NIP/TUCK
London, England
“David, wake up.” Kate glowered over David’s inert body. “David, hellooooooo?” Her irritation escalated by his lack of response.
Kate always marvelled at David’s ability to drop off for a ‘power nap’ as he called it. Any time, any place, anywhere. No matter how inappropriate the moment. But why did ‘anywhere’ have to be on her hospital bed? And why was ‘any time’ now, when she needed him most? She felt sick. She was never sick, not even during pregnancy. God forbid she ever relinquished any of the food she consumed. Grrrrrr , this was so frustrating! Not how she'd imagined it at all. She’d played the scene over and over in her mind many times; she’d be lying peacefully on the bed, patiently awaiting her surgery. Her black hair spread dramatically over the pillow, as if she were Snow White. David would be one of the adoring dwarves, likely Dopey or Bashful, but surveying his motionless body, she settled on Sleepy and she was no longer Snow White but Grumpy.
In her obsessive imagining of this precise moment, she’d be calm and composed. Confident that the correct decision had been made; that this surgery was going to be the making of her. David would be standing over her, whispering loving words of reassurance, stroking her and kissing her, filling her with love and support.
“David, wake up. I neeeeeeed you,” she shouted deliberately in his ear, her patience running out as she nudged him forcefully.
“Uch. W-w-what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“I feel sick.”
“Go to the toilet then.” He rolled over to resume his sleep, his back now facing Kate. No doubt he was having his favourite dream, the one where he was drinking and playing pool down the pub with David Beckham.
Kate wished she’d left him at home with the kids and brought a friend to the hospital instead. A girlfriend would have given her the required level of moral support. A girlfriend would’ve sat there and listened to her now-growing list of anxieties and concerns. She should’ve asked Jamie. She certainly would have been supportive, and no doubt taken her mind off the impending surgery by amusing her with all of her wonderful stories. But Jamie was now juggling two jobs as she finished off her modelling commitments and was buried in research for Nigel. She had enough on her plate, so Kate hadn’t even asked. She glanced back at David, now curled into a ball, dead to the world.
His gentle snores were exasperating. Kate went into the bathroom to escape the noise. Once inside—and with the door firmly shut—she pulled down her tracksuit bottoms until they sat in a pool by her feet, lifted up her jumper and took off her bra to survey herself in the mirror. How was it that most of her friends who’d had kids didn’t have a disgusting body? How was it that two pregnancies had ravaged her body to this extent? Yet there was no mystery involved. Most of her friends had seen pregnancy as a means of having offspring, whereas she’d seen it as a reason to eat whatever the bloody hell she liked for nine months without feeling guilty. She never understood those women who craved apples and carrots. No, not her. Only full fat, full carbohydrate and anything else of the highest calorific value that she could possibly shove down her gob.
Everybody had nodded sympathetically and mentioned something about water retention, but Kate had seen the look in their eyes. She knew deep down that she couldn’t be carrying four stones of water and one stone of a baby. Five full stones she'd put on, not once but twice. Was it any wonder her body had ceased to regain its pre-pregnancy shape? Like an elastic band that had been stretched too much, her elasticity had been decimated, and all that was left was this revolting, crinkly mass. No amount of dieting and exercise could ever rectify the situation, and she simply couldn’t live with it anymore. Surgery was the only way forward. She was definitely doing the right thing. Or was she?
Pulling up her tracksuit bottoms and replacing the jumper without bothering to put on her bra, Kate continued to stare at herself in the mirror. What if something went wrong? What happened if she never woke up from the anaesthetic and for what? For vanity? She could potentially die and all because she didn’t like the way she looked? She had children, for Christ’s sake, she was a mother and a wife; she had responsibilities. David loved her just the way she was. Or did he? After all, it was his idea that she had the surgery. Her daughters loved her, irrespective of what she looked like, so why was she leaving them to do this? Was she a bad person who had her priorities all screwed up? Would David manage alone with the girls? What sort of mother was she to leave her girls for two whole weeks? Fear. Guilt. Fear. Guilt. Arrrrgggghhhh .
