15 July 2003
I came to India to find myself but two weeks in, I’m as lost as ever.
The country is even more beguiling than I expected – the extremes of landscape, the smells, the chance to get to know people whose lives are so different to mine. Kerala was beautiful, but it’s here in the forest that I feel most alive.
Except, every day, my frustration grows. When Siya told me I wasn’t allowed to get involved in anything, I convinced myself I’d soon find a way in. In reality, progress has been painfully slow – at first, no one would even let me help in the kitchen, or sweep up outside the clinic buildings. I was so frustrated I was tempted to head out alone, but Siya was full of dire warnings about the dangers lurking outside.
So we’ve made a deal – I won’t risk it provided she finds a way to let me go out one single time. I’ve had to give her all my hair products and lend her my iPod as a bribe. So today I’m leaving the project, to head out into the villages. Tim doesn’t know, and neither does the Boss.
‘You are crazy,’ Siya says, as I climb into the truck that’ll follow the bigger mobile medical unit. I’ve feigned illness so Tim won’t disturb me during the day and even arranged pillows in my bed to resemble a person, as though I’m a teenager sneaking out to an illicit disco.
I learned that trick from Marilyn.
‘So, will you and Timothy get married soon?’ Siya asks after a few miles sitting in silence. She’s driving, turning the massive steering wheel with the strength of an ambulance driver twice her size.
‘He hasn’t asked.’ The thought of a proposal sends an icy feeling down my spine, almost welcome in the humidity. The rains we encountered in Kerala have finally reached this region, turning the landscape darker and, well, junglier. But the downpours never provide much respite from the stickiness.
‘Maybe he doesn’t think you want to marry him. Maybe he’ll find someone else. A doctor has value, and he is quite handsome.’
I smile. Does she fancy Tim? I picture him in full Indian wedding regalia, trying to follow a complicated dance routine and messing it up . . .
Except Tim can dance. Remembering this gives me a jolt far more unsettling than the potholes on the track. What else have I forgotten about this man I love? I’ve been in a funk for months and none of it is his fault.
We enter the first village and I stay in the truck as Siya goes in to chat with the women and their babies. The scene is charming, with chickens and pigs and cows wandering at will. But what I know from Tim’s work in the research office has made it clear the reality is the opposite of idyllic.
Ten million people here go without basic primary care, and while the villages seem safe during the day, at night it’s rebel country. Most ordinary people try to straddle a line between the state and the Communist Maoists, but when violence erupts, it’s bloody, with mass killings by both the rebels and the police.
After forty minutes, I’m allowed into the garden of a bungalow, where the mobile medics set up scales and vaccination supplies in the shade.
‘This is the home of the local health worker,’ Siya tells me. ‘You can only watch, OK? Do not touch.’
So I do watch, as the babies are weighed, their chests listened to. They are chubby and sweet – I’m not broody, but even so, part of me would like to reach for one of the infants, feel the solid warmth in my lap.
Siya comes back over to me. ‘You know, we used to have babies die every year from exposure. Mum and baby were made by the elders to sleep open to the elements, till the village could afford to buy food for the baby’s naming ceremony.’
Tim’s told me about the other dangers the women face. Many suffer domestic violence or sexually transmitted diseases passed on by their husbands. Even ‘everyday’ problems like TB or snake bites can be fatal.
It makes my own lack of career direction seem so self-indulgent.
On the way to the next place, Siya asks about me. I tell her about taking calls in the underground control room we call the pit, and explain the technology that lets me track an ambulance as it heads towards a caller’s address, knowing that occasionally it’s only my voice keeping someone alive.
Those calls where I made a difference used to be enough, but over the last year – longer, if I’m really honest – the rest of it has been getting to me: the hoaxers, the time-wasters, the mental-health patients whose voices I recognize because they call so often and never get the help they need.
‘And that’s enough for you? It sounds so . . . removed.’
Her question stays in my mind as we stop at the second village and I watch the children being checked. It won’t leave me even after we get back to base. I don’t own up to Tim about where I’ve been. It’s better for him not to worry about me.
‘I love this work,’ he says as we sit on the steps of our shared dorm building, sipping chai. ‘People are bored by statistics, but it’s where the nuggets of wisdom are hidden. You can see from the figures that analysis can save more lives than individual doctors.’
