PAMELA'S STORY
I am a nurse. I am plain looking. My story is anything but that. I am thirty-three. After training in medical college hospitals I worked for one year in government hospitals. I resigned the job when I got married. That was thirteen years ago. When my children were twelve and ten my husband and I judged that they do not need my constant care and that I can resume my job. We needed the money to put our children in better schools. My husband, Madhu, is a clerk in a bank. His earnings, though adequate, were not up to paying donations and fees to the best schools. I joined as theatre nurse in a private hospital. I am in that job now for a year and a half. My working hours are very unusual—from four in the morning till noon.
Dr. Siva owns the private hospital where I work. It is a one-doctor surgical nursing home. He does general surgical work and some gynaecology. He often says that he is a 4H surgeon—hydrocele, hernia, haemorrhoids and hysterectomy. He is good at what he does. Two surgeries a day is the norm in our hospital. The first case would start at five, and the next an hour after the first is over. By ten the work would be over and then I have to supervise the cleaning up and prepare for the next day's list. At about noon I leave for home.
I like Dr. Siva. He is forty-two years old. He is always helpful and supportive to his staff. His family consists of his wife and mother. He has no children. Like most surgeons he is a pleasant person with a well-developed sense of humour. While operating he would keep talking to the anaesthetist, his assistant, and me on wide-ranging topics. He likes my work. He says that in his hospital, thanks to me, he has never had any post-operative wound infection. That for a theatre nurse is very high praise.
All surgeons have a liking for their theatre nurses, and theatre nurses reciprocate. My affection for Dr. Siva, by a process over which I had no control, changed to love. This is an occupation hazard for theatre nurses. Though I used to flirt a lot with internees when I was a probationer, and have gone to movies with them, and have been kissed and fondled (nothing more) I have never fallen in love. My parents arranged my marriage. I have a wonderful relationship with my husband, but I did not fall in love with my husband for I got to know him only after the wedding. We developed affection for each other, but that is different from falling in love.
It was about six months after I joined that I knew I was stricken. His footsteps as he stepped into the theatre lobby would set my heart into a flutter. I had difficulty in keeping a tremble out of my voice when I wished him good morning. During operation when our bodies would touch a thrill pass through my body even though no less then eight layers of cloth separated us. I would like to keep the contact, and I got the feeling that he also liked that pressure too. He was now the only object in my sexual fantasies.
The fever within me was rapidly moving to the stage when frenzy would be the word to describe it. It had to happen and this how it did. I had to take a week's leave for my husband's sister's wedding. As the bride's oldest brother's wife, as per custom, I had to act as mother for the motherless girl. Dr. Siva readily agreed. He said the cases would have to wait for my return. I left, and the evening I returned I called him, more to hear his voce than to know about the next day's programme. He wanted to know if I can manage two cases, but at my insistence he had three.
After the list was over and we had cleaned up I went into his room with cup of coffee. I closed the door. We always kept the side rooms closed in order that the air conditioning would be more effective in the theatre proper.
"How did you manage the mother act," he said.
"I had no difficulty," I replied.
"You know Pam, I had a terrible time not seeing you."
"You mean not operating."
"Not that. I like you very much, but now it seems that it is something more—I was as desperate as an addict denied his drugs."
"My state was no different, sir," I said matter-of-factly. Our eyes came in contact. Some inner urge made him rise from his seat and open his arms, and instinctively I rushed in. We held each other tightly and kissed with passion. Then and there we made love with ferocity. It was the autoclave timer bell that broke us up. I dressed and rushed out to turn off the controls.
I was on cloud nine. I wanted my family to share my happiness. On the way home I stopped at the supermarket and go a list of articles I needed for preparing a sumptuous high tea of the favourites of my husband and children. I awaited their return. The children came first and enjoyed the treat. My husband was surprised to find his specials for tea that day.
'What are we celebrating?' he asked.
'Nothing,' I said, 'I want to make every day a special day,' I said. I watched him eat. I examined my feelings towards him and I was perplexed. I have had sex with another man a few hours ago and my feelings towards my husband were neither fear nor anxiety. It was one of overwhelming affection. I request those who find it unbelievable to withhold expressing an opinion till they have been in that position. If we had been alone I would have dragged him to bed.
'There's more awaiting you,' I said.
'When?' he asked.
'Later tonight,' I said and giggled.
'I can hardly wait,' he said.
