Short Story: Complications

This short story was originally on the John Byrne Award website. However, the award is no longer being funded and has sadly finished. The website is not active anymore so I’ve decided to share it here. I wrote this in 2022 not long after Roe vs Wade was overturned, it was a response to the shock and also partly inspired by personal experience. I’ve included the fuller rationale behind the story at the end, which was submitted to the John Byrne Award website along with the story. I was lucky to be chosen as the monthly winner for December 2022 and got to meet a range of other writers and artists through this award. It was a great way for emerging artists to share their experiences and views on the world, I hope a reincarnation of this or something similar comes along in the future.

Leila felt like she was in one of those traditional changing huts at the seaside. A wooden bench was attached to the wall on her left, its deep uneven ridges sunken like gorges and a loose nail sticking out, as if to further remind visitors that their time here was temporary.  Leila hung her coat on one of the three metallic pegs that were jutting out opposite the bench, like silver mouths hoping to catch something. Leila could feel the presence of other bodies in other stalls: vibrations of doors opening and banging shut and the rush of fabric being pushed over ears and rustling onto hard surfaces. More doors slammed. Sounds bounced off the ceiling, which was much higher than she’d realised. The lightbulb dangling above was dim and faraway, extending the shadowy corners.

Leila stripped to her underwear and slipped on the gown that she’d been given from one of the nurses outside. It was wide and shapeless, more like a tent than whatever it was meant to be. She and her sister could have easily fit inside it together. She pinched the thin fabric between her fingers and held it aloft so that the light streamed through it. She wondered if she was the first to wear it, or simply the first that afternoon.

There was a thud from the wall opposite the door. Leila turned and realised it wasn’t a wall at all: it was another door. Someone had unlocked it from the other side and it had swung open and banged on the doorframe.

Leila stepped through, blinking, as if she’d stepped out of a cave. Light bounced off almost every surface, everything was scrubbed, polished and unpolluted. Long industrial lights were accompanied by bulbous lamps which spotlighted the patient bed and the gleaming surgical tools. Light even bounced off the walls and the floor, their whiteness made Leila curl her tools and stand on the outside edges of her feet, as if her skin would taint the purity of the room.

Men and women busied in front of her.  They all wore gloves and surgical masks, but Leila observed that two of them wore white lab coats while the three others wore blue scrubs. She stood still and wrapped her arms around her chest. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure if they were waiting for her, or if she was waiting for them. On the far side of the room, a metal door with a square-shaped window showed the pink walls of the corridor outside.

There was a polite cough. A young woman, dressed in blue scrubs, slight bend in the knees, hair in pigtails, beckoned her over.

‘Please sit,’ the young woman said, gesturing to the bed in the centre of the room.

Leila followed the young woman. When she approached, she could see some parts of the hard plastic cover over the forest green fabric were still wet. The smell of bleach hung in the air. The plastic squeaked under her weight as she climbed onto the bed and shuffled upwards. Leila guessed the young woman was a junior nurse. Her main job seemed to be supervising her, helping her climb onto the bed, patting the areas where her limbs needed to move to, brushing hair away from her face as she lay down, gently guiding her legs wider. She gave her shin a few pats and pointed to the stirrups.

‘Put your feet here,’ Junior Nurse instructed.

All around the others continued to work. Moving trays of instruments to the trolley, flicking through notes, gathering swabs.

Leila lifted her feet and allowed the young woman to guide them into the stirrups. The plastic was cold and rigid. She wished she hadn’t taken off her socks, and then wondered even if she had, if they would have made her take them off anyway.

A man appeared at her side, causing Leila to jerk at his sudden arrival. He stood close enough that she could smell the soap on his hands and see a small teardrop-sized stain on his stomach. She could have tickled his abdomen with her fingers if she’d wanted. The man was also wearing scrubs. He leaned over her, his eyes travelling over her body, checking her limbs were where they should be. The girl watched his eyes flick from side to side behind his glass. Light also bounced off his black frames, which he had positioned so that they perched on top of his mask.

‘Strap her in,’ he structed Junior Nurse. He must be Senior Nurse then. He looked down at Leila. ‘Put her arms here.’ He gestured to the arm rests on either side of her.

Something cold touched the bottom of her leg. Leila lifted her neck and saw Junior Nurse loop what looked like a belt around her ankle. She gripped the fabric of her gown, her breather fast and shallow.