‘And you don’t mind not having the patient contact?’ I think of the yearning I felt earlier to hold one of the children.
He shakes his head. ‘What if I could help hundreds, thousands of people, instead of one? I know it’s not as sexy. You don’t get grateful relatives buying you chocolates. But if it works, then who cares?’
Tim looks different tonight. His eyes are brighter and he’s smiling more, his hands swooping as he explains the improvements they’ve made here, the work there’s still to do.
I feel different myself: travelling, experiencing how other people live, even seeing Tim lit up for the first time in . . . well, months.
I realize something as he talks. At home, I’ve stopped seeing him as Tim, my funny, eccentric first-aider and best friend. Instead, I’ve been blaming him for the decisions I’ve made. Yes, I made sacrifices to help him, but that was still my choice.
When did my negativity begin?
Marilyn’s wedding, after that kiss with Joel. I allowed a man who betrayed me to poison my present and future, as well as my past.
What a spoiled brat I am, holding Tim responsible for how disappointing my life feels right now. I am twenty-one years old. It’s about time I got my shit together.
‘What?’ Tim says. ‘You’re looking at me very strangely.’
I don’t plan it, but I find myself leaning over to kiss Tim, his lips still hot and sweet from his tea.
He kisses me back.
The next morning, my head is all over the place. Tim and I didn’t have sex last night – there’s nowhere private enough. Still, I felt closer to him than I have in months.
‘You’re very quiet, Kerry. Worried by my driving?’ she jokes.
I’ve talked Siya into letting me go out with her again, heading out to drop supplies off to some of the women workers. We’ve been on the road for an hour and she’s a little more relaxed today.
‘No. You drive well. It’s more . . . what you said yesterday, about being distanced from the callers, the people who needed help? It does frustrate me. I didn’t realize till yesterday, watching your colleagues with the kids, and I craved that . . .’
‘A baby with Timothy?’
‘God, no. Not yet, anyway. I mean real contact with actual patients.’ I shrug. ‘We’re all different of course. Tim is the opposite, he’s loving the public-health work which—’
Siya brakes suddenly and I shoot forward towards the windscreen, before the seatbelt tightens across my body. ‘Look!’
Ahead of us, a moped lies on its side, along with a carpet of dried-out leaves, the kind they use for the horrible bidi roll-ups they call ‘poor man’s cigarettes’. Flies are already gathering.
I reach for my door handle, sure there must be a casualty nearby, but Siya stops me. ‘No! It could be a set-up. An ambush.’
The words sound melodramatic, but she’s right to hold back. The first responder’s acronym DR ABC that was drilled into me at ambulance cadets flashes to my mind. D stands for danger, though even back then, I found it hard to hold back.
I peer through the window. ‘We can’t just drive past, can we?’
Siya stares through the glass. ‘I . . . I don’t know. Perhaps the person on the bike has gone for help. Can you see anybody?’
There’s a ditch to the side of the track, that separates us from a rice paddy. I scan it. Poking out at the far edge, I can see something rounded, browny-pink. ‘Is that a foot?’
Siya edges forward in first gear and even though she keeps the revs down, it sounds as loud as a jet engine. If rebels are waiting in the trees, they could jump out at any time. We have supplies on board, but no phone to get help: there’s no signal this far into the jungle.
The scooter lies diagonally across the track, so we can’t get past even if we decide not to get out. Siya’s knuckles have paled where she grips the steering wheel.
The foot – or whatever it is – moves.
‘Look. It’s definitely a person, Siya.’
‘I’ll back up, turn round. We can go back and get help.’
‘If the rider is badly hurt, he needs help now, not in two hours!’
Before she can start reversing, I grab the door handle and clamber out, though I’m half expecting a bullet to thump through my back, or unseen hands to grasp my ankles and pull me into the forest.
When that doesn’t happen, I keep going, and I hear Siya’s door open behind me. I reach the ditch and see a boy of fourteen or so, lying on his back, eyes flickering in a face covered in blood. His chest moves up and down and his hands clutch at his leg. The bright white bone of a fractured femur pokes out of his thigh, surrounded by raw, bloody tissue.
Shit, that must hurt.
