REFLECTIONS By Missy (missy@lexicon.net) The characters that you recognise from ER are the property of Michael Crichton, Warner Bros, Constant Productions and Amblin Television and to the actors who so marvellously portray them. Since my editors are very busy at the moment, this has gone out without them having seen it and I hope it reads okay. Be warned, it is as the title says, reflections and written in the first person. Dashes of sunlight danced their last rays across the powdery sky, illuminating the clouds into mauve and pink sheens tipped at the edges with gold. I watched a lone gull give its final call for the night, signalling its rest until the dawn of the next day. The breeze suddenly seemed to loose it warmth and I shivered. It was a combination of the cold as well as the loss of a true friend. I started when a lightweight afghan dropped over my legs. Looking up into the dark pools of warmth that shone down at me from my husband of thirty years, a smile immediately spread across my face. Making room for him to sit down beside me on the swing seat, I picked up the well-worn photo album and placed it on my lap. It felt much bulkier than it had been in the past, the weight of time and memories pressing down heavily on my thin legs. "Kez, it is okay to remember." His nickname for me was as familiar as the crutch by my side. He slipped his arm around my shoulders and my head dropped back to nestle in the comfort of his shoulder. Initially I had been surprised as how easily I had settled into this routine and especially how much solace I gathered from his embrace. He gently caressed my arm. It sent another tremor through my body but a different type to the one I had experienced moments before. When he had finally asked me out, I don't know which of us was more shocked. I was a rather imposing force in those days and we locked horns often in our tussle for control of the ER. Our relationship had been rather tumultuous over the years as we argued point for point, both of us failing to give ground. But there had been the other side of our love that had won through. His gentleness and thoughtfulness had astounded me. He knew when I was upset, when I needed comfort and when I needed time out to myself. There were also the surprises on anniversaries that I hadn't even known existed. Even now, after thirty years, he could still surprise me. I fingered the leather bound edge of the album with the slightly tarnished edge which had been a brilliant gold on the day it was given to me. The day could be remembered so clearly in my mind as it was a day I had dreaded coming for many years. When I had taken up the challenge of being an Emergent Doctor, I had always known that one day my disability would prevent me from doing what I had chosen to do. It was on the day that I ceased to be an ER doctor that the staff had given me the photo album. I had enjoyed the day to day challenge of dealing with anything from a simple case of gastritis to a full-blown trauma with all the machines ringing their warning of a life on the edge. My disability had been inconsequential to the person on the table and to those around me, it was my ability as a trauma doctor that was the most critical. When I had first indicated that I wanted to do medicine, everyone but my parents had assumed that it would be in a sedate field like opthamology. It was at med school that I first had an inkling that emergency medicine was the direction I wished to go. But it took a mentor such as Gabe Lawrence to hone in on that desire and nurture it in such a way that it bloomed into a full-blown commitment to succeed despite all the odds. As I reflected on Gabe, I felt guilty at the embarrassment I caused him in exposing his illness in such a devious way rather than approaching him as a friend. Even Renee had been kinder by attempting to speak to him personally. He may have run away from his problem but at least she hadn't failed him as a friend. I had kept my promise to visit him and continued to do so until the end, even though he hadn't known who I was in his last five years. Each visit had become harder emotionally as I could see his steps backwards, the fewer things he was able to do for himself and the gradual bit by bit loss of the brilliant teacher who had inspired me so much. It is hard to imagine that it was now fifteen years since he had passed away. Time had melted away much like the snow on the mountains behind our house. It sifted through the valleys of sadness and the peaks of happiness but it always disappeared, never to be recaptured for change leaving only memories in its place. And photographs. They had become very important to me as I had 'matured'. I still wasn't ready to acknowledge that I was getting old. I had never been graceful in allowing my disability to interfere with my plans and the same could be said for my acceptance of my age. But as I had matured, more things had mattered to me than I had cared to acknowledge before. Opening the album to the first page, I found photographs of my adoptive parents where I had given them priority. They had cared for and loved me and it was only when they died, that I truly realised that I was once again alone in the world. At the time, only Mark had even bothered to ask why I had taken time off from work. Jeanie had not been acknowledging their past friendship in light of the retrenchment fiasco. It was strange how time had changed my relationship with many of the staff at County General. When she had collapsed after the benzene spill, it had helped mesh her floundering friendship with Jeanie. I flicked through the pages until I found the photographs I was looking for. Smiling out from the series of photos were Jeanie with her husband, Reggie and their son Carlos at different stages of their lives. Time had worked miracles in finding a cure for the HIV virus. Jeanie and Reggie now lived interstate, keeping close to Carlos and his young family. I still kept in contact with Jeanie, enjoying hearing about the antics of my godchildren. My godchildren were as close as I was going to get for my own child or grandchild. After my parents' death, she had finally decided to do some searching into my past. While my parents had encouraged me to ask questions and were willing to support me in looking for my parents, I had never had the desire to do so; their love being sufficient. I had no interest or time for someone who could not be bothered in raising me to adulthood just because of a disability. My curiosity was peaked after a couple of patients made statements which made me realise how much I did not know about my family history. After the false alarm, in which Carol discovered that I was adopted, I had felt so bereft of emotion that I had dropped all investigations. I had not been willing to endure further scars in the search. Surprisingly, a call came through from the investigator that I had hired. My birth father had instigated a search to find me. I wasn't sure how to react at first; unwilling to be rejected once again when he saw me. He had been only eighteen years my senior and had been able to tell me all the information about her mother and family that I had found I needed, and later I came to recognise, wanted to know. The photographs had been the best part of all. My reflection was mirrored in that of her mother's picture. I had never realised how important it had been to me until I had held the photograph in my hands. Tears had fallen in large drops down my cheeks and my father had done the one thing I had always wanted when I had imagined my meeting my birth mother; he had gathered me in his large arms and comforted me. My birth mother was never going to have the chance to do this for me. She had died in a car accident when she was twenty-five. I had been eight years old at the time, hardly aware that I had different parents living elsewhere. Jack - I had never been able to call him father, that name would always be attributed to my adoptive father - hadn't known of my existence until the death of his own father. Going through the attic he had discovered the details of a pact between my mother's parents and his own, where they had arranged for my mother to have me interstate and then I would be adopted. No one would be aware of my existence. It had worked. I felt anger towards the grandparents I had never known and I was glad that I would never know. One thing I did learn from meeting Jack was that my disability was inherited. A flaw in the genes of his family which would produce the limp that I struggled with over the decades. It had been this discovery that had made me choose not to have children. To save them from the taunts, pain and anger which would fill a child's mind.