‘Is that really necessary?’ Leila asked Senior Nurse.

‘It is just a precaution,’ Junior Nurse replied, ‘for safety.’

Leila looked into Junior Nurse’s eyes. Hazel. Underneath the lamp she could see the skin below the hazel was a sweep of lilac and that there were hints of lines at the outer corners. The almost lines crinkled for a second.

Senior Nurse moved to the side, his mask expanding as he exhaled, ‘Speed up, we’re on a schedule.’

Junior Nurse bowed her head and moved to the girl’s other foot.

‘Put your arms here,’ Senior Nurse repeated, tapping the armrest with two fingers. Leila noticed another belt loop hanging from them.

‘I won’t move,’ she said quietly.

‘It is just in case,’ Senior Nurse said, lifting up her closest arm and placing it down on the armrest, and then said ‘policy,’ as if that explained it. He looked at Junior Nurse, who had walked to the girl’s other side and nodded.

The leather straps were secured over her wrists. Senior Nurse walked around to her other arm and checked Junior Nurse’s work, flapping her away as if she were a fruit fly. They had had to use the tightest setting. Leila wriggled her fingers and tried to move her wrist, but the leather just pushed into her skin as if it was laughing at her.

‘Ready.’ Senior Nurse said. He was still at her side, but it appeared as if he had spoken to the room at large. He then disappeared somewhere behind her, somewhere where Leila couldn’t turn round and see him. Junior Nurse reappeared with a stool. She placed it next to Leila’s left side and then sat down. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, this time for longer. Leila grimaced back and wondered if Junior Nurse knew that her eyes had flecks of green among the hazel.

There was a flurry at her other side. Leila turned to see an older woman in a white coat standing over her. She flicked through the papers on her clipboard. The doctor. Her sleek hair was clipped behind her, but a few stray whisps framed her face, elongating her neck. She also wore glasses, but hers were smaller, the frames a delicate silver that matched her hair. The girl watched her eyes move side to side, then up and down, and then side to side again.

‘You have no symptoms?’ the doctor asked, not looking up.

‘No.’

‘Any pain or unusual sensations?’

‘None.’

‘And you are fit and well?’

‘Yes.’

The doctor took a pen from the breast pocket of her white coat, scribbled something, then thrust the clipboard into the waiting hands of a young man behind her, who was also wearing a white coat. His eyes never left the doctor, who returned her pen to her pocket and looked down at Leila.

‘You are very young,’ she said.

The girl nodded, even though it wasn’t a question. Her age would be on her chart. But even so, she knew she looked younger than her age. She was all elbows and knees and no curves.

The doctor might have sighed, it was hard to tell, but there was a quiet moment where the doctor just looked at her, and everyone else hung on, waiting for her next command. Leila held her breath. She looked back at the doctor, wondering if she was a doctor looking at her patient, or something else. Everything was still, even the clock behind her seemed to pause, as if everyone had been holding their breath, tensing their muscles before a race, bracing themselves for bad news.

‘Ok, let’s go,’ the doctor said. People moved behind her, then there were gloved hands on her shoulders. The doctor disappeared and Senior Nurse returned. He cleaned the inside of her elbow, the disinfectant so strong that it made her skin prickle, and then held up a needle.

‘Relax,’ Junior Nurse said from her left. Senior Nurse was silent. His eyes remained on his work, his hands and fingers swift and methodical. He frowned as he pressed his fingers into her arm, then swiftly inserted the needle into her vein.  Leila tried, but it was hard to relax as she felt the needle pierce her skin. Senior Nurse taped the needle and its attaching tube to her skin, then hung the IV bag near her shoulder. She watched the clear liquid drip and slide into her bloodstream.

‘What is that?’ she asked Junior Nurse.

‘Medicine, so you feel less pain,’ Junior Nurse replied.

The gloved hands at her shoulders vanished just as the doctor and the young man reappeared at her feet. The doctor lifted the girl’s gown higher so that it fell to her inner thighs. The girl wondered if anyone had ever suggested blankets or modesty towels. The doctor adjusted one of the standing lamps, pulling it closer and shone it downwards, highlighting the reason why they were all present.