But that’s all the emotion I allow myself before trying to think of a way Siya and I could get him out of the ditch without doing more damage.
‘Siya, what kit do we have in the truck? Is there anything flat we could use as a stretcher?’
I climb down into the ditch, and the boy opens his eyes and tries to move away, terrified. A good sign. He’s conscious. ‘It’s OK,’ I say in my calmest voice, not knowing if he’s likely to speak any English but hoping my tone will convey reassurance. ‘We’re going to help you.’
‘Here’s what we’ve got for first aid,’ Siya says, passing down a green bag that contains the basics. ‘And I have an idea for the stretcher.’
I dress the head wound. I can’t see any signs of spinal injury, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. However, I do know that if he stays here, he’ll die.
‘How about this?’ Siya stands over us, holding up a large oblong piece of plastic. ‘It’s the shelf from the back of the truck. The Boss will kill both of us if we get blood on it, but I think it’s worth a try.’
Screw the consequences. The casualty needs me and I know exactly what I must do to fix this. I get to work.
The boy survives, but halfway through the verbal lashing Siya and I get from Dr Murty, I wonder if we’re in worse shape than the patient.
‘Siya! How could you put at risk all the trust we have built in our communities? This untrained stranger could have destroyed it all with one ignorant word or deed.’
‘I didn’t think it through, Boss. Ma’am.’
The office is spartan but for a teak grandfather clock. The pendulum swings back and forth, and I can hear the strong, regular beat.
‘That is obvious, Siya. Imagine if she’d been hurt in a vehicle or even ambushed, the damage it could have done to our reputation.’
‘You’re right. I am so sorry.’
‘Enough. I will decide your fate tomorrow. And as for you, Miss . . .’ she checks her papers, ‘Miss Smith, I am shocked to see that you work in your own country’s health service. How about we send a few curious tourists into your hospitals? Shall we let them operate instead of your surgeons?’
‘I . . . it was an emergency, he needed treatment.’
‘And you – a girl with zero medical training – were the right person to provide it?’
‘I was the person on scene. I know I shouldn’t have been there but the thing is . . . honestly, I would do the same again.’
And not for purely selfless motives either. The buzz was incredible. Better than jumping out of a plane.
The Boss scoffs. She has grey hair and a soft face, but now it’s terrifying. ‘Untrained, you are useless to me. Please make arrangements to leave as soon as possible.’
‘But my boyfriend—’
‘He will stay,’ she says, as though it’s her decision and not his. But as I leave the office, my own heartbeat outpacing the clock’s, I realize I have to let Tim stay, because this place could be the making of him.
I’ve almost packed by the time he learns what the Boss has decided and finds me in the dorm.
‘But it’s not fair, Kerry, you did the right thing!’
I shrug. ‘The reason I was there in the first place was because I broke the rules. And it’s true, I could have put the project, myself, the villagers in danger.’
He reaches for my hand. ‘You can’t help helping. It’s one of the things that makes you you. And you saved the kid. I’m proud of you.’
I return the grip. ‘I’m cross with myself for jumping in, but I’m a bit proud of myself too. And Siya. She made a great partner.’
‘Well, no way am I staying behind while you go home.’
I laugh and let go of his hand. ‘I’m not going home, yet, Tim. I’ll head back to Kerala, cruise the rivers, even learn to meditate so I stop rushing into situations like a bull in a china shop.’
‘Without me?’ He looks freaked out.
‘I’m a big girl now.’
‘But we were meant to be here together. That was the whole point!’
Before I can answer, he storms off. As I finish packing, I try to work out why he’s taking this so hard while I am relatively calm. The trip has changed things for the better. I’ve stopped blaming him for my own screw-ups. I fancy him again. The two are almost certainly connected. But will these feelings last once we’re back home?
I zip up my case. The car to take me to the nearest station is due in three hours. Being alone in India is the kind of adventure I’ve been craving. So why don’t I feel happier?
Tim walks back into the room, eyes blazing.
‘You’re staying,’ he blurts. ‘If you want to, that is. I talked to the Boss. Told her she was being too harsh, that if she insisted you leave, I would too. That we come as a team, or not at all.’
I don’t think he’s ever stuck up for me before.