David was only staying for a couple of days whilst she had the surgery and then would return to the island with the girls whilst she recuperated at her parents’. No doubt David would just sleep with the two girls in their king-size American bed. They’d have breakfast in one of the many cafés near the school and dinner out every night. They’d probably love it, freed from the shackles of Kate. Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that her carefully constructed routine would fly out the window, but she had no right to dictate what went on during her absence. She only prayed that when she returned, she could reinstate order to the chaos that would no doubt become her home.
Shaking away thoughts of neglecting her children, Kate pulled herself together and reminded herself that she was doing the right thing. She left the bathroom and slammed the door. Still no movement from David. Going in search of her phone, Kate decided to return Jamie’s text from the night before. Settling into the chair next to the bed, Kate plonked herself down and put her feet up on the bed, accidentally on purpose knocking David in the process. He momentarily stopped snoring, wiggled further away from her, and then the annoying sound continued. It was too early for anybody to be up; she was truly on her own. But then magically,
‘Beep. Beep.’
Jamie: Good luck hun,
thinking about you. Don’t
worry, morphine is better
than vodka!!
Kate: Thanks, feeling sick
as hell but too late now, hope
you’re right about the
morphine
Jamie: Let me know how
it goes. Can I come visit
you tomoz? X
Kate: Will text you after
the op. But think I might
even be going home and
you have enough on your
plate. How’s the research
going?
Jamie: In 7th heaven. Finished
researching all bags, now
working on watches. Bit
daunted by art section
though but Nigel is hysterical.
He texts me about 100 times
a day. I love it!
Kate: I knew it ha ha.
You're welcome.
Suddenly, the door to Kate’s hospital room opened and in walked a pretty nurse. She took one look at David’s lifeless body and gave Kate a sympathetic glance. “G’day, Mrs Buchanan, I’m Summer. Just came to see if you’ve settled in okay?”
“Thanks. Yeah, I’m fine, just nervous and wishing it was all over. Do you have any idea what time my surgery will be?” Kate said meekly.
“I believe you’re the second one in today. Mr Barnes will come and see you shortly and then after that the anaesthetist will have a quick chat with you, so you’ll probably go down around ten.”
Kate groaned; that would be another four hours. Another four hours without food. She couldn’t do it; she was starving already. One would think that nerves would’ve diminished her appetite, but apparently not. The nurse looked at her sympathetically. “Please don’t worry, you’re in great hands.” With that, she passed Kate a regulation blue hospital gown and a pair of paper knickers.
“When you’re ready, you’ll need to put these on. And Mrs Buchanan, don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it.” Nurse Summer reassured Kate as she left the room.
Having been disturbed from his slumber by their talking, David raised his head and grinned sheepishly, then, looking at the garments muttered, “Hmmmm, sexy.”
Kate had the urge to whack him, but recognising that this whole situation was self-inflicted, simply flicked her head dramatically as she’d seen Emily do a thousand times, and marched off to the bathroom. When she re-emerged, she noted that David had now moved from the bed to the armchair by the window and was noshing on a sandwich whilst on his phone. Kate looked at him incredulously. For a man who primarily left all the organisational stuff to her, he’d done remarkably well at preparing himself with provisions for his morning stint in hospital. Knowing full well that she wasn’t allowed food or drink until after the operation, he at least had the good grace to look guilty when he was caught red-handed. Quickly shoving the rest of the sandwich into his mouth in one go, David muffled something like, ‘Sorry.’ Which came out more as a “Soooooorrrhhaaahhaaahaaay.” As he laid eyes upon Kate in the hospital gown with the customary gaping back, showing off far from attractive paper knickers, which were four sizes too big. It wasn’t her best look.
Kate didn’t have time to respond, as seconds later, Mr Barnes entered the room.
“Morning Mrs Buchanan. How are we today?” Kate felt the desire to launch into her concerns but instinctively recognised his question had been rhetorical.
“Fine,” she lied.
