I Want to Live, Andy!

I want to live, Andy!

George, Mr Baker, Mr Baker, are you alright?

Nurse Chloe grabbed the surgeons sleeve, trying to support him. But she couldnt hold him uphe collapsed against the wall, bowing his head low into the crook of his arm, silent.

Chloe actually felt a strange sense of pride, thinking about how much doctors give of themselves for their patients, working until theyre ready to faintyet nobody ever appreciates it. The patient Mr Baker had just operated on would never see this side.

Mr Baker, whats wrong? Ill call someone

No need, George raised his head and staggered towards the staff room. At the door he managed a glance at the frightened nurse, Im fine, dont worry.

George dropped heavily onto the battered leather sofa. Was he fine? This wasnt the first time hed felt a wave of dizziness. Exhaustion, most likely.

He used to have weekends. Real weekends, where after a week of hospital chaos, he and his wife would visit friends, take the kids out to Hyde Park.

But now Every doctor was working across three clinics, so no rest for the weary. Plus, it was his second marriage, his new wife was younger, the children still in schoolexpenses everywhere. Not to mention he wanted to trade in the car.

But, truthfully, none of that was what really mattered. George had grown used to being in demand. He wanted, above all, to be the best, to have the respect of his peers, to win professional victories And for twenty years, hed done just that. Patients clamoured for him, colleagues admired him, he was invited, promised things, he was paid well.

Paul, he called his colleaguePaul the anaesthetist, Is your wife Natalie at work today?

Hi, George. Yes, shes there today.

By the end of the shift, George was lying in the MRI machine, listening to that unpleasant banging soundhis headphones only barely masking it.

Suddenly, a surge of fear pressed down on him so hard he wanted to squeeze the panic button to be hauled out of the claustrophobic tunnel. Better to distract himselfthink of something cheerful. But what?

His memory shuffled back through his lifes chapters. The second marriage Here he was, a consultant surgeon and a father, and shethe young teacher of his daughter, a third-former.

But the MRIs relentless clanging smothered any nice memories he might have dug up from that era. Work to home, home to work. The first marriage was worse stillthe ugly divorce left those memories sour; he didnt even try to recall them.

His undergraduate years? Yes! The first four, at least.

Thats where Georges mind latched onhis student days. The summer job with the other boys, Chloe from the canteen whom everyone fancied…

George, Victor, and Andythree friends, all studying medicine. Theyd met the summer before university. London was unfamiliar to all of them; they lodged together at halls.

Andy, with his glasses, came from a small towna quiet, softly-spoken lad with charm. Something about him made you want to stay close, just to hear his clever, steady voice, to look into his calm blue eyes behind the lenses.

Andy had a phenomenal memoryhe knew every exam topic by heart, always ready with the answer.

Victor was his oppositetall and broad, from a little village up north. Loud, easygoing. He seemed to make friends instantly with the whole floor, always running around helping or sharing cheats for the entrance exams.

George worried about the exams too. It always seemed to him hed be the one not to get in. He marvelled at Andys knowledge and Victors gift for words. But in the end, only Michaelfourth man in their roomdidnt get in. The other three became fast friends.

Accommodation wasnt available in first year, so Andys caring, fussy mother came and found them a flat to share.

God bless you, boys! Behave now, she said, after staying a couple of days, fussing over her son. She cooked enough homemade meals to last them a month.

Wow, Mrs Evans means business! What does your mum do, Andy?

She works in a little church shop, Andy replied between mouthfuls.

Where? Both were surprised.

She sells candles at church and helps with things there.

So shes religious?

Of course. And so am I, Andy said.

The boys glanced awkwardly at the icons on the windowsill.

Are those yours? I thought Mrs Evans left them by mistake.

No, she left them for me, he said quietly, lowering his eyes.

Victor blurted, as he always did:

You two are unbelievable. Why study medicine if youre clinging to fairy tales? Gods going to help, is he?

A doctor treats the body; God tends the soul, Andy replied evenly. The others just shrugged.

Talks of faith dwindled after that. They saw Andy crossing himself but he did it quietly, without drawing attention. He was a brilliant student, always diffused any row brewing between the fiery Victor and stubborn George with calm commonsense.

