I’d be the one to propose the motion that we take industrial action, and after three-quarters of an hour I put my hand up.
“Madame Chair, Dr. Maynard, Registrar. I’d like to propose the motion that in protest at the administration’s disciplining and dismissal of Dr. Seagate that the medical staff withdraw their services from this hospital for eight hours on Monday the 23rd.”
Big words, that were going to mark me forever as a troublemaker, at least in the UK medical system, and I didn’t fucking care. They hired us to do a job, then fucked us over when we did it. This wasn’t enough, but it was a token of support for F, who was the best damn renal doctor I’d ever met.
The room was silent, but I could see F’s face, and his eyes were wet. Damn, I felt the same way myself.
Clarissa Jax, who was a surgical resident and the BMA divisional rep, with a background in student politics, raised her hand. “Madame Chair, Dr. Jax, Resident. I second that motion.”
“Dr. Maynard,” the chair said. “Would you like to speak to the motion?”
I stood up and turned around to face the crowded room. “I would, Madame Chair.” The room was completely full, packed with far more white coats and stethoscopes than I would ever have imagined. There was a hell of a lot of BMA membership cards pinned to pockets, too.
I spotted Matthew at the back of the room, with Lin and Nevins and the rest of the group. Word had obviously gone out on the med student grapevine because there were a lot of other short coats in the room.
“Dr. Seagate did what we all do every day; he attempted to circumvent the artificial restrictions the administration places on our practice. He was trying to get the speedy surgical review that his patient needed. It was no different in essence from all the times we talk to each other in the cafeteria or car park, bypassing the administration’s channels.
No different from buying roses for Gracie in outpatients to bump a patient up the waiting list, no different from a surgical registrar re-diagnosing a patient to change their place on the waiting list.
“He received a formal letter of discipline from the Director of Medical Services, and took the matter to the BMA for consultation. It was this act, that of consulting with a union lawyer at a meeting in this room, that led to his dismissal.
The United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, of which Britain is signatory, Article 23, clause 4, states that ‘Every person has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his or her interests.’”
I paused, gave them time to think about it, then said,
“That is why we should take industrial action. This administration has dismissed one of us for doing exactly what we are doing now, organizing.”
I sat down and pushed my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. The room was silent, and my ears were ringing. The Chair said, “Dr. Jax, do you wish to speak to the motion?”
Clarissa stood and said, “Not at the moment, thank you.”
“Does anyone wish to speak against the motion?” the chair asked, and then it was on. Abrogation of duty of care.
Hippocratic oath. Socialised healthcare. I didn’t speak again; I didn’t need to.
After fifteen minutes, when I could no long bear it, I raised my hand, and the chair halted the lawyer and said, “Dr. Maynard, do you wish to withdraw your motion?”
“No, Madame Chair,” I said. “I wish to move the motion that the first motion be put to the vote without further debate.”
There was a chorus of seconders, and the chair said, “I will now put the motion that…” She glanced down at her notes.
“…that in protest at the administration’s disciplining and dismissal of Dr. Seagate that the medical staff withdraw their services from this hospital for eight hours on Monday the 23rd. Those in favour say ‘Aye’.”
There was a resounding chorus of ‘Ayes.’
“Those against, say ‘No’.”
It certainly wasn’t unanimous.
One of the administration’s lackeys stood up and said,
“Madame Chair, I request a secret ballot.”
“A reasonable request in the absence of a clear majority,”
the chair said.
There was a five minute recess while the ballot was counted, and I checked my watch. It was after six. I was going to be late collecting Henry, but that was hardly anything new.
I would have liked to have gone and stood with Matthew while we waited for the count to be done, just for the chance to be close to him, but F was looking like shit now, so I let him lean against me.
The chair called the meeting back to order and we took our seats again. Whichever way the count went, it wasn’t going to be good, and for a moment I doubted whether the staff had the collective will to carry this out, then someone behind me squeezed my shoulder.
The chair said, “By a margin of twenty-seven votes, the motion is carried.”
I should have stayed for the post-meeting discussions but I was exhausted all of a sudden. I just wanted to get out of there, pick Henry up, and be in my own home. It had been a long week, between work and Matthew, and I needed to just sit for a while.
Matthew was gone when I extricated myself from the crowd around F and got out of the room, and I was a little disappointed. I couldn’t have kissed him, or even touched him, but it would have been good to just see him smile.
Chapter Twenty One
The Morris wasn’t hard to spot, rusting away in the midst of the performance vehicles parked in the doctors’ bays in the car park. I sat down on the bonnet, knowing from experience the car had no alarm, and found myself explaining exactly what I was doing to the officious security guard who came around and shone a torch in my face suspiciously.
I showed him my medical student ID card and he wrote down the details and left me there, obviously unhappy.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing waiting for Andrew; for all I knew, he’d gone to the pub with Dr. Seagate. I just wanted to see him again. It wasn’t cold, I could wait a little while, and if he didn’t show up, I’d stick a note under the windscreen wiper and go home.
The security guard came around again, just as the fluorescent lighting in the car park flickered into life, and this time he didn’t point his torch at me.
My stomach rumbled. I pulled out a pen, found a sheet of notepaper in my backpack, and was scrawling a note for Andrew when footsteps made me look up.
All of a sudden I realised exactly how this looked. He’d said he was spending the weekend with his son and he couldn’t see me, and here I was, sitting on his car. Very stalkerish.
I put the pen and paper down as he walked up to me.
“Matthew?” Andrew said, and he smiled at me.
He looked exhausted, completely drained, and he leaned against the driver’s door of the car, keys in his hand.
“Um, Andrew,” I said. “I was just going to leave you a note…”
His dropped his keys in a pocket, his hand settled over mine as I went to screw the paper up and he took the paper out of my hand gently. He didn’t read it, just folded the paper up carefully and put it in his pocket, then reached out and brushed my hair off my forehead.
“I’m glad you waited,” he said.
His fingers were touching my cheekbone now, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.
I thought I knew about kissing. Kissing was what you did to someone’s mouth to show them what you
