I want to live, Andrew!
Dr. George, Dr. George, are you alright?
Nurse Mary caught the surgeon by the sleeve, but couldnt hold himhe leaned against the wall, lowered his head, silent.
Mary felt a rush of pride for all the medical staffhow doctors give their whole selves to their patients, on their feet until theyre nearly fainting! And yet, no one really sees it. Not the patient George had just operated on, at least.
Dr. George, should I call someone? she whispered.
No need, he murmured, dragging himself into the staff room. He paused at the door, looked back at her pale, worried face: Im alright, Mary, dont fuss.
George slumped onto the worn leather sofa. Alright? Hed had dizzy spells like this beforewas it just exhaustion? Most likely.
There was a time he actually had weekends. Real weekends, when he could leave the chaos of the hospital behindvisit friends with his wife, take the kids to the park. That felt a lifetime ago. Now, every doctor was spread thin across three different hospitals. The idea of a proper rest was laughable. And Georgewell, hed remarried. His wife was younger, their children still at school, costs everywhere. And, if he was honest, he fancied a new car.
But even that wasnt the main thing. The real heart of itGeorge needed to be needed. He wanted to be the best. He craved respect, clinical triumphs. For over twenty years, hed managed just that. Patients clamoured for him, colleagues valued him, he was invited to speak, promised opportunities, paid handsomely.
Paul! He phoned his mate, the anaesthetist, Is your Nancy in today?
Hi, George. Shes here.
By the end of the shift, he was lying in Nancys MRI scanner, muffled noises echoing through his headphones. A wave of fear crashed over himhe wanted to squeeze the panic button, get out of the claustrophobic tunnel.
He forced himself to think of something positive. Anything. But what, really? His mind wandered down through his life, rung by rung. The second marriage. By then, he was an established surgeon; his wife was his daughters teacher, fresh to her career.
The clatter of the MRI made any good memories harder to find. Work-home-work again. His first marriage was worsea rough divorce left all those recollections sour, best left untouched.
But student years? Yes. Especially the first four.
His mind drifted there. The lads. Medical school training schemes, canteen banter, and Milliethe cooks daughter, all the blokes mad for her.
George, Victor, and Andrewthree mates who bonded over entrance exams. Leeds was foreign to all of them, living in grim shared accommodation.
Andrew, the quiet one from a tiny town. Always in glasses, a bit naïve but with a quiet charisma that drew people to him. He remembered that gentle, bottomless blue gaze behind the specs.
Andrew had a memory like a miracleknew all the exam topics, could answer any question.
Victor was nearly the opposite: big, gregarious, from some York village, always joking, unable to sit still, busy making friends or crafting cheeky crib notes rather than studying.
George worried for the exams, was sure hed fail. He marvelled at Andrews knowledge and Victors easy charm. But, in the end, only Michael, the fourth roommate, didnt make the cut. The other three remained close as brothers.
The first year, no halls yetAndrews mum, caring and bustling, found them a little rental flat and stayed to show them the ropes.
God bless you, boys! Get along, wont you? shed said, after batch-cooking enough meals to last a month.
Blimey! Your mums a saint, Andy. What does she do? Victor asked.
Works in a little church shop, Andrew replied, mouth still full.
A what?
Sells candles and things. Shes quite religious. And so am I.
Victor and George eyed the icons perched by the window.
Are those yours? I thought Mrs Wright forgot them.
Noshe left them for me, Andrew replied calmly, but looked away, embarrassed.
Victor never thought before he spoke: You lot are mad, arent you? Why study medicine if you believe in all that mumbo-jumbo? Praying to God to fix things
A doctor treats the body. God treats the soul, Andrew answered quietly. The others merely shrugged.
Religion soon dropped from conversation, though theyd see Andrew cross himself quietly from time to time. He was a stellar student, always calm, able to defuse arguments between wilful George and fiery Victor in a heartbeat.
He was just different. If Victor and George debated who should clean, Andrew would simply grab a cloth and do it.
Is it worth all the rows? Easier just to mop.
His temperament was a glue of sorts, always steady. He aced their first examsLatin poured out of him as if hed learned it at birth. His gentle presence bound them closer.
Surprisingly, he fell in love firston the student union committee, he met Emma. Petite, sharp fringe, fiery but kind. By their second year, they were inseparable.
Victor, despite his rural ways, showed real spark on hospital placementby his second winter, he was working on the ambulance, handling tough procedures. In medicine, his boisterousness channelled into surgical focus and precision.
George was steady and diligent, not dazzling but always drawn to being a good doctor.
The MRI released him at last. He took a deep breath, staring out of the window. Where had this new claustrophobia come from?
Nancy bustled in to take off the headgear.
So? What do you see? George tried to joke.
Hang on, let the radiologist do their stuff. Pop back soon.
