Grace in Strange Disguise

Chapter 7

7

Wednesdays were busy at the physiotherapy clinic. The department clerk had stacked the day’s files in order in each therapist’s inbox, and Esther opened the first one on her pile to refamiliarise herself with the case and its treatment. At nine o’clock, she called in her first client.

“Whatever you did last time worked a treat,” the client said. “Things were stirred up a little for one night, but it’s been much better since and I’m no longer waking in the morning with headaches.”

Esther recorded the comments using the shorthand she’d learned at university. “Is there any time of day that it’s still a problem?”

“Late evening, but going to bed early with a hot pack helps.”

“Okay, lie on your stomach and I’ll get to work.” It looked like being one of those client-every-thirty-minutes-no-cancellation days. Mrs Brown with a sore leg. Mr Chong with headaches. A child with a stiff ankle post cast removal. The usual stream of aches and pains. Esther prided herself on running to time. An efficient rhythm of question, examine, treat. Question, examine, treat. Today most patients were improving, and she discharged two beaming customers, freeing up space for new clients.

Treating clients who’d been before gave Esther more time to think as she worked. She loved her work. Maybe she loved it even more because she almost didn’t become a physiotherapist.

As Esther had approached the end of high-school, she’d had no idea about what to do next. She was more of an all-rounder than a specialist. She hadn’t even known what physiotherapy was when her favourite teacher suggested it, but when she investigated, things seemed to fall into place. It combined her interest in science with her love of people, and it wouldn’t take as long as becoming a doctor.

The problem was that she couldn’t imagine her father ever saying proudly. “Meet my daughter. She’s a physiotherapist.” Physiotherapy had no status, no fancy titles, and no high salary to make anyone envious.

She was a Daddy’s girl, even if he was often too busy to pay attention to her. One of her high-school friends had asked why she adored her father, since he was as aloof as the gods on Mount Olympus. Perhaps that was part of his mystique. She’d worked hard at music and academics to make him proud of her.

Esther had needed to be subtle to get her way. No childish blurting out. In the end, she was saved because she didn’t get the marks for medical school, and she won a scholarship for physiotherapy. It was the only scholarship available, which allowed her father to convince himself physiotherapy was okay. Esther smiled to herself as she mobilised the joints of her client’s back. The whole experience had taught her it was possible to beat her father, but it required stealth and patience and a sprinkling of good luck.

The first client after lunch was an elderly woman with a painful lower back. Midway through the treatment, Esther asked the woman to turn from her stomach to her side.

“Can you help me please, dear?” Mrs Barclay asked. “I’m afraid I might roll off this narrow table.”

Esther leaned forward to give assistance. Mrs Barclay over-balanced, flung out her hand, and hit Esther in the chest. A stab of pain shot through Esther’s left breast. She gasped and tears welled in her eyes.

“So, so sorry. I’m not usually clumsy.” The client tried to sit up.

“It wasn’t your fault. Just one of those things.” Esther rubbed the flat of her hand over the painful spot.

After Mrs Barclay left, still apologising, Esther hurried to the bathroom. Why was there still a dull throb where she’d been hit? She locked the door of the two-cubicle bathroom and untucked her shirt so she could raise it and look in the mirror. She couldn’t see any visible bruising. She touched the skin and pushed deeper. Ouch. She sucked in her breath as her fingers connected with one painful spot. Her fingers probed around the area. There was definitely a lump in her breast, and not a small one. Her breathing accelerated.

She checked her right breast—nothing. There was no way that knock had caused the lump. Clammy skin, shaky legs. She leaned on the sink. Surely not? Not something serious. She was too young. Too healthy. Too—too blessed. After all, she was the daughter of William Macdonald. The man with a direct line to God.

Calm down. Nothing has been proven yet. But logic didn’t lower her hurtling heart rate. Telling herself to calm down didn’t stop her sweating. Her mind zoomed through possible scenarios, each more horrible than the last. She tottered into the toilet cubicle, lowered the cover, and slumped on the seat.

Get a hold of yourself, Esther.

Breathe.

She filled her lungs and held her breath. One-two-three-four. Exhale. Again. Deep breath. In-two-three-four. Hold-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. Two more cycles and she had to put her head between her knees. Talk about a rush of adrenaline. This was more a surging flood of panic.

The breathing helped, but she still felt weak and trembly.

Thank goodness her next client had cancelled. She had about twenty minutes to pull herself together. Still shaky, she splashed water on her face and dabbed her skin with a paper towel. She couldn’t possibly concentrate on writing up treatment notes now. Instead, she went and knocked on her boss’s door.

“Sue, got a minute?”

Esther tried to keep her voice steady and bright. She must have failed because Sue peered at her over the top of her reading glasses.

“You alright? You sound terrible.”

“The last client accidentally hit me on my chest, and I’ve discovered a lump.”

“You mean she hit you so hard it raised a lump?”

“No.” Esther shook her head. “I mean that she hit a lump that must have been there for a while.”

Sue’s forehead furrowed. “Have you noticed the problem before?”

“Not really.” Esther stepped fully into the room and closed the door, not wanting her private business audible to anyone passing by. “I went to my doctor months ago, but he fobbed me off. Told me I was too young for any major problems. And I’ve been distracted since.” Esther grimaced. “Wedding preparations.” It sounded lame.

“People can have breast cancer in their twenties. I’ve even known someone who was seventeen.” Sue sat up straight. “If it was me, I’d find it difficult to concentrate the rest of the afternoon. My doctor is excellent, and she’s only just around the corner. Would you like me to call and see if she’s got a cancellation?”

“I’ve still got five clients to see.”

“Let’s call and ask if there’s a vacancy.” Sue lifted several piles of papers. “If she does, there’s no reason I can’t see your clients. Any excuse to avoid paperwork.” She pulled out her diary, reached across her desk for the phone, and dialled.

Forty-five minutes later, Esther took off her name badge and put a jacket over her uniform. She drew the jacket across her chest to ward off the cold clutching at her with icy tentacles. Her stomach seemed to be hosting a butterfly’s garden party. Desperate, pleading prayers tumbled through her mind.