Healer Girl

I have been living in black despair for several weeks. My husband, whom I love dearly, will soon die. For several months, he has been complaining of headaches, dizziness, and profound weakness. During this time, he has seen several doctors, moving quickly from one private office to another, unwilling to wait in the public queue. Two weeks ago, he finally had a CT scan and an MRI. We waited anxiously for the results, for the so-called description. On Friday, I accompanied him to see the neurologist managing his case. I waited outside the office. Eventually, the doctor called me in. As soon as I saw Tomek’s pale face, I knew what I was about to hear.

My husband has a brain glioma. The neurologist said it bluntly, then proceeded to describe the therapy that would be implemented in great detail. As I listened, I felt like I was in a fog. Tears welled up in my eyes. When we left, I hesitated at the door. After Tomek had crossed the threshold, I closed the door behind him. I managed to speak with the doctor alone, pressing him with questions. He resisted, dodged, twisted his words, but finally, he told me the truth. My husband has little chance of a full recovery. He will likely live for another two or three years, but unless a miracle occurs, he will die.

For two days, I have been thinking about what awaits us. It is clear that life will be difficult now. Tomek must undergo decompressive surgery, radiation, chemotherapy. But I am not concerned with these treatments; I am worried about the likely outcome. I do not want Tomek to die. I need him, I love him, I cannot imagine life without him. Yet the conversation with the doctor haunts me. Most patients, despite treatment, die within a few years, unless a miracle occurs. But what does such a miracle involve? What could radically change his prognosis?

I began reading everything I could find on the subject. I searched the Internet, read medical and nursing journals. Yesterday, I came across a strange story in a nursing magazine.

A nurse, whose name was not mentioned, was accused of inappropriate behavior. She had slept with a patient during her night shift. They had sex in an empty treatment room. No one would have noticed, except that the patient, who had been diagnosed with cancer, recovered within two days and requested to be discharged. In his conversation with the doctors, he inadvertently praised the nurse, causing her trouble. She received a reprimand from the hospital director and was eventually transferred to another ward—the psychiatric ward, located in a separate building of the hospital.

Despite the lack of personal details in the story, I had no trouble finding the facility. The next day, I decided to find the woman and speak with her. I have always believed in never giving up.

Yesterday evening, I arrived at the hospital, even though it was getting dark. I hoped to speak with the psychiatric ward staff and gather some information.

As I drove into the courtyard of the grim building, I felt nervous. The dark, empty windows were unsettling. Events unfolded quickly. There was no reception desk. When a woman’s voice answered over the intercom, I said I wanted to speak with the doctor on duty about a work matter. I heard the remote door open. As soon as I entered the first floor, I saw a sign: "Observation Ward." I went to the nurse’s station, where I found an older, friendly nurse. Before long, I knew everything I needed to know. The woman I was looking for was named Patrycja. She was starting her night shift at 10 p.m. I decided to wait in my car.

While waiting, I had time to sort things out in my head. I remembered my life with Tomek. It wasn’t always perfect, but we were doing well. Tomek was resourceful. As the owner of an IT company, he earned a good living. I, on the other hand, had my outlet as a journalist, often assigned to investigative work. I must add that I am still quite an attractive woman, even at forty. Male friends say I look like Juliette Binoche. I wonder where that comparison comes from, since her films are rarely shown these days. I owe my good condition mostly to my wide-ranging interests and my care for my appearance. My colleagues envy my seductive style. Today, I wore a short skirt, a well-chosen blouse, and discreet makeup. But I couldn't resist painting my lips with bright red lipstick. I like my face to be expressive and attractive.

Before 10 p.m., I noticed a few people at the entrance to the ward. One of them was a young, shapely, slim girl in tight blue jeans and a black jacket, walking briskly toward the entrance. I was certