I want to live, Andy!
George Johnson, George Johnson, are you alright?
Nurse Emily had grabbed the surgeon by the sleeve but couldnt hold himhe slumped against the wall, bowed his head right down into the crook of his arm, and fell silent.
Emily suddenly felt a flash of pride for all the hospital staff and thought, frankly, surgeons do give their all, working themselves to the point of collapse! Not that anyone really appreciates it. The patient George had just operated on wouldnt see any of this either.
George, are you alright? Ill call
No need, he muttered, lifting his head and staggering off to the doctors lounge. Before entering, he turned to the worried nurse, Its fine, dont worry.
George let himself flop onto the battered old leather sofa, lying back. Fine? Lately, hed been having these dizzy spells all too often. Overtired? Most likely.
Once, not so long ago, hed had weekends off. Real weekends! The kind where you recover from a week of hospital chaosvisit friends with your wife, take the kids to Hyde Park.
But now… with every doctor covering three hospitals, whats a weekend? Add to thata second marriage, younger wife, school-age kids, bills everywhere. And he did fancy changing his car.
But none of that was the core of it. What mattered was that George liked being indispensablewanted to be the best, to win the holy grail of medical admiration and achievement. And for twenty years, hed been doing just that: patients queued for him, colleagues respected him, the NHS dangled offers, private clinics lured him with promisesand handsome cheques.
Pete, he phoned his anaesthetist mate, Is Kate around today?
Hi George. Yeah, shes in.
By the end of the shift, George was already lying in Kates MRI scanner, enduring its resounding clangsno amount of headphones would drown them out.
A sudden wave of claustrophobia. He wanted to hammer the emergency button and be dragged out of that heart-crushing tube. Best to think of something pleasant. But what?
His mind scampered back through the staircase of his life. Second marriageby then, he was a practicing surgeon, family man; she was the fresh-faced teacher to his daughter from year three.
The MRIs mechanical clattering drowned out any nostalgia from that era. Work-home-work, mostly. The first marriage was a horrornot a pleasant memory; he barely let himself go there.
Student years? Yes! Especially those first four.
His mind finally latched onto them, whisked him away from the screeching tube back to the past. Uni work placements, the lads, Mary from the canteen whod charmed every one of them…
George, Victor, and Andythree medical students, close friends since their entrance exams. York was new to all; theyd lived together in halls.
Andya bespectacled lad from a small Midlands town. Shy, almost innocent, but with extraordinary charisma. You just wanted to be near him, hear his thoughtful comments, gaze into those pale blue, gentle, almost fathomless eyes behind his glasses.
Andy had a photographic memory, knew every exam topic by heart, could answer anything.
Victorthe total opposite: a bear of a lad from a tiny Lancashire village, loud and easygoing. He never stopped talking or worrying about impending exams, made friends instantly across the whole floor, and spent more time writing up cheeky cheat notes than actually studying.
George worried about the exams too, always convinced hed flunk. He marvelled at the depth of Andys knowledge and Victors gift of the gab. In the end, only Michaeltheir fourth housematedidnt get in. The three of them remained friends.
In their first term, they hadnt made it into halls yet, so Andys mum, caring and a bit flustered, arrived and found them a place together.
Bless you, boys! Mind you live sensibly, she said, having spent a couple of days chivvying about, issuing instructions and worries-on-wheels. She crammed their tiny kitchen with homemade meals to last a month.
Blimey! Your mums a legend, Andy. What does she do?
She sells candles at church, said Andy, munching a sandwich.
Where? both were baffled.
At the church. Sells candles, all sorts.
So, shes religious?
Of course. I am too, Andy replied.
They eyed the icons collecting dust by the window.
Are those yours? Thought your mum left them behind.
Nopeshe left them for me, really.
Victor always spoke before he thought:
You daft or something? Why study medicine if youre in for miracles? Praying Godll handle it?
The doctor treats the body, but God, the soul, Andy replied calmly. The others just shrugged.