The girl lifted her head, her neck unused to the position, and watched the doctor’s concentration. She murmured something to the young man, who confirmed. The girl assumed he was her protégée. They were both now wearing surgical gowns, blue gloves covering their hands and wrists. The young man stood a little behind the doctor, his hands hovering in front of his chest. Senior Nurse rolled a stool behind the doctor who sat on it as soon as it reached her, her gaze on her patient unwavering.

‘You will feel something cold,’ the doctor said, her voice clear, ‘it is to make the opening wider. Try and relax.’

‘Take deep breaths,’ Junior Nurse whispered from beside her.

Leila lay her head back down and took a deep breath. Just as she was about to exhale something cold and smooth was shoved inside her, pushing against her, forcing her open. She felt herself tense.

‘RELAX.’ The doctor said in a sharp voice. The younger doctor said something that the girl couldn’t make out.

The coldness was fading, but the strong smoothness that was holding her remained. There was a clinking sound. Something scraping. More clinking.

‘Argh!’ The girl cried out. A sharp pain pricked from somewhere inside her, and she cried out in spite of her earlier promises to herself that she wouldn’t. Her back arched and she pushed against the restraints, the pain at her wrists and ankles were welcome in comparison. She was dimply aware of the gloved hands from before pressing down on her shoulders and collarbone as she writhed, trying to find a position to release her from the sharpness that was taking her.

Junior Nurse grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

‘Look at me,’ she said, her voice still soft, ‘you’re doing great. Just keep taking deep breaths. Squeeze my hand when it hurts.’

Leila nodded and squeezed her fingers as there was another, harder sharpness. Pulling. Extracting. She jerked, and Senior Nurse rushed over and pushed her hips back onto the bed.

‘That’s it, keep squeezing, it will be over soon.’

Leila closed her eyes. The pain dissipated, the gloved hands that that been pressing into her lifted. She left lighter, although there was a dull pain in her groin that was not there before.  

She could hear movement around them, metal being dropped onto metal. The doctors were talking quietly.

‘Not working… more invasive?’

Leila’s eyes popped open. She lifted her head and looked at the doctors.

‘What? Is something wrong?’

‘We are having to do a longer procedure, the old-fashioned way,’ the doctor replied, her voice cutting. She glared at the younger doctor. ‘It is not as a common nowadays but does happen.’

‘What does this mean?’

‘We will need to monitor you afterwards. You will have to stay for a few hours, maybe overnight.’

‘Overnight! My family will be waiting for me. I have work tonight.’

‘It is procedure,’ the doctor said in a dry voice. ‘The ward sisters will assist you with any problems.’ There was a long sigh and she gave the girl a searching look, challenging her for any more questions, her eyes wary. When Leila didn’t say anything, she looked down and continued with her work.

Leila didn’t know how long it lasted. She couldn’t see the clock, she just heard the endless echoing ticks. Waves of the sharpness rode through her, and she had to keep her eyes closed and try not to picture what was happening. Junior Nurse didn’t move from her side, she whispered encouragement and didn’t complain when Leila put all her energy into squeezing her hand.

Eventually, the doctors stepped back, and the large overhead lamp was switched off. Leila stared up at the faraway ceiling as the nurses untied the leather straps. It was as if her body wasn’t hers anymore, it was heavy and spent, with angry red souvenirs around her wrists and ankles. She was guided into a wheelchair, her clothes and shoes dumped onto her lap, and then someone wheeled her through the metal door and into the pink corridor.

She must have passed out, for the next moment she was lying in a bed. She was still in the gown, but now she was under a blanket. She counted eight beds altogether in the room, but there was only one other occupant, hidden behind curtains.

Her mother was slumped in a chair beside her. Leila eased herself upright, her abdomen and crotch tender. Her mother roused at once and rubbed her face with her hand.

‘What time is it?’ Leila asked.

‘What happened?’ her mother hissed, edging her chair closer to the bed, ‘you were supposed to be in and out within an hour and then I get a call saying there’s been complications and that you might be staying overnight!’

‘I don’t know, they didn’t tell me.’

‘You should have asked! Do I have to tell you to do everything?’ Her mother pushed her hair further away from her face, arching her neck so that the girl could see the folds in her skin.

‘I had to leave work early and your sister had to cover your shift.’ Her mother reached into her handbag and checked her communicator. She sniffed. ‘The nurses were adamant that I didn’t wake you. I would’ve done, but the one out there looks especially…” she sniffed again, searching for the right word, “antagonistic.”