“Lovely, just lovely, now let’s have a look at you.” Mr Barnes signalled for her to remove the hospital gown whilst holding up a black marker pen menacingly. Kate remembered the marker pen. She hated that marker pen. Cringing, she dropped her hospital gown and sat on the bed, resigned to the fact that she was about to become a human canvas. She watched as he drew markings around her breasts and stomach, noting with some amusement that he’d drawn what appeared to be some sort of Mr Men face on her body. Her nipples had become eyes, her belly button a nose, and on her lower stomach a huge big smile stretched from one hip to the other. Well, at least she was Mr Happy instead of Mr Sad. The reality that these were incision marks caused another wave of nausea. Could she possibly ask for the morphine now, before she'd even had the operation?
The door banged open again and in walked the anaesthetist. Thankfully, this was the man she needed, he was the man who could give her drugs.
“Morning Mrs Buchanan.” Another cheery, happy person. Perhaps they put morphine in the hospital’s ventilation system!
“Oh dear”—looking at her face—“nervous are we?”
No . Kate thought. I’m nervous but ‘we’ are not . At least she hoped he wasn’t nervous, seeing that her life was now in his hands.
“Not to worry, dear,” he said, picking up her chart without even looking at her. That’s okay. Patronise me all you like, just give me drugs. I want pre-meds. Give me something NOW . As if with sheer mind power alone, Kate transported these thoughts directly into his head as he turned to Nurse Summer and spoke the magic words, “Think we should give something to Mrs Buchanan to take the edge off her nerves.”
Yes, yes, yes. You clever clever man, give me something, great idea . Kate looked over at David, who miraculously seemed to have put his phone down at the mention of drugs; Kate knew he was thinking about the gas and air he’d kindly shared with her when she was having Emily. A small white paper cup and two little white pills were thrust into her eager hands. She gratefully chucked them into her mouth before David could ask her to share them with him, swallowing them down with the water. Only after they’d been swallowed did she ask, “What were those?” Although anything was better than nothing.
“Temazepam, they’ll just make you a little sleepy.”
Kate lay on the now vacated hospital bed and tried to relax. She looked around the hospital room, which was ugly and plain and clearly hadn’t been refurbished since it was built and god only knew when that was. There existed within her an absolute conviction that the pills wouldn’t work, which was why it was so amazing when her following thought was disrupted by the door being flung open and Summer coming in.
“Mrs Buchanan, it’s time to go down now.”
Kate didn’t believe she’d slept the last three hours, but the wave of relief was quickly superseded by a wave of irritation at being woken up. Why the bloody hell did they have to wake her up? Why couldn’t they have just wheeled her down and given her the anaesthetic without waking her?
David was quickly at her side. Kate looked terrified.
“It’s going to be just fine,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
“Will you stay here? Please? Don’t go anywhere, please. Will you be here when I get back? Please, don’t leave me.” She was waffling, still half asleep and feeling drugged.
“I will never leave you, never,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her gently along her hairline. He stroked her forehead and stared deeply into her eyes. “Never.” And then she didn’t feel alone anymore.
Lying on her back as she was wheeled down to the operating room, the ceiling lights were shining in her eyes. One light … two lights … three lights. Kate desperately tried to distract herself from the panic that was mounting inside. Four lights … five lights. However, for some strange reason, counting lights as one is being wheeled down to an operating room for a five-hour procedure curiously didn’t seem to offer any distraction. Thankfully, as she arrived in the pre-operating room, the anaesthetist was smiling kindly. Unable to speak, Kate had become catatonic. Inside, however, she was screaming, I want to go home. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I want my mummy . The anaesthetist was still smiling. What did he have to smile about? Perhaps he was a sick, sadistic psycho? Kate remained silent. Shit, what happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if it sort of works and I look like I’m unconscious, but really I can feel everything? Arrrrgggghhhh.
“Mrs Buchanan, you’ll feel a little prick, then I want you to count to ten.”
She wanted to voice her concerns. She wanted to discuss a back-up plan. She wanted to ask the anaesthetist to watch her toe, and she’d find a way to wiggle it so he’d know that the anaesthetic hadn’t worked, but all she squawked was, “One … two … ” Blackness.
* * *
“Mrs Buchanan, Mrs Buchanan, wake up now. Mrs Buchanan, can you hear me?”
No, go away. Leave me alone. I’m trying to reach an unconscious state so that I can have my surgery. Stupid people. Why are they always interrupting me when I’m trying to sleep?