They avoided talking about religion after that. They noticed Andy crossing himself occasionally, but he did it quietly, without show. He was a stellar student, and had a knack for diffusing Victor and Georges heated arguments quickly and peacefully.
Something about him was differentits as if the usual flatshare annoyances just bounced off. If Victor or George kicked off about cleaning, Andy would quietly grab the mop and clean up himself.
Is it really worth getting in a state about the washing up? Easier to just do it…
The lads settled down, helped with embarrassment, and calmed.
Whether God was cheering Andy on, or he was simply brilliant, he aced his first-year modules with honours. He picked up Latin as if hed been speaking it all his life. And it was Andy, not the raucous Victor, who fell in love firststudent rep meetings led to Gaby, a fierce yet kind, petite brunette. They were inseparable by year two.
Victor, for all his rural naivety, turned out a talented budding doctor. By the winter of second year, he was working with A&E, trusted with complex jobs, and quickly became a critical member of the oncology department at the county hospital.
George put steady work in. Not an academic star, but determined to be a good doctor nonetheless.
***
The MRI trundled George out to daylight. He glanced out the window and took a breath. How had all this claustrophobia crept up on him?
Kate entered and started removing the gadgets from his head.
So, any news, Kate? Please tell me youve seen already.
Hang on, doctors just typing up the report. Ill ring when its ready, she dodged his eyes. Maybe she was just knackered.
Ill call by tomorrow, then. Just want to go home.
He hardly made it out of the wardKates call-and-hand-delivered report, disc and all, caught him before he could escape.
George, youre a doctor, you know what this means. You cant just ignore it. Go see Professor Smith. Get it checked.
George glanced at the report, loaded up his scans and flicked through images of his own head, his own brain, his own very visible lesion. It felt unrealthese could be a patients slides, not his.
Even on the drive home he didnt quite believe it. Couldnt let himself believe it. This sort of thing didnt happen to him.
***
Professor Charles Smith was their clinics best neurosurgeon.
Id soften it usually, George, but youre a surgeon yourself, probably better than me. Why kid? You can see…
I do see. Is this it, then?
Oh, the professor frowned, shifted uncomfortably, Thats the question of a hysterical patient! Come on. You know better than anyoneeverythings in your hands as a surgeon. And, well, in the hands of the Good Lord, too.
Doesn’t seem real This cant be happening to me. I was planning to take the family to London for the NHS conference. Got the invite, wanted a little break. Now… What would you do in my place?
Id Well, Id still go to London. But not for the conferenceto see Simon Rockingham. Theyre miracle workers at that clinic. Best results in the country. Only
Only what?
Only, he doesnt operate himself nowhis protégés do; his methods, but theres a year wait. Not sure how youll jump the queue but with you, half the medical council owes you a favour. Lets try
George worked, operated, advised and penned reports. Pain was dull, more of a faintness and dizzinessbut he soon found ways to manage.
He started phoning every friend, every contact with links to Rockinghams team. Smith was right: getting an operation slot was nearly impossible.
It was time to tell the wifeshe immediately started fussing about the London trip.
Linda, Ill have to go to London alone.
What? Arent we all going? she eyed a new blouse, hands dropping in shockYoure bonkers! And the kids?
Im not going for a seminar or show. Its the clinic. I have a brain tumour, he said it slowly, feeling strange for finally saying the words out loud. As if, by saying it, hed made it real.
Linda stared, eyes filling with tears.
Oh, George how? I I should come with you.
No, Linda. Its not about surgery yet. I might be waiting there for a slot. I just need to be on-site could be a long wait.
Is it really so bad, George?she sat beside him.
So George, almost childlike, sniffling, began describing everythingnot like a consultant but in a muddle, leaping from suspicions to the scan, the results about his own life and hopes and regrets.
Linda listened, blouse clutched, knuckles white, face creased, quietly watching her husband unravel. And George felt grateful, for once, to have someone with whom he could share everythingeven the dark, embarrassing bits. He realised such trust had been utterly impossible with wife number one.
***
Jehovahs Witnesses often refuse blood transfusions, citing the Bible: But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood.