He was different, somehow. Housework didnt fuss himif a row flared up about cleaning, Andy would simply pick up a cloth and get on with it.

Is this really worth a row? Better to just clean…

The others, embarrassed, would pitch in too.

Maybe it was Gods doing, or maybe Andy was giftedbut he aced their first exams. He remembered Latin as if hed spoken it forever. He became the bond that held them together.

Strangely enough, Andy was the first to fall in love. He was chosen for the student union, then met his futureGillian. Petite, with a sharp fringe and a mix of kindness and strength. From second-year onwards, you never saw one without the other.

Victor, for all his blustery ways, turned out a solid practical student. By his second winter, he was working shifts on an ambulance crewhe picked up things quickly, earned the trust of medics in the hospital. He was devoted, always ready with questions, always stuck around. It wasnt long before theyd ask for him in the oncology ward.

George worked steadilynot outstanding, but keen. He wanted to be a good doctor.

***

The MRI rolled him back into daylight. George stared out the window, breathing in deeply. Where had that claustrophobia come from?

Natalie came in, removing the helmet.

So? Any news, Nat?

Wait a bit. The doctors just writing it up. Ill call you, come by later. She looked away; perhaps just tired.

Ill pick it up tomorrow. I just want to get home.

He never made it out of his department before Natalie called him back, bringing a report, CD, and scans herself.

George, youre a doctoryou know what this means. But dont let it drag on. Go see Mr Atkinson. He should have a look.

George glanced at the results, slid the disk into his computer, turning the image over and over. It didnt look like his own brainhis own lesion. Even driving home, it didnt sink in. It just didnt seem possible. Not to him.

***

Mr Atkinson, Christopher Mark Atkinson, was the best neurosurgeon in their hospital.

Id sugar-coat it, George, but youd see straight through me. You’re as good a surgeon as I am. What’s the point in lying? You can see for yourself.

I can. Is that it then? The end?

Oh, Atkinson frowned, shifting awkwardly, You sound like a hysterical patient. Surely you know: its all down to the hands of the surgeonand, well, the Good Lord too.

I cant believe it I was meant to be in London for the National Doctors Day They actually invited me. I wanted to take the family, let them have a break. And now What would you do, in my place?

Id still go to Londonbut not for a holiday. Id go to Simon Rockwell at the neurosurgery clinic. They work wonders there. Their numbers are the best. But

But what?

He doesnt operate himself any more, but his trainees do, and follow his technique. Theres usually a year-long wait unless you can call in some favours. Medical circles might help. Youre a surgeons surgeon. Well try

George kept workingoperating, consulting, scribbling diagnoses. The pain didnt bother himjust a faint weakness and dizziness, which he managed with a doctors know-how.

He started hunting for a way to reach Rockwell. Atkinson was rightit was nearly impossible.

It was time to tell his wife, who instantly launched into packing for London.

Hannah, Ill have to go to London on my own.

What? Why? She put down the top she was folding, staring at him, hurt, Are you serious? And the kids?

Im not going for a conference or a concert. Im going to hospital. I have a brain tumour, The last words came out slower and, as he said them, he was surprised hed spoken them out loud. To say it was to admit it. Before, he’d kept shoving it out of mind.

Hannah stared, her eyes brimming with tears.

Oh God, George. How could this happen? So I should go with you.

No, Han, theres no operation scheduled yet. I may have to wait a long time, just be there in case a slot opens. But maybe it wont, not for ages.

Is it really that serious, George? She sat beside him, Tell me everything

George, dabbing at his nose like a child, told herstumbling, confused, jumping from one thought to the next: old suspicions, the recent tests, the results, his thoughts, his life, his hopes

Hannah listened, holding the top in her hands, brow furrowed, silentwatching her bewildered husband. He was grateful he had someone to lean on. He thoughthed never have had this trust with his first wife.

***

Jehovahs Witnesses usually refuse blood transfusions, citing the Bible. But you must not eat meat that has its lifeblood still in it.

It was their fourth year of studythey were in a lecture.

