A Clean Bill of Health

by Patsy Collins
^{(creative writers at www.morewriting.co.uk)}
I took a deep breath and knocked on Mr Thirlwall’s front door. He’s a decent chap and until a few weeks previously, he’d been a pleasure to work for. To tell the truth, there’d never been much work involved. He hired me as a cleaner, but he didn’t need one; his flat was always clean and tidy. I changed his sheets once a week and loosened lids on new jars, other than that I mostly drank tea and talked. He was lonely, you see. As well as having a chat, I think he found it reassuring to know that someone would notice if he was taken ill or had an accident. He’s given me a key, and had my home phone number, just in case. At first, I felt guilty taking his money and doing no work, but as he said, it was his money and my time, if it suited us and didn’t hurt anyone else, why worry?

“That you, Lydia?” he called out.

“Yes, Mr Thirlwall.”

I waited patiently as he unlocked the door, wondering what it would be this time. As I said, he used to be a pleasure to visit, but that was until he got that medical book. For the last few weeks, every time I’d visited, he’d been sure he’d got some rare exotic disease. I was getting fed up with taking his temperature, checking for rashes and feeling his glands. In my handbag, I had a bottle of food colouring. To my shame, I’d taken it from my kitchen with the idea of adding it to his soap dish and then telling him he had green monkey fever. Of course, I thought better of it. Since then, I’d carried the bottle to remind me to be nice.

“How are you today, Mr Thirlwall?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Please, call me Taff,” he said, yet again.

I didn’t like using his nickname. It seemed cheeky to drink his tea instead of working and then not even address him politely.

“How are you today, … Taff?”

“I’ve got palpitations,” he announced, almost triumphantly.

Palpitations were different from his usual ‘ailments’. This could well be genuine and potentially serious. I’d had palpitations myself. It’s a horrible feeling. Mine turned out to be because of my thyroid problem. The doctor reduced the amount of medication I was on and I’ve been fine ever since. My granddad used to get palpitations and they found out he had a serious heart condition. I didn’t want to worry Mr Thirlwall, but if he really did have palpitations, I thought he should see his doctor and get it checked out.

“How long have these been going on?” I asked.

“It’s difficult to say, could have been happening for ages, without me noticing, couldn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I nodded.

He asked me to make tea and whilst we drank it, he read from his medical book.

“It can be as a result of serious cardiac disease,” he informed me.

“Possibly, but are there other causes?”

“It can be anxiety, reaction to drugs, Lown Ganong Levine syndrome …”

“Are you anxious?” I interrupted.

“Well of course I am; I’ve got heart palpitations and I don’t know why.”

I could see his point and guessed that the palpitations would only get worse if he didn’t find out the cause.

“Perhaps you should see your doctor?” I suggested.

“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow.”

“Good, he’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Lydia. Thank you so much, talking to you has made me feel better already. I thought I’d just seem like an old fool imagining all sorts of things wrong with me and wouldn’t be taken seriously. I know I’ve been a bit silly over this book,” he tapped his medical directory. “But you believed in the palpitations even though you know what I’m like, so the doctor will too.”

“I’m sure your doctor will take this seriously.”

He nodded and was quiet for a minute.

“Lydia, when I said I’d been silly, you didn’t say, ‘oh no you’re not, Mr Thirwall.’ Have I been very annoying?”

“Not exactly annoying, it’s just I hate to see you worried over nothing.”

“Like my deadly rash?” he asked, grinning.

I smiled as I remembered the horrible disease that was nothing more than the pattern of his knitted underwear pressed into his skin where he’d been sitting still for so long.

“Yes, like that.”

“It’s a wonder you put up with it all.”

I felt guilty then and showed him the green colouring. He laughed so hard I couldn’t help joining in.

***

“So, what did your doctor say, Mr Thirlwall?” I asked the following week.

“It’s Taff, I keep telling you.”

“All right,” I agreed. I didn’t want to upset an elderly man who might have a bad heart.

“So, Taff, what did your doctor say?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” I demanded, outraged. “This could be serious, that’s not right …”

“Lydia, it’s all right,” he interrupted. “My doctor was away. I saw this girl instead. When she said she was a doctor, I hardly believed her. It seemed like she should be at school.”

I smiled; I’m not half his age, but even I’ve noticed that doctors and policemen are starting to look younger.

“When she started examining me, I changed my mind sharpish.”

“She did a good job then?” I asked, as we waited for the kettle to boil.

“I’ll say. Gave me a good look over. Asked loads of questions about smoking and drinking and even if I had lots of filter coffee.”

“Would that make a difference?”

“It could, any sort of stimulant can cause palpitations. She asked how I was feeling otherwise and if my weight had changed, all sorts of things like that. Then she checked my pulse, timed it properly and not just for a few seconds either. Held my hands, then got me to hold my arms out; checking for tremor, she said.”

I smiled; I guessed he’d asked as many questions as she had.

“Got out her stethoscope and listened to my heart too. Everything it said in my book, she did.”

“So, what is causing it?” I asked.

“She said it’s probably due to introspection,” he said solemnly.

“What’s that, can they cure it?”

He laughed. “I have to cure it myself. It just means I’m sitting around listening to my heart beat and getting in a state if it changes.”

I laughed too; I’d panicked at the sound of a long word without stopping to think what it meant.

I brought in the tea and sat down. “But you really do have the palpitations?”

“Yes. Well, I get the odd slightly irregular beat. Lots of people do, the doctor said and usually it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Usually?”

“Yes, she said I was right to get it checked out. More mature people, that’s what she called old duffers like me, are more likely to notice our heartbeats, but of course we could still have something serious wrong. She didn’t spell it out, but us oldies are more likely to have bad hearts, aren’t we?”

“So, how does she know you haven’t got anything worse than a chronic dose of introspection?”

“She doesn’t. Not yet. I’ve had some blood samples taken to check for anything that could mess up my heartbeat and I’m going to have an ECG too, just to be on the safe side.”

“That does sound very thorough.”

“It doesn’t stop there. She told me not to worry as, if they find anything, treatment will help, but that she didn’t think there was anything more serious than anxiety caused by noticing an irregular heartbeat and then worrying about it. It made sense, because as you know, I have been worrying about my health lately.”

“Just a bit.”

“Well, the doctor said that sitting around getting bored isn’t good for me. She suggested I go to that day centre thing that I got the leaflet about.”

“I thought you didn’t fancy that?”

“I didn’t, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. If it’s not for me, I’ll try something else. The doc gave me info on clubs and walking groups and I’ll get down the library and get some books, but this time I’ll choose cheerful ones. Even if the tests do show something, it doesn’t mean I’ve got to sit in this flat on my own moping, does it?”

“No, of course not. I think it’s great that you’re being so positive.”

“There is one snag though.”

“What’s that?”

“If I’m off out all the time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage all the housework.”

“Well, I suppose I could manage a bit of cleaning, Taff.”

***

Taff Thirlwall had all tests the doctor recommended. They came back clear. Although he still has the occasional irregular heartbeat, he doesn’t worry about it now. He knows he was right to visit the doctor and would go back again if the palpitations seemed worse or if he has sweating, breathlessness or pain accompanying them.

He’s joined a chess club, so when he’s not out playing a game, he’s studying tactics. He tells me there’s a certain lady with a smart blue rinse whose lovely smile and cheeky humour occasionally speeds up his heart beat, but I don’t think that’s anything to worry about. He still has time to do all the housework before I arrive though. That no longer worries me either. I’ve got a full time job now; I visit, unpaid, in my spare time. I don’t call him Mr Thirlwall any more. That would be silly; Taff is my friend.