Fourth year of med school. Lecture theatre rammed.
The clergy call organ and tissue donation sacrilegious, often blocking procedures legal under British law. The Church opposes any form of assisted fertile procedures that they deem unnatural. Surrogacyflatly condemned. Donor sperm or eggssinful. Their rules suit only themselves. Faith in miracles, paired with scienceits utter nonsense.
Thats not accurate, someone piped up.
Oh? Who said that? bony lecturer peered over his glasses, smirking Well, who?
I did, Andy stood up. The Church and medicine both help people to live with dignity.
Care to debate, dear boy?
No need. Its a simple truth, he sat down.
Oh, come now. If youve started, lets have you up here. Please.
Lecturers eyes glintedhe was relishing this. Andy trudged to the front and stood, unblinking.
The questions beganAndy answered quietly but clearly, with a calm dignity that irritated the lecturer no end.
The Church cares about the soul as well as the body. If a couple cant conceive, and medicine cant help, perhaps its a calling to adopt, or just to accept. Actually, artificial insemination with the husbands own sample isnt forbidden, thats your mistake; what is, is using a third party, as it muddles relationships and responsibilities.
Then why ban surrogacy, when the child is genetically theirs?
Its also about the surrogate. About the child. It complicates everything
Nonsense! the lecturer cut him off, getting loud. Dont you see? Faith blocks progress! I watched a familydevout Old Believersrefuse to donate their dead sons heart, another child died needlessly. Is that godly, you reckon?
Yes, because their faith forbade them.
Youre just exposing all of us to the opiate of the masses! The Church fears science will surpass God! It feeds on peoples compliance. Mans brain is the ultimate creator!
He was nearly yelling now. But Andy stayed calm, glancing at his challenger with a weird mix of pity and sympathy. For Andy, faith was not about big declarationsit was gentle, internal, quietly offered. When he answered, he quoted Scripture without showing off. And, in a way, he was defending not just faith, but his mum, his humble brick church, everyone for whom faith was home and comfort.
As the debate drew out, the class realised something: Andy had won. The lecturer, exhausted, resorted to shouting; Andy just became more measured.
From then on, things got tough for Andy. Visits to the dean, returning quietly, not sharing much except with his girlfriend Gaby.
By fifth year, he simply didnt come back. They received a letter: hed chosen a different path, thanked them for their friendship and asked them to keep in touch.
Both George and Victor were stunned. He was the best of them allclever, gifted, so nearly a doctor! And now?
They called on Gaby. She was tight-lipped. So, one free weekend, they travelled to Andys family. His mother, Irene, welcomed them with joyher son was joining the seminary, she beamed.
They returned to York loaded with cakes, jam and sausages, but none the wiser about Andys decision.
How could he? Blimey! Victor muttered, thumping his knee all the way.
There you go, you see? We all say God help us. Now Gods helped him out of our world. Fool, Andyan utter fool!
***
What altar candle, Charles? Im visiting a friend, already booked time off.
George was sitting in the staffroom with Professor Smith. Three days until he had to be in London. Hed bought his train ticket. Driving didnt feel safe, what with the dizzy spellshe could barely manage his commute now, let alone the M1. Besides, he still hoped for the op.
Which friend?
One from uni. Havent seen him in decades, left after fourth year for seminarynow hes a proper vicar, or whatever the Anglican version is Not far from here. Ill go tomorrow.
Wouldnt risk it.
I know, but Ill go.
The little village, famous for its abbey and walking trails, turned out rather underwhelming. Its main featurechurches at every turn.
George made his way to Trinity Abbey. Oddly, the whole drive, he hadnt felt dizzy. Perhaps, he mused, the path to faith is a path to healing after all.
The abbey sat gleaming with whitewashed walls, turrets and domes peeking above the green. Here, everything was neatproper car park, immaculate flower beds, dazzling gold cupolas so bright he had to squint.
Someone told him to waitthe vicar was leading a service. George, awkward, didnt dare ask how long. He decided to wander.