Religious leaders speak out against organ and tissue donation, which is legislated for in this country. The church protests against all forms of artificial conception, disapproves of surrogate motherhood, and opposes donor sperm or eggs. They couch it in their own canons. The church with its faith in supernatural help and medicinethey are incompatible.

Thats not true, a voice spoke from the audience.

What? The somewhat weary lecturer looked up, How is it not true? Who said that?

I did, Andy stood, The church and medicine work for the same purposeto help people live with dignity.

Care to argue, young man?

No. No needbecause its true, Andy sat down.

No, no, once youve started Come up here, please. The lecturers eyes lit up, anticipating his victory.

Andy stepped up, looking at the lecturer calmly.

The lecturer started firing questions; Andy answered quietly, steadily.

The church deals with the soul. If a couple cant conceive, and all medical means have failed, then accepting childlessness with humility may be their lifes vocation. Maybe theres a child waiting to be adopted. Artificial insemination using the husbands sperm isnt condemned, but using a donors isbecause it breaches marriage vows and leads to irresponsible fatherhood.

Then why is the church against surrogacy? Please explain for us mortals. There, its the mothers and fathers own cells.

But theres the surrogate herself, carrying and giving up the child. And the child itself There are consequences.

What nonsense! the lecturer interrupted, You contradict yourself. Christianity is supposedly about compassion, but here it makes people miserable? Is that it? I once saw Old Believers refuse to donate their dead sons heart to another child. Everything was ready. And the boy died. Is that Christian?

Yes. They couldnt give their sons heart. Couldnt, Andy replied.

Youve just proven religions a dangerous opiate, hampering scientific progress, the lecturer crowed, The church builds walls, scared man will outdo God. They thrive on this. Man and his mind are supreme!

The argument heated up, students leaning in to listen. The lecturer tried to punch through Andys faith with logic, thinking it would be easy.

Andy didnt get angryhe looked at his opponent with a hint of pity, quoting Scripture. Defending his faith, he was defending his mother, his tiny brick church, his grandmother, everyone dear, and his own heart.

His confidence gradually wore the lecturer down; he eventually realised the students had decided: Andy had won.

Trouble followed. Andy was summoned to the dean, and afterwards returned subdued; he spoke little, confided only in Gillian. And she wasnt sharing.

In fifth year, Andy simply didnt return. They got a letter explaining hed chosen a new path, bidding them all a heartfelt farewell, asking them to keep their friendship.

George and Victor were stunned. The best among them! So talented. He was so close to being a doctor! Why?

They tracked Gillian down but she was tight-lipped. So on a weekend, they went to Andys home. His mother Mrs Evans welcomed them warmlyher son had entered seminary, she told them, proud.

They rode back with bags of food and gifts from Mrs Evans, but with no understanding of his decision.

How could he leave, for goodness sake! Victor hit his knee in frustration.

There you arewere half-invoking God too! Thats just how it is with Andy Dyou think we drove him away? Daft, that Andy of ours

***

Oh, stop going on about candles, Chris. Im going to see my mate. Ive already booked time off.

They were in the staff room with Christopher Mark Atkinson. George was meant to head for London in three days. Hed got train tickets; he was afraid to drive with the dizzy spells, especially with an operation in London on the cards.

Which mate?

Uni mate. We hardly saw each other for over twenty years. He left in fifth year for seminary, now hes a priest. Vicar, or whatever the term is. Hes not far from here. Ill drive up tomorrow.

I wouldnt risk it.

I have to. AnywayI’m going…

The famous small town, known for its abbey and tourist paths, was rather grim. Its most striking featureall the churches, one on every corner.

George made his way to Trinity Abbey. Oddly, on the long drive, he didn’t once have to stop because of the dizziness. Must be trueif youre on the road to healing, God helps you onwards, he thought.

White walls and towers, domes rising above the green pinehed never seen anything like it. Everything was tidier inside: proper car park, neat paths, colourful flowerbeds, the sun gleaming off golden spires.

He was told the vicar was in the middle of a service. Wait, hed have to. He didnt know how longfelt awkward asking. He wandered around.

Beyond the church walla small burial ground, a path sloping down towards the river. At the bottom, a well, with old ladies making their way down the bank and not the stairs, repeatinghe watched. Across the river, another bridge and more abbey buildings.