He caught a shadow in her eyesoverwork? Or something else?
Ill pick it up tomorrow. I just want to go home tonight.
He was halfway out the door when Nancy called him back, pressing a printout and images into his hand.
George, youre a doctor. But pleasedont put this off. Go see Dr Anderson, she urged.
He glanced over the report, slipped the disc in at home, and flicked through the scans, detached. Those couldnt really be his brain, his tumour, so clear-cut and bright, could they? It felt like looking at a patient’s films, not his own.
Even on the drive home, he wouldnt let himself believe it.
Dr Kenneth Anderson was the best neurosurgeon in the region.
I want to downplay this, George, but youre a better surgeon than me. No point sugarcoating ityou can see it yourself.
George nodded, hollow. So, is this it for me?
Oh come onwhat a daft question. You know as well as I do, everythings in the surgeons hands. And, well, Gods, if you like.
I cant believe its happening to me. I was planning to take the family to London for the NHS awards, get a proper break. Now What would you do?
Id go to London, yesbut not for a break. Id get yourself seen by Shimon Rockford and his team. Theyre miracle workers. The results are the best in the country. But theres a year-long waiting list, if you can even get on it.
George pressed onoperating, consulting, making plans as usual. The symptoms were still mild, and he knew all the tricks to blunt them.
Soon, it was time to tell his wife, which set off a flurry of travel plans.
Helen, Ill have to go to London by myself, he said.
Sorry? And the kids?
Im not going to a conference or show, love. Its hospital. I have a brain tumour, he finally admitted, surprising himself. Saying it out loud somehow made it real.
Helens eyes shone with unshed tears. Oh God, George How?
I dont know yet. Ill have to wait theremaybe ages if no slot appears.
She sat beside him. Its really that bad?
He broke down, stammering the detailsnot as a doctor, but as a frightened man: suspicions, scans, his fears, lost hopes, the life behind him. She listened, quiet and intent, wringing a cardigan in her hands.
In one big fourth-year lecture, a fiery debate was brewing: Jehovahs Witnesses refuse blood transfusions, citing the Bible. The clergy often oppose organ transplants, as set out in the law. Surrogacy, donor gametesalso condemned. Look, medicine and faith simply dont mix, the lecturer ranted.
From the back, Andrew spoke up: Thats not right.
The lecturers head popped up. Oh? You want to argue?
Andrew stood, steady as ever. Church and medicine do the same workthey help people to live better.
A sly grin spread on the teachers face. Come down here then, enlighten us.
Andrew answered calmly, dealing with pointed questions.
He quoted: The church cares for souls. If a couple cant conceive, and medicine doesnt help, perhaps they need to accept childlessness with humility, maybe think of adoption. The church doesnt oppose IVF with the couples own eggs and spermonly that from a third party, as it can affect family bonds.
Then why oppose surrogacy?
Andrew replied, Consider the surrogate mother, who carries and parts with the baby. Its not just a biological transactionthere are deep emotional ties.
The lecturer dismissed it as nonsense, accused religion of holding back science, shouting that the church fears people surpassing God.
Andrew remained calm, never letting anger insimply defending his beliefs, his mum, and his childhood church.
The debating stirred the class, but the lecturer grew red-faced, realising the group sided with Andrew in the end.
Trouble followed. Andrew was called into the Deans office repeatedly, left shaken and more withdrawn. Only Emma could get him to talk, and she kept his confidence.
At the start of fifth year, Andrew didnt return. He wrote, explaining that life had called him elsewherehe was off to train as a priest, wishing only the best for his friends.
George and Victor were stunned. The brightest among them! He couldve been an exceptional doctorhow could he leave so close to finishing?
They sought Emma, but she was tight-lipped.
At the first opportunity, they travelled to Andrews home. His mum, Mrs Wright, welcomed them inthrilled. Andrew was in seminary, she shared, glowing with pride.
They left laden with pies and homemade bread, but still none the wiseror more acceptingof his decision.
How could he do it? Victor fretted.
Oh, listen to usHow could he, God knows! George chuckled, Well, maybe God really did call him away!
Dont be daft, Ken. Ill go see my mate, George told Anderson. Hed booked a holiday from work, planning to drive down to visit Andrew at his parish before heading off to London by train (hed lost his nerve for driving, what with the dizzy spells).
Andrews parish, a little market town famous for its abbey and hiking trails, turned out to be much like any otherexcept for the sheer number of churches dotted around.
He headed for the abbey. Oddlythe journey had been easy: no dizzy spells. Maybe the path towards faith really was healing, he mused, half laughing at himself.
White walls, spires, gold domes shining in the sun There was an orderly car park, neat paths, flowerbeds everywhere.