Leila looked over her mother’s shoulders down the room and through the doorway, but couldn’t see anyone.

‘Luckily, if you leave now, we won’t be charged with the overnight bill,’ her mother continued.

‘Shouldn’t we check if I’m ok to leave?’

Her mother made another noise, in between a snort and a sniff, which coming from her, somehow sounded elegant.

‘That’s just their way of scraping more money from us. It’s based on their recommendation not essential reason.’ She got out of her chair, her handbag on her shoulder, looking behind her towards the door. ‘Typical, nobody there when you need them.’

She turned back towards her daughter. ‘Sign yourself out and meet me at home. I have to stop by the relief centre before it closes.’

Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, and then left. It was only after the clack of her shoes had faded that Leila wished she’d asked her mother what time she needed to leave by so she didn’t get charged with the overnight bill. And even if she did know, there was no clock, so she had no idea if she needed to rush or not. Her mother’s reaction suggested the former.

She got out of the bed, pulled off the gown and heaved her clothes back on. They felt tight and constricting, the effort of wriggling her coat onto her shoulders far more immense than before. Dressed, she left the room and edged towards the nurses’ station; the semi-circle worksurface brimmed with information pads, charts, a few computers, staff communicators. On the wall above, a wide technoboard flashed, blinking every few seconds as patients’ status changed.

Something squeaked on the floor behind her and Leila turned to see a woman about her mother’s age coming towards her. Her heavy gait made the high-pitched squeaks on the laminate almost comical, but the woman’s cold eyes and arching eyebrows gave her pause. A huge frizz of yellow hair was piled on the top of her head, bobbing with each step. She waited for the woman to approach.

‘You shouldn’t be out of bed,’ Frizzy said, walking around Leila and plonking herself onto one of the chairs behind the counter.

‘I came to sign myself out,’ Leila said.

Frizzy raised her eyebrows even higher. ‘That’s going against the doctor’s recommendation,’ she said. She tapped at her keyboard and read from the monitor, her voice flat, ‘Overnight stay advised, monitor for changes.’ She looked back up at Leila.

‘It is a recommendation, not essential,’ the girl said, hoping her mother’s words would give her strength. She ballsed her hands into fists and squeezed until her fingernails dug into her palms.  She ignored the dull ache in her abdomen that was creeping up, threatening to get louder. ‘I feel fine and am ready to go home.’

The nurse gave Leila a look but did not contradict her.  Her mother often gave her the same one when she knew she was lying.

‘Fine,’ Frizzy replied. She made a clicking noise with her tongue and ripped a yellow form off a pad next to her. She copied down the girl’s details and then handed it to her. ‘Take this to the discharge office. They will need to sign it before you’re allowed to go.’

‘Why?’

‘So we’re not sued if anything happens,’ Frizzy said, sarcasm dripping from every pore, ‘and you’ll need to show it to the guards on the way out. You’ll receive your procedural letter in the post in approximately twenty-eight working days.’

‘Twenty-eight working days? But I need the procedural working letter before then!’

Frizzy handed the girl a business card. ‘Call the Occupation board, ask for the Licensing Department, say we referred you, then you can ask for one of queue-jumping options.’

Leila clutched the business card and yellow slip. She didn’t know what the Occupation Board nor what the Licensing department was. She looked back at the almost empty ward.

‘Do you know how long that will take?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Frizzy’s eyes bore into the girl’s, her lips curling down into a sneer, and then jerked her head in the direction of the corridor she’d just arrived from. Leila turned, spotted the lift, and took her cue.

Her progress was slower than normal, her steps small so that she didn’t aggravate the pain in her abdomen. When she arrived at the lift, a sign next to the buttons told her the discharge office was just one floor below. There was a small notice at the bottom of the sign.

Priority for Alphas, Betas, and the sick in the lifts.

Leila supposed she wasn’t sick anymore; she’d just said she felt fine. It was just one floor, so she pushed the door next to the lift and made her down. The first few steps were fine, but after that she could feel her abdomen aching and she had to slow down, inching her legs along each step, tensing herself and gripping the handrail. The sound of her heavy breathing bounced off the concrete walls.

On the floor below, Leila almost sagged in relief when she saw the discharge office was opposite the stairwell, only a few steps away. The door was closed, but it had a long narrow window so she could see that the office was occupied. Inside there was a girl about her age in a pink cardigan typing on a computer. Leila ignored the heat on the back of her neck and instead she smoothed her hair, and knocked.