Why had he come? the thought crossed his mind. He should be planning an operation, not walking around

Not going down for holy water? a cheerful woman asked.

Er, not really

Bottles over there. If you go, climb down the stairs and up the slope three times.

Why?

Youll know yourselfwhy youre here.

George nearly muttered hed come to see an old frienda clergymanbut he stayed silent. He hadnt come for just a chat, after all

He grabbed a bottle from the crate, walked to the well, down the stairs, up the slope. Not as easy as it looked, but he did it three times. Drew water, and drank straight awaycold, faintly sweet, as pure as a tear.

A strange lightness bubbled in himit no longer seemed foolish to have come. If Andy was in charge of all this, hed done alright for himself. George smiled, imagining Andys comment on that.

He returned as the congregation drifted out after the service. The crowd clustered at the exit. Then a vicar appearedcassocked, bearded, broad-shouldered, with a kind, deep voice. It couldnt beAndy had been thin, shorter, and hed have worn glasses, George thought.

He greeted his flock, blessing and hugging, telling them to pray. Then as their eyes metthose bottomless blue eyesGeorge recognised him instantly.

He approached from behind.

Alright, Vicar.

A parishioner hissed at him:

Bless me, Fatherthat’s the proper address Mind yourself!

But AndyFather Andrewwas already smiling at him.

George! Well, well, look at you

They embraced. As the crowd dispersed, the two old friends strolled off down the path.

Its a miracle, this. Gillian will be over the moon.

Gillian? So she

Yes, shes my wifethe local GP. Wont give up her job, and I dont mind. Five children now. Only the youngest is still in schoolhes ten.

Blimey! And I didnt know. Ive threeone from the first marriage, then two more. And you… settled here then?

We like it here. We’ve moved plenty before, but we’re staying put. The air, the work at the abbey

Youve grown, even.

I did after twenty as well.

But your glasses? I thought you were half-blind

Had them sorted years agooperations, lenses, you name it.

So, Anglicanism doesnt shun medicine after all?

They both laughed.

Remember when we tried to nick that book from Kings libraryall three of us? You did the talking, Victor and I

And you two dropped it with a bang, idiots

You acted like youd never met us beforepriceless!

I was mortified, honestly

I still remember visiting your mum, Mrs Evans. How is she?

Shes well. Getting on, of course. Shes just down the wayshes become a nun in the local convent.

Youre kidding! Is that what, a promotion?

Sort of, yeah, Father Andrew laughed.

A girl in a scarf caught up, telling Father Andrew something quietly.

Sorry, George. Folks come from all over to see meduty calls. But youre not here for a chat. Ill send my driverhell take you to my house. Gillian will be waitingtalk to her until Im done.

Im not staying long. But as you wish, George raised his hands, and Father Andrew blessed him.

He followed the black German car back to the vicars housea proper place. Single story, attic conversion, neat garden, paved drive, a little chapel.

Gillian was at the door, hugging him. George hadnt expected such a welcome. Flowers lined the windows, icons glowed in the cornercandles flickered.

But otherwiseit was a modern, comfortable home, with telly, computers, all mod cons. Gillian bustled about, setting the table, chatting nonstop: all the places theyd moved, how tired Father Andrew gets, how she worries for him. Only their youngest was at home.

George soon forgot why hed come. It just felt like visiting family. He ate, barely mentioning his illness, then dozed off in the hammock on the veranda.

He didnt want to leave that afternoon. Work was on holdhe had time before London.

***

So you know the story?

Of course. For a while, Victor and I wrote often. Later we called, once mobiles took off. But now, weve lost touch. My sons tried to find him online, I sent letters, but All in Gods hands.

Do you judge me, Andy?

Gods the judge. Each of us has our own truth, and thats conscience enough. Go on, Georgewhats weighing on you? I can see it.

Malignant brain tumour, Andy.

Father Andrew sighed.

Bad news. Tomorrow, join the serviceif its too much, sit, then confess and take communion. After that, well see.

You make it sound like youre burying me.

