The Operation Read online

The Operation

  By Colin Marks

  Copyright 2011 Colin Marks

  Special thanks as always to Mark Mitchell, Tanya Almeida and Allan Jardine for their editing and enthusiasm. And thanks to Katherine, as her operation provided the story!

  Edward sat in his chair, book in hand, and stared down the hallway uncertain what to do. The knock on the door had unsettled him, not just because of the late hour but simply because there had been a knock. In the silence that followed he realised it had been so long since he had last heard such a sound that he wasn’t clear whether the knock had even been on his door. His neighbour’s door was right beside his so maybe it was a visitor to her house.

  He waited. His eyes fixed on the door. He hoped that by doing nothing the person outside would go away and he’d be able to return to his book. It was late and he was determined to finish this chapter before he turned in for the night. His students would probe him on it tomorrow and he wasn’t prepared to take any more of their criticism. At the end of their last lesson he was so frustrated by their behaviour that he had shouted at them to read this book, adding for extra impact that he would question them on it during their next class. It was only after the students had left and he was alone in the classroom did he understand this was also a punishment on himself; he also had to read the text to be able to conduct the interrogation. He judged this self-inflicted punishment as fair since his control of that lesson hadn’t befitted a teacher of his standing. He knew he should have been able to restrain the class better than he had.

  No further disturbances occurred so Edward returned to his book but before he could finish a sentence the knock was repeated. This time it was impatient; two hard knocks in quick succession. Edward marked the page in his book then stood, placing the book carefully alongside his glass of sherry on the table. This was unnerving for him, he rarely received visitors and never without prior arrangement. He walked down the hallway debating who this could be and why they were here; his pace slowed the closer he got to the door as he concluded he didn’t know.

  He reached the end of the hall, took a deep composing breath and looked through the door’s peephole. Two men he didn’t recognise stood on the other side facing him, patiently waiting side-by-side. Both men wore suits, and one of them wore a white lab coat over the top. The man in the white coat carried a clipboard under one arm and held a large leather bag in his other hand.

  ‘Yes?’ Edward called out nervously, ‘who is it?’

  ‘Mr Newman? Mr Edward Newman?’ replied the man in the white coat.

  ‘Who is it?’ he repeated.

  ‘Mr Newman, we’re from Beechfield Hospital. We’re here to collect you. Please can you open the door.’

  Edward took a step back from the door. He tried to think why two men from a hospital would wish to collect him at this hour. He couldn’t determine any reason why those men should be there. He looked back through the peephole; neither had moved. He considered that they certainly looked professional and could work in a hospital so he had no reason to doubt their claim. He slid back the security chain, tentatively opened the door and peered out.

  The man in the white lab coat nodded his head politely. ‘Good evening, Mr Newman. We’re here to collect you.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Collect me for what?’

  ‘For your operation. I just need to do some preliminary checks before we leave, your blood pressure and pulse, that sort of thing. It won’t take long.’ He indicated to the man beside him. ‘We’ll then drive to the hospital.’

  ‘Operation? I think there’s been a mistake. I don’t need an operation.’

  The man placed the leather bag on the floor and retrieved the clipboard from under his arm. ‘You’ll be reassured to know Beechfield Hospital prides itself on never making mistakes, Mr Newman. But let’s check. Please can you confirm your full name and date of birth.’

  ‘Edward Henry Newman. 13th May, 1960.’

  The clipboard was turned to face Edward and the man’s well manicured finger pointed to a line half way down the page. Edward leaned forward and acknowledged that those were indeed the details listed. The man showed no signs of emotion that he had been proved correct. ‘As I said, Mr Newman, you’ll be reassured to know we don’t make mistakes.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you have. I don’t care what it says on that piece of paper. I’m not due to have an operation. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have work I need to do.’

  ‘Mr Newman. You were sent a letter, let me see now.’ The man’s finger scanned down the page looking for something, tapping the page lightly once it had been found. He then checked the date on his wristwatch before continuing. ‘Yes, you were sent a letter over three weeks ago. The operation must go ahead, it can’t be delayed. I know operations can be unpleasant and daunting, but Beechfield Hospital is an excellent facility. You can expect to receive treatment of the very highest quality. Postponing this treatment could have very serious repercussions for your condition.’

  Edward pondered the situation. The last time he saw his doctor he had been prescribed antibiotics for a minor throat infection which had successfully cleared in a matter of days. His doctor hadn’t taken any samples or discussed any follow-up treatment and there wasn’t the slightest suggestion of an operation. He had never heard of Beechfield Hospital, let alone been there, yet this gentleman was certainly authoritative and professional so there was no reason to doubt his integrity or the quality of the establishment. Edward was adamant that he had not received a letter and didn’t need an operation but could it be possible that this ‘condition’ impacted his recollection and reasoning and that the operation had genuinely been arranged with his consent?

  ‘What exactly is the condition you mentioned?’ probed Edward.

  ‘I can’t say, Mr. Newman. My function is purely to confirm that your general well-being is satisfactory for the operation to proceed as scheduled. I have no experience of your case history and it would be inappropriate for me to speculate what it could be.’

  ‘What do you mean you can’t say? Don’t you have it there in your notes?’

  ‘My notes are purely concerned with the pre-operation procedure. All other case notes are held securely at Beechfield Hospital. As I said, Beechfield is an excellent facility and we take security of personal data very seriously. Confidentiality is of utmost importance to us.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry, you’ve wasted your time coming here. This is a mistake.’

  ‘Mr Newman. Beechfield Hospital does not make mistakes. I can see that you are not persuaded by this so let me propose a solution. I suggest that we go to Beechfield Hospital as scheduled.’

  ‘I really don’t think that’s necessary,’ interrupted Edward.

  ‘Please let me finish, Mr Newman. I suggest we go to Beechfield Hospital where your consultant will be waiting. He will be able to answer all your questions, both regarding your condition and the operation. Once you’ve been satisfied, I can perform my pre-op duties; there would still be time before the operation. If a mistake has occurred, as you believe, we can return you home immediately. I trust this agreeable to you?’

  Edward was surprised that he did consider the proposal agreeable. Other than the reading he had no other plans for the evening and he was curious as to what the condition could be. He was certain a mistake had been made but the gentleman’s manner, so bureaucratically confident, made him question his own judgement. But unlike the gentleman, Edward believed a discussion with the consultant would uncover their mistake rather than confirming the situation.

  The two men waited patiently in the corridor whilst Edward dressed appropriately. When Edward appeared the second man, who had so far remained quiet, offered to carry Edward’s coat for him. He explained his car was parked right
outside so there would be little need for it this evening. They walked down the stairs, climbed into the car and drove to the hospital in silence.

  Edward wasn’t familiar with this part of the town and didn’t recognise the hospital. As the car slowed to approach a decorative wrought iron gate, the driver wound down his window and pressed an intercom button on a pedestal that stood beside the pathway. A female voice welcomed the visitors and the driver announced Mr Newman. As the gate silently crept open the driver wound up his window and drove the car into the grounds. Soft lighting revealed that the hospital was surrounded by a high dry-stone wall containing many elaborate ornamental trees and exquisite flower gardens. The gravel driveway rose through the gardens to the hospital at the summit of a small incline. The hospital more closely resembled