The Woman Who Gave Birth to Rabbits by Emma Donoghue

Author:Emma Donoghue [Donoghue, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

The examining room was painted in dazzling white. The nurse had taken her behind a screen and changed her street costume for a loose white nightgown. Now she lay on a padded leather table and stared into the bright eye of the lamp.

When the doctor came in his manner was brisker and more animated. He carried a notebook and a fountain pen. "Where exactly is the pain at this moment, Miss F.?"

"I don't know that I can rightly say, sir. About at the middle of my back, perhaps? It's not so very bad when I'm lying flat like this, you see, just a stiffness and a heaviness, really, but dreadful when I walk or try to lift anything."

"And also when you rise from a chair, I have observed."

"That's right," she said, suddenly grateful to the point of tears. "That's when it pierces right through me, like a sword. At least, that's what I imagine, though I've never gone into battle." She gave a nervous little laugh.

"Mercifully not, Miss F. Brave as woman may be in the age of Victoria, she is still exempt from that particular patriotic duty!"

As he said that he took her by the wrist. Miss F. looked at the wall. She couldn't remember this ever happening to her before, except with a friend of her brother's, at a party, once, who'd taken her hand when everyone was admiring the tableau of Britannia's Subjects Pay Her Tribute. Mr. Baker Brown was left-handed, she noticed, but not at all awkward. He pressed her wrist a little harder, and stared down at the fob he held in his other hand. She felt thrilled, comforted.

"Your pulse is regular," he murmured, "but a little quick for my liking."

"I've always been sturdy, till two years back," she assured him. "I can tell you exactly when the damage was done: I was sugaring caraway seeds for Christmas, on the mistress's orders, and the boy was nowhere to be found, so I had to lift the heavy kettle of syrup off the fire myself, and I felt something rip in my back. I said it to her the minute she came in, the lady I worked for I mean, but she said it was nonsense as backs can't rip."

Mr. Baker Brown was jotting something in his notebook. "Until I've examined you fully, I cannot make any firm pronouncements," he murmured, "but I can tell you now, Miss F.,"—his warm eyes suddenly rose to meet hers—"that it is generally impossible for the non-medical to penetrate into the root of their condition."

"Oh."

"The incident you describe may have revealed your disease, rather than caused it."

"I see," she said again, and blinked up at him. "I was sure that was it, the sugar syrup, I mean, sir. My brother said I didn't ought to work for a lady who'd treat me that way."

"Your brother's natural concern for you"—and here the doctor flashed her another of his smiles—"leads him to fancy that he can form an opinion on medical matters. Are you ever constipated, Miss F.

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