Ken McClure: White death

Trish stared resolutely at the floor.

Virginia felt a wave of exasperation sweep over her at what she felt was Gault’s lack of sensitivity. ‘It’s not harmless if it’s making her so unhappy,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s only a matter of time before it begins to affect her school work. School kids can be very cruel.’

‘I’m reluctant to refer her to a skin clinic when it’s clearly just a harmless and almost certainly temporary loss of pigment. Frankly it would be a waste of time and resources.’

‘Then I’d like a second opinion,’ said Virginia.

Gault looked as if he might be thinking about arguing but then he changed his mind and conceded. ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll see if one of my colleagues will take a look at her but I’m sure they’ll tell you the exact same thing. It’s impossible to predict how long these things will take to go away. The more you make of them the more likely they are to persist.’

‘Tell that to her class-mates,’ countered Virginia.

Gault excused himself, leaving Virginia and Trish alone in his surgery. Although he was probably gone for less than two minutes, Virginia found the seconds passing like hours as she and Trish sat in silence. Both were unhappy, Virginia because she hated coming into any kind of conflict with authority and Trish because it seemed that nothing could be done to help her.

Gault returned and said, ‘Our Dr Haldane will see you after his next patient… if you’d care to wait in the waiting room…’

Virginia found Gault’s manner was now even more curt and decidedly distant but this was not unexpected. He was clearly taking her request as a personal slur. Gault held the door while she ushered Trish out first. She neither made eye contact with him nor said anything.

Scott Haldane beamed broadly when Virginia and Trish entered and Trish took to him immediately. He was young, broad-shouldered and wearing a smile that suggested openness. ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ he asked Trish.

‘All right,’ she mumbled.

‘All right apart from the patch on your arm, eh? Let’s have a look at it, shall we?’

Trish managed a nod and the suggestion of a smile. She took off her blazer and cardigan before slipping off one sleeve of her blouse and holding out her arm for inspection.

‘How long have you had this, Trish?’ asked Haldane, closely examining the area of white skin running up Trish’s arm.

‘Just over three months,’ said Virginia.

‘Thirteen weeks,’ said Trish.

Haldane smiled. ‘You’re the one counting the days,’ he said to Trish as if it was a secret between them. ‘Any pain or tenderness?’

Trish shook her head.

‘Good. How about itching, scaliness?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Good show. So it’s just that it’s a bit of a nuisance that’s a bit slow to go away eh?’

‘A bit?’ exclaimed Trish with such vehemence that both Haldane and Virginia smiled.

‘Have you been abroad in the last year, Trish?’

‘I’ve never been abroad,’ said Trish.

‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Virginia. ‘Although you were too young to remember, your dad and I took you with us to Greece when you were two.’

‘Before you broke up,’ said Trish.

‘And when was that?’ asked Haldane cautiously.

‘The break-up or the holiday?’

‘The break-up.’

‘Three years ago.’

‘And three months,’ added Trish.

Haldane looked thoughtful.

‘She still sees her dad regularly,’ said Virginia, figuring out which road the doctor was about to travel down. ‘We all get on.’

Haldane nodded.

‘Why did you ask if Trish had been abroad?’

‘Just a routine question.’

Virginia seemed unconvinced and didn’t hide the fact. The question lingered in her eyes. Haldane, however, diverted his gaze and got up from his seat. He brought out a sterile stylet from a small chest of shallow drawers sitting by the wash-hand basin and removed its wrapping. ‘Trish, I’m going to give your skin a little prick here and there. I want you to tell me what you feel.’

‘Dr Gault didn’t do this,’ said Virginia, a comment that Haldane ignored as he moved the sharp point around the area of discolouration on Trish’s arm.

‘Not sore,’ said Trish. ‘Not sore… not sore… not sore.’

‘Good. Let’s try your other arm.’

Trish removed her blouse completely and placed her other arm on the table while Haldane fetched a new stylet. ‘Here we go again. Tell me what you feel.’

‘A bit sore… Ouch!.. Ouch!’

‘Sorry, Trish,’ said Haldane, ‘I was a bit too heavy handed there. Sorry. Okay, you can put your blouse back on. I think maybe we should refer you to a specialist skin clinic, just to see what they say.’

‘What do you think it is?’ asked Virginia anxiously.

‘In all probability the chances are that it’s exactly what Dr Gault thinks it is — just one of these unfortunate reactions we see now and then resulting from some kind of emotional stress — but there’s no harm in being absolutely sure and, as it’s clearly causing Trish some anxiety, the clinic may be able to suggest some treatment to speed up things — UV light or something like that. I’ll have a chat with Dr Gault after surgery’s over and we’ll get things moving on the referral front.’

‘Thank you so much, Doctor,’ said Virginia. ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just want the best for Trish.’

‘Nothing wrong with that, Mrs Lyons.’

‘How did you get on with the over-protective mother?’ asked James Gault, putting his head round the door of Haldane’s office when the last patient from evening surgery had gone.

Haldane smiled. ‘She’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘Her kid’s having a hard time at school and she feels helpless. Perfectly understandable.’

‘Fine, but you have to remember we’re not social workers,’ said Gault. ‘What did you think of the child’s skin problem?’

‘I think you’re probably right but all the same I’d like to refer her to the skin clinic just to be on the safe side. There were certain unusual aspects that I’d like checked out.’

‘What aspects?’

‘It’s probably just an over-active imagination on my part,’ smiled Haldane, getting up from his chair and giving his colleague a reassuring touch on his upper arm.

‘Well, if you really feel you must,’ said Gault, sounding slightly miffed. ‘Perhaps in the circumstances you’d care to do the paperwork?’

‘Of course. Remind me, who’s the main man at the skin clinic?’

‘Ray McFarlane. He’s the kind of chap who won’t thank you for wasting his time.’

April 2007

‘Look, I’m sorry, Trish, I just don’t know what more we can do,’ said Virginia Lyons as they came out from morning surgery after getting the results from the skin clinic. ‘The specialist agrees with the other doctors. He says it’s something called vitiligo. It’s nothing serious and it’ll go away in its own good time. Unfortunately, there’s nothing they can do to speed it up so you’ll just have to persevere until it does. I know you hate it, sweetie, but hang on in there, huh? Let’s just be grateful it isn’t something more serious.’

‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ mumbled Trish.

Virginia looked at her daughter with a lump in her throat. She hated seeing her so unhappy. ‘I could write and ask Miss Neilson if you could be excused gym classes until it clears up?’

Trish nodded.

‘When’s your next class?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘I’ll do it tonight. You can take the letter with you in the morning.’

Virginia came home next evening to find Trish sitting at the kitchen table in tears. Her shoulders were heaving, her head resting on folded arms. Wrapping her arms round her made matters worse for a few moments until cuddles and soothing words finally did their job and she was able to get some sense from her daughter.