't jibe. "Let me see what this says." She clicked on the emergency note and the accompanying result from the sigmoidoscopy.

Hmm. The diagnosis was haemorrhoids, not cancer. Simple haemorrhoids. They'd probably offered to band them. Now he had no money, no home, and no job, but also no imminent death. Yikes. He needed to know. "Jerry, when they did the sigmoidoscopy, you know, put the tube up your bum to take a look, they actually found haemorrhoids. Not cancer."

"Haemorrhoids?" he bellowed. "What's that?"

"It's a dilated blood vessel."

"Is it gonna kill me?"

"No, they're usually harmless. A nuisance, but not life threatening," she said slowly.

"But they said there was nothin' they could do for me," he insisted.

"Well, they probably meant that, other than creams to take away the itch and a small procedure to pinch them off, there's really no other treatment. If you didn't want them to do the procedure, you could just live with them."

"Live with them," he said, his eyes wide.

She nodded sympathetically, letting the silence grow as he absorbed the information.

"You're kidding me. So now I have no house, no money, and no job. I quit a week before my full pension kicked in." He dropped his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry." His despair crept into her. "Where are you staying now?"

"With my daughter. It's a little house, 'specially with me crammed in there. I can't stay long, but it's a roof over my head." He rose slowly. "I suppose I should be glad I spent the last year travellin'. Never would've done that, even after I retired. Wouldn't have had the balls to go that far, spend so much. I've been livin' this last year thinkin' each day was gonna be my last, and I've got a head full of fine memories. So first thing, I need to wrap my head around the fact that I ain't dyin'. That's gonna take some doin'. But, you know, I won't regret this past year, either. Right now, it's a hard thing, but I'm gonna try," he said tiredly.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll make out. I'm a survivor, just not in the traditional sense." He shook his head and walked out with slumped shoulders and heavy steps.

Sarah's heart sank as she watched him leave. She scrolled through Jerry's chart and read it carefully. What a colossal mistake.

She could see it happening. It seemed almost insulting to ask patients to repeat what they've heard and understood. But man, this was why you had to do it. A simple misunderstanding led to life-altering behaviour.

Medical rounds were coming up at the end of the month, and this needed to be presented. Communication skills – talking about how you felt, trying to understand the other person – were important in every relationship, she thought sadly.

She slumped back in her chair. She needed to have a conversation with Mike. There were some things she could change, but – she had to accept it – loving hockey wasn't one of them. She'd slogged through Hockey for Dummies and had tried to watch a game on television with Danni, Kelly, and Jordyn. She'd gone to one of Danni's early morning games to watch her play and hadn't been able to sit through it. She'd even stopped and watched a group of kids having a blast playing street hockey on her way home from work.

It hadn't mattered. She was no further ahead. Enjoying a game and sitting in a rink without a panic attack seemed like an elusive dream. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get over it.

Hockey was a huge part of Mike's life. Of course, he'd want her to share in it. And if she couldn't, he needed to know.

Why couldn't she be like the rest of Clarington and have hockey in her blood? Where was her hockey gene? What was wrong with her? She sighed. There was nothing wrong with her, but it looked like Mike Wallace was definitely wrong for her.

Her heart ached. She'd sidestepped the issue for too long. It was time to lay it all out and accept the inevitable. She'd invite Mike over for dinner and slip it into the conversation after dessert. And unlike Jerry, she'd better make sure there was no misunderstanding.