A little churchyard, then a drop towards the slow Thames. At the waters edge people clustered around a well. Oddly, pensioners with walking sticks insisted on climbing the slope. He watched themwas it a ritual?
Why had he come? Shouldnt he be organising surgery, not dawdling by a river in Kent?
Not filling up on holy water, then? asked a cheerful woman.
Holy water? Um not really why Im here.
Bottles are in the basket. Down the stairs three times and up the slope, she grinned.
Why?
You tell me. Its your pilgrimage.
In the end, George said nothing, knowing his motives werent simple.
He grabbed a bottle, trudged down the steps, scrambled back up. Not half as easy as it lookedhe was puffing by round three. He filled it, drank somecold, sweet, pure as a tear.
Something cheered in his chest. And if all this was Andys domain, perhaps that old friend had done rather well for himself. George smiled, wondering how Andy would respond to that crack.
Walking back, he found people still leaving the service, blocking the path. Suddenly, a clergyman appearedrobe, bushy beard, rotund figure, a voice deep as velvet. Couldnt be Andy. Andy had been short, thin, and always wore glasses
But then, those blue, bottomless eyes met his ownand he knew, instantly, it was Andy.
He edged through the crowd.
Alright, Vicar, he said quietly.
A parishioner tutted at him:
Say, Bless me, Father! Its only proper!
But Father Andy had seen him and was already grinning.
George! Oh, welcome, old friend
They hugged. The worshippers melted away, and George and Andy, after a few questions, wandered up the drive.
What an unexpected joy! Gaby will be thrilled.
Gaby? You mean
Wife, yes. Paediatrician at the village surgery. Five kids. The youngest is ten now.
Well, I never! Ive got three. My daughters at teacher training toofriends with your lot, it seems. You settled here?
We like it here. Had offers elsewhere, but love it. Good work, beautiful countryside, plenty to do.
Youve, um, grown taller.
Still had a growth spurt in my twenties!
And the glasses?
Laser correction long ago. Fine nowor lenses, if needed.
Sofaith and medicine do get along?
They both laughed.
Remember that time we tried to pinch a Grays Anatomy from the library? You distracted the old bat behind the desk
While you two dropped it with a bang. Total amateurs
And you acted as if youd never seen us in your life!
Mortifying! Lord forgive us.
Still remember your mum, Maam Irene. Hows she?
Well. Old now, but happy. She became a nunlives at a convent nearby.
Blimey! Is that a promotion or what?
Of course, Andy laughed.
A girl in a headscarf came with a quiet word.
Sorry, mate. People come from miles, and theres a baptism after. Ill send my drivergo to my house. Gabys there. Well catch up later.
I wont be long. But as you wish, George shrugged; Andy crossed him with a gentle smile.
He followed Andys battered old BMW back. The vicarage was impressivesingle-storey, smart garden, a little private chapel in the yard.
Gaby met him at the door and gave him a warm hug. He hadnt expected such a reception. Flowerpots on every ledge, an icon in the corner, night light flickering.
But otherwisea modern, bright English home: telly, computers, gadget-stuffed kitchen. Gaby bustled about, chattering unceasingly. Theyd moved house so often, she was knackered, Andy was overworked, but they never regretted settling in the country.
Only the youngest boy was home. George almost forgot why hed comeit all felt so natural, like visiting family. He nibbled a scone, skipped mentioning the tumour, and later dozed off in the hammock on the porch.
He didnt even want to go home. Hed taken leave, there was time before London.
***
So, you know the story?
Course. Victor and I wrote for agesthen called now and again. But the last few years lost touch, really. Phones got lost, emails went quiet. Everything in Gods hands, as they say.
Do you blame me?
God judges. People have their own truthsand their own conscience. Tell me, George, whats weighing on you? I can see it
Malignant brain tumour.
Andy sighed.
Bad. Still, tomorrow youll come to the servicesit if you must, then confession, then communion. After thatwell see.
Dont make it sound like a funeral!
Nonsense. Its all in your hands. No one can help but you. The vicars just directionsthe soul and heart do the work.