Pink Cardigan looked a bit surprised when she saw Leila but smiled and offered her the seat in front of her desk. Leila handed her the yellow piece of paper which Pink Cardigan took without comment. She sank into the soft cushioning as Pink Cardigan filled in the boxes. She wished she hadn’t put on her coat, but she couldn’t face the effort of taking if off and then back on again later.

STAMP.

Pink Cardigan handed the yellow slip back to the girl with a flourish, the red ink from with the official Department of Wellness shining in the fluorescent light. Leila reached out a shaky hand and stuffed it into her pocket.

‘Are you alright? Do you want a glass of water?’

‘I’m fine.’ She thought for a moment, then asked, ‘The nurse said I need to call the Licensing Department and ask about the queue-jumping option for my procedural letter.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Pink Cardigan said, ‘did she give you the business card? A chat will cost about 50 credits.’

Leila bit her lip. ‘Is there a cheaper option?’

‘They do offer different rates of queue-jumping services, that’s the gold one which gives you the letter in 4 hours, but there are other levels.’

‘Would it be alright if I used your communicator to ask?’ The girl didn’t want to go home and tell her mother that she must either wait 28 days or pay 50 credits in order to go back to work.

Pink Cardigan’s hand hovered over the communicator on her desk, as if Leila was going to jump up and steal it.  ‘Sorry, I can’t. Only staff members and Alphas are allowed to use government communicators. And even if I did, you’ll just get an automated response. They’ll be closed by now.’

Leila slumped back in her chair.

Pink Cardigan leant forward and clasped her hands in front her, looking apologetic. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

Leila shook her head and got up.

Pink Cardigan took a small breath, looked down at her hands, Leila noticed that her nails matched her cardigan, then she looked up and met Leila’s gaze.

‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but you don’t look well enough to be going home.’

‘My mum needs me,’ Leila replied.

Pink Cardigan gave her a sad smile. ‘The care isn’t as bad as what you’ve heard, we just want the best for you.’

Leila wanted to snap that she didn’t know what she was talking about, but she bit her tongue, too used to well meaning girls like Pink Cardigan, who spent 50 credits on chats without thinking about it.

‘Thanks anyway,’ Leila said and left.

Outside, she looked longingly back at the lift, but she didn’t call it. Pink Cardigan would probably hear it. She could feel her eyes on her through the long window on the door. She didn’t want security to escort her out, so she made her way back into the stairwell and heaved herself downstairs.  By the time she made to the ground floor, she was out of breath and sweat was running down her back.

The reception had soft lighting and walls that were a delicate sky blue. There were paintings on the wall with neat labels underneath. The two queues at the reception desk were orderly and well-managed. Leila could see there were a few other females her age in the second queue.

Leila leant against the wall to catch her breath. She closed her eyes.

‘Excuse me, girl? Are you alright?’ A nurse had appeared from nowhere, her eyes flicking up and down, resting on the sweat that decorated the girl’s hairline and neck.

‘I’m fine,’ Leila said, lifting herself off the wall, ‘I was just about to leave.’

‘Well go on, we need to make room for other patients.’ She shooed her away, as if Leila was a lazy cat.

Leila held out her yellow discharge slip and the security guards waved her through. It wasn’t until the automatic doors had slid shut behind her that the girl looked at the business card the nurse had given her earlier.

Health Board - Department of Population Management and Growth

The nurse had given her the wrong one.

Rationale

I am proud that Scotland provides free and easy access to birth control and abortion. Other countries, such as the USA and Poland, took several steps backwards in 2022. The overturning of Roe vs Wade in June 2022 forced me to reflect on the fact that what women do with their bodies is not always their decision. My sisters in other countries are at the mercy of antiquated laws. Access to condoms and sexual health clinics is a privilege, depending on which part of the world you were born in.

I have benefited from Scotland’s healthcare. I have been supported by excellent nurses, reassuring support workers and of course, my friends and family. I have also received healthcare from other parts of the world, where laws and attitudes shocked me: my body was not my own. I have a tiny understanding of the mental toll that a lack of empathy can impact. This year my heart ached when I imagined what I might have done if my circumstances had been different. The story is the result of my musings of what horrific possibilities may await us, if we don’t show empathy to women and treat their bodies are their own.