“Mrs Buchanan? Kate? Can you hear me?” And then something was being pushed into her hand.
“The operation is over, everything went fantastically. If you’re in pain, then press the button on the remote I’ve just put in your hand, and it will administer some morphine.”
Still unable to speak out loud. Pain, what pain? What are they talking about? Haven’t had the operation yet, just about to go down, got to count to ten. One … two.
Oh Fuck. Oh holy mother of … owwwwwwwww! That would be that pain, that excruciating unbelievable some-werewolf-had-just-ripped open-her-body pain. No, worse than that. Some alien-that-had-been-incubated-in-her-body pain. Now ripping its way through her stomach-spilling-intestines-and-kidneys-and-other-organs-in-its-wake pain. Someone said something about pain, morphine, yes, what did she have to do? Oh yes, click the button. CLICK. Aaaahhhhhhhhh better.
Kate liked the clicky thing; it was fabulous that the werewolves and aliens had disappeared so quickly. She felt a little confused and opened one eye. David was still sitting in the armchair, and as if he’d been stuck in some time warp, still eating and still reading.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, “I’ve been kissing your forehead and stroking you for hours and only just sat down now. Honestly.” And somehow she knew this was true, she’d felt it, and she smiled.
“What do I look like?”
“An Egyptian mummy, a beautiful Egyptian princess.”
“Not Snow White then?” She felt confused, she’d planned a Snow White look not a Cleopatra look, especially not a dead mummified Cleopatra look. Glancing down, she noted that from under her chin right down to her thighs, she was totally encapsulated in bandages. Jamie had been right after all; she looked perfect for Halloween. Not really feeling any pain, but just in case, CLICK. No point in taking any chances.
Her legs were raised under the knees by a special bed which contorted depending on which body part needed to be supported, and the back of the bed was at a 120-degree angle to her legs. One tube seemed to be coming out of her stomach, and another two tubes, coming out from each breast. Kate had no idea what these tubes were for and noted that there were an additional two further tubes. One she presumed was a catheter for her wee—oh thank god, that meant she didn’t have to worry about going to the toilet—and the other one she traced back to a bag which housed the morphine. She liked that tube the best, so much so that she actually didn’t care about all the other tubes. CLICK and nothing hurts at all, no pain, just happiness. She felt as if she were floating amidst a sky of pure cotton wool clouds with enormous relief that it was finally over.
Summer popped her head around the door, she was mumbling something and Kate nodded in agreement, although she didn’t have a clue what she was saying. Kate noted that Summer had an Australian accent, strange, she hadn’t noticed before. Ahhhhhh how lovely; Summer was from the Land of Oz. This made Kate think about the yellow brick road. Summer gave Kate a little white pot of pills, which she dutifully took. It didn’t really matter what they were. Summer was from the Land of Oz; she worked for the wizard, she could be trusted.
“Are you hungry?” David was talking.
Hungry? Is that what he asked? Am I hungry? No. It was strange not to be hungry. She shook her head.
“Are you thirsty?” David was still talking. Much better, he looked concerned and was paying her proper attention now; exactly what she wanted. Perhaps the number of tubes that were coming from her body freaked him out. He looked lovely. Nice, sweet, soft, lovely David. She loved him. Then Summer came in. She loved Summer, too. She loved the hospital room. It was pretty and CLICK. She loved this clicky thing. She really loved the clicky thing. What was it? Oh yes, morphine. She would call it Murphy, as she loved it soooooooo much. Summer was talking to David. What were they saying? David was worried that she was clicking too much. CLICK. Shut up David. Shut up now. CLICK. She’d better click a lot, just in case they took Murphy away. Oh please let Murphy stay. Murphy was her friend.
David was mumbling something about a football match, something about wanting to go, something about it being seven in the evening.
“Yes, go darling go. Click your heels three times, and you will be home,” Kate said and David smiled, rushing out the door before Dorothy changed her mind. Kate was happy, sleepy and happy and on the yellow brick road where the Smurfs live. CLICK. Whoops. Hysterical, silly Kate. No Smurfs on the yellow brick road. Cleopatra the Egyptian princess on her way to the Emerald City. Blackness.