Ill tell you the details tomorrow, then
At confession, yes. Tomorrow.
Strange, but overnight Georges memorieshow hed pinched Victors girlfriend, reallytook a new turn. In confession, it came out as repentance, not justification.
Yes Dear mates became bitter enemies in a single night.
***
The service ended. Hardly anyone was left in church.
Andy prayed, told George to bow his head, and said:
Christ stands here, unwitnessed but present, hearing your confessionI speak for the congregation only. Confess, then, George.
And George began:
I was always jealous of Victor. The hospital worshipped him, the staff, the lecturersVictor this, Victor that The girls and then Alice.
It happened like this: a senior civil servant from Londonoriginally from Yorkwas admitted and brought his daughter, Alice.
While her father was hospitalized, Alice hung around constantly. Thats when Victor and Alice began something. Later, they traveled back and forth between London and YorkVictor tasted London promise.
You see, George glanced at his friendthe vicarthen looked down, You see, Father Andy, it got to me. How did he get all the luck? You rememberlocal oaf, but everything landed for him. So, out of spite, I dropped a few hints to Alicesuggested he was seeing Katie on the side. Total invention. I confess
Then, at our mate Wills wedding, it all kicked off. Victor was MC, the life and soul, showed up with Alice, then dragged her off, then She was left bored. We ended up on the balcony together Apparently, Victor saw us through the net curtainstood for a minute, then just left the wedding. We didnt see him. We just Well. Kissed.
That very night he moved out. And Alice and I, a month laterrented a flat, started living together. I was happyat first. At uni, Victor and I never even said hello after thathe looked through me.
But, Father Andy, lifes already punished me, believe me. Alice was nice at first. Thenworking in London, her parents ran our lifelike living with the KGB. After four years, her dad died. Her mum married, took charge, and Alice started demanding the crown jewels. We moved back to Yorkshe really showed her true colours then. We split up not long after.
And honestly, those werent my worst deeds. WorseI lost a patient on the table. My fault. Yes, he was old, but I made the error. Surgeons do that more than youd think.
I cheated on my wife too. Not like it was my reputation as a student, but after marrying slipped a few times. Nurses in the wardsall offering up smiles. Why not, right? Once, a nurse knocked me backbeautiful, long plait. So, I saw to it she was sacked. How dare anyone say no to me, I thought?
Then I met Linda, and it settled. Shes simple, family from a village. My daughter from Alice ended up best friends with her. Lindas been brilliant. But even her, Ive let down. Just a couple of times, nothing serious
He paused. What more was there to say? It all seemed so pointless now.
So, what do you think, Father Andy?
Only God forgives sins, not vicars. You just have to be honestly sorry, George.
Tears sprang to Georges eyes. He clutched the reading desk, slid to his knees.
Please, pass on my apology, Andy. Tell God I want to live, really want to love Linda, raise my kids, see my boy through uni. I want to keep workhappy to just be a regular doctor, anywhere, dont need anything more. Please, pass it on
Lord Jesus Christ, by your grace and love, forgive this child of yours, George, his every sin Andy prayed.
Then fell silent. George looked up, red-eyed, met those gentle, bottomless blue eyes of Andys.
George, you need to find Victor. Say youre sorry.
Where will I find him? Im off to London the day after tomorrow.
Find him. Hes in Manchester now, works at the oncology clinic. Dont go to London, go to him.
Oh, Andy, dont tell me I should let him operate on me! Not exactly Harley Street tech there, you know.
Actually, hes worked on new neurosurgery techniques, has his own doctorate, commutes to London. You two need to meet.
Perhaps. Butfirst the Rockingham clinic. Times ticking.
And that nurse you got fired. Find her, too.
That, I can do. As grim as it is I will, George nodded, face stinging from memory I will. He looked at Andy Pray for me, please. I just want that slot in Londonotherwise, I really will have to go to Manchester.
Before leaving, George trekked up the riverside hill a dozen times over, drinking water after every three climbs
Locals watched, blessing him and crossing themselves. May God help.