He was told the vicar was finishing a service. George waited, wandered, found the quiet churchyard behind, a slope down to the river and a well. Elderly worshippers made the climb repeatedly as part of their ritual.
A cheerful woman saw him watching. Not going for holy water?
Not this time.
There are bottles therejust fill it, climb up, do it three times.
He nearly told her he was here to visit an old friend, the parish priest. But why else had he come, really?
He grabbed a bottle and did as they did, each time feeling lighter, the cold water crisp on his tongue.
Returning, he found a crowd pressing around the doors, the priest emergingbroad, beardy, with a warm, booming voice. Not Andrew, surely? Andrew was slim, shorter, always in glasses!
The priest attended to everyone, blessing, chatting. Then, suddenly, his deep blue eyes found George. A glimmer of recognition.
George sidled up behind him.
Well met, Vicar! he smiled.
A parishioner hissed, Its Bless me, Father!
But Andrew was already grinning. George! My dear friend
They hugged, old camaraderie flowing back. Parishioners filed past, and soon George and Andrew walked arm-in-arm along the path.
What a joy! Emma will be thrilled.
Emmaso youre still together?
My wife, nowa local GP. Wont leave the profession, stubborn as ever. Five children! Youngest is ten.
George laughed. Ive threeone from my first marriage; two in my second. And you seem to have landed on your feet here.
Weve been happy. Had offers to move, but this place suits usand the work is plenty.
You did always look older, George teased.
So I kept growing after twenty! Had my eyes fixed toono glasses needed; contact lenses just in case.
So the Anglican Church isnt anti-medicine?
They both laughed.
George reminisced about their student mischief and old Leeds stories, swapping memories with affection.
Emma joined them at home, the sort of welcome hed never expectedwindowsills bursting with plants, Mary and Child in the corner, little candles lit and, otherwise, the warmest family home: modern conveniences, bright rooms. She served tea, fussed over lunch, gabbled about their livesthe moves, the children, the community.
George hardly remembered why hed come anymore. He napped on their sunlit porch, happier than hed been in months.
You know Victors story? George asked later.
Oh yes. We wrote and called for years, then drifted apart. My youngest tried to find him online, butthe rest is in Gods hands.
Think badly of me?
God decides, not us. So tell me, Georgewhats really wrong?
Brain tumour. Malignant.
Andrew sighed. Then tomorrow youll join us for service. If youre tired, just sit. Afterwards, confession and communion. Then well see about the rest.
You make it sound like youre burying me.
Dont talk rot. Its all in your hands, George. A priest opens the waythe next steps are between you and God.
That night, thinking of the past, the story George had to tellhow hed stolen his best mates girltook on a new tone. It became a confession, not mere justification.
Once, the tight friends had become bitter rivals in an instant.
The service was small, simple. Afterwards, Andrew intoned, Christ stands unseen to receive your confession. I am but a witness. Speak, George.
So he did. I was always jealous of Victorhe was loved by all, brilliant at the job, everyone called for him. And then there was Alison
It happened when a London official was admitted to their hospitalhis daughter, Alison, by his side. Victor and Alison grew close, and soon he visited her in London, and she in York. The relationship opened doors for Victor.
I was petty, George said. I lied, told Alison that Victor was with somebody else. At a mates wedding, Alison and I slipped out for a snog on the balcony. Later, Victor saw us and leftfor good.
Within weeks, George moved in with Alison, but the romance quickly souredhis in-laws overbearing, Alison demanding. Eventually his father-in-law died, his mother-in-law remarried swiftly, and Alisons true colours showed. He barely escaped.
And that wasnt my biggest failing. Ive made mistakes in the theatrea patient died because of me. Andwellcheated on my wives just a few times, but still
He tailed off. So, can you absolve me, Father Andrew?
Andrew smiled, God forgives, not priests. What matters is true repentance.
Georges eyes filled with tears. He clutched the church lectern and sank to his knees.
Tell Him for me, will you? I want to live, AndrewI want to love Helen, raise my kids, teach my boy well, just work. I dont need awards or flash cars. Will you pray for me to get that surgery slot in London?
God, through his love, forgive your servant George…, Andrew intoned.
Then he stopped, squeezed Georges hand, and met his tearful eyes.
George, you need to find Victorask his forgiveness.
In London in two days? I cant.
You must try. Hes working at the cancer centre in Manchester now. Maybe youll need to see him, not London.
George scoffed, What, have him operate? Hes so behind the London lot.
Andrew shook his head. Hes doing cutting-edge neurosurgery there, travels to London too. Think about it. And the nurse you wrongedfind her, make it right.
That, I can do I will. George nodded, wincing at the memory. And pray for me, Andrew.
The day before he left, George climbed the hill at the river fifteen times, three at a go, drinking from the holy well each time. The local churchgoers watched, crossing themselvesand him.
May God help him.