Not at all. Everything is in your hands. No one can help but yourself. The priest can only show the way; the rest is heart and soul.

Ill tell you what happened then, George began.

Save it for confession. Tomorrow.

Curiously, overnight, the tale about stealing Victors fiancée took on a new meaning. At confession, it sounded more like repentance than defence.

Yes Best friends had become enemies in one moment.

***

The service ended. The church was quiet.

Andy said a prayer, motioned for George to bow his head, and spoke:

Christ is with us, accepting your confession, I am only a witness. Speak, George.

And George started:

I always envied Victor. Everyone adored him at uni, in the hospital, at the hallsVic this, Vic that Girls everywhere. And then, there was Alice.

It happened like this. Victor was already working at the hospital when a civil servant from Cambridge ended up there, his daughter, Alice, with him.

While her dad was ill, Alice kept coming to the hospital. Thats when she and Victor got close. They kept things going after her family leftmeeting in London or Cambridge.

Big opportunities for Victor opened up.

You see, George glanced at Father Andrew, then down again, Or rather, you understand, FatherI was hurt. Why did he get all the luck? Even though he was a country boy So I got my own back, told Alice he was seeing Katethe cleaner. All made up, but Im sorry

Then, at Smirnovs wedding, it happened. Victor was the party king, the best man, flirting with everyone. Alice got bored. We went out onto the balcony Someone later told me that Victor saw us there, watched for a bit, then just left. We didn’t see him, Alice and I were well.

The very next day he moved out, and a fortnight later, Alice and I got a place together. I was happy, at first. At uni, Victor wouldnt even look at me, stared right through me.

But life punished me for betraying him. Alice was lovely in the beginning, but then I started working in London, but her familys grip was so suffocating I longed to leave. Four years later, her father died, her mother seized control, remarried. Alice expected the earth from me. We moved back, I got a good post, but thats when she showed her true colours. We split, barely.

And that wasnt my worst sin. I made a fatal mistake in theatre oncean old man died on my table. My fault. Thats not rare in surgery.

Ive cheated on my wife as well. At medical school, I was hopeless, but after marrying it just happenedso many nurses I was no saint. Once, a nurse stood up to melong hair she had. She was sacked. I made it happenhow dare anyone refuse me?

Then I met HannahI calmed down. Shes genuine, from a farming family, my daughters teacher. Diana and Hannah are best friendsDianas now at teacher training college. Hannahs a good woman, but Ive cheated on her tooa couple of times.

He trailed off. What more was there to say? Foolish, all of it

Can you absolve me, Father Andrew?

Forgiveness is Gods, not mans. As long as youre sincere, George.

George looked at his friend, nodded. Then tears suddenly flooded his eyes. He gripped the altar with both hands, fell to his knees.

Please tell God I am sorry, Father Andrew, he whispered, I want to live, Andy. I want to love Hannah, raise the children, help my son grow up. I want to work. That’s all I wantto be a decent hospital doctor anywhere. Please, tell Him

Our Lord Jesus Christ, by his mercy the vicar prayed.

When he finished, Georges red eyes met the calm, limitless blue of Father Andrews.

You know what, George. You should find Victor. Speak to him. Ask him to forgive you, Andy whispered.

Where will I find him? Im due in London in two days, George shrugged.

You have to find him. Hes working at a cancer clinic in Manchester. You should go there, not London.

Oh, come onnext you’ll say I should let him operate on me.

Why not?

You clearly know nothing about where medicines at. The technology in London is lightyears ahead. Theyre still in the dark ages up north. You dont have a clue what Rockwells clinic can do. I can’t compare.

That may be. But Victors a neurosurgery researcher, a PhD, goes to London often. You two should see each other.

I should, but First, London. Can’t delay

And that nursethe one you got sackedfind her.

Easy enough. I can manage that, George nodded, though the memory still stung, I will, he looked at Andy, Please pray for me, Father Andrew. What I need more than anything is for the London surgeon to take my case, for a slot to open for surgery. Or else, goodness, I really will end up in Manchester.

Before leaving, George climbed the riverbank fifteen times, drinking from the well after every third ascent.

The faithful watched him, crossing themselves, blessing him as well. May God help.