No. I’m wrong. I remember another night, when we were little, a cold evening back in his mum’s bungalow when the two of us were dressing up in old clothes. We found two men’s shirts – I suppose they must have been his father’s. Maybe his mum had kept them in case he came back.
Mine was white and Tim’s blue, and we put them on backwards, like surgeons, and we were looking for underpants to wear as surgical masks when his mother walked in.
We froze, expecting a telling off. Instead, she started to laugh.
‘Oh, hens, look at the pair of you. Dr Tim and Nurse Kerry. Aren’t you both adorable? Let me get my camera.’
‘I’m not a nurse, I’m a doctor!’ I shouted.
Poor Tim looked from me to his mother and back again. I knew he was afraid of her moods and her tongue. But he folded his arms across his chest and nodded. ‘That’s right, Mum. Kerry and me are both doctors. We’re going to make everyone better!’
‘So will you stay?’ Tim asks, interrupting the memory. ‘I need you with me.’
I have never been able to say no to someone who needs me. But what about my needs? Being here has made me realize I can’t make someone else happy unless I am happy myself. ‘Of course I’ll stay. But when we get home, things have to change. Because I’m going to need your help.’
‘Anything you need.’
And as we hug each other, I begin to tell him what it’s going to take to make me happy again.
It is the last night of our stay in the project. We eat our meal with the others – a modest feast in our honour, with my favourite dal and the mango and jaggery drink Tim likes. The Boss has already said goodbye to us in private, praising his analysis of the consequences of illegal payments demanded of women in labour. She thanked me, with a pained expression, for my strictly policed menial work in the clinic.
Siya has almost forgiven me for landing her in it, and she’s the one doling out hand-made cardboard medals.
‘This is for you, Timothy, for being a very cute nerd!’ She blushes as she pins the square ‘medal’ to his shirt. It reads EXCELS AT EXCEL.
Mine is circular and made from tin foil, with letters scored through to reveal the white card behind it: CLEAN GENIE.
I smile as I pin it on myself. ‘Surely, “shit shoveller” would have been a more accurate description. Along with vomit, blood, wee and the rest.’
Although this place has taught me much more than how many colours and consistencies of bodily fluids there are. The Kerry who arrived here was so stuck in a rut she couldn’t work out why. Siya saw it straight away: I’ve had enough of being hands-off.
I want a second chance to become a doctor.
When I told Tim, I worried he’d laugh. But instead he kissed me and immediately promised to do everything he can. Payback time, he’d said.
There are no guarantees. I’ll have to retake Chemistry and Physics, get more volunteering experience, build up my application. I can’t wait to get home and begin.
Now Tim and I stand alone on the veranda, sheltered from the rain.
‘I want to go for one last walk,’ he says. It has become a nightly ritual for us over the past few weeks..
‘Sure.’
We take our usual route around the edge of the campus, listening to the kids in their dance class, and the singing coming from the refectory. Tim slips his hand into mine. It fits perfectly. I never noticed that before.
‘I’ll miss this place,’ he says.
‘The work?’
‘Partly. But also, I’m not looking forward to being a clueless medical student again.’
The sounds of the forest get louder the further we get from the buildings. I won’t tell him how much I envy him, that I’d swap in an instant, even though his next two years will be the toughest yet.
Still, I’ll be patient. He’ll qualify before I can go anywhere near medical school, and then we’ll swap. He’ll be earning, I will study.
‘You won’t always feel clueless, Tim. In a way it’s better to be unsure of yourself; you’re less likely to make mistakes.’
He stops, next to our favourite tendu tree, with foliage so dense you can stand underneath it in the heaviest monsoon rain and barely get wet. ‘The other thing I’m going to miss is being here, with you—’
I laugh. ‘We’re going to be together back home.’
‘Hear me out, Kerry.’
I nod.
‘You always tell me off for not being wilder. But this is the wildest thing I’ve ever done, coming here. And it worked, didn’t it? Not only for me but for . . . well, us.’
‘We’re OK,’ I say and I mean it. ‘Much more than OK.’
He turns to face me and takes my other hand. ‘I couldn’t be the person I am without you, and I don’t want to be without you . . . Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to do. Probably is . . .’
‘What is?’
‘I know I’m shit at this stuff but . . . Kerry Smith, would you . . . not now but soon, maybe, if you could bear it. Would you consider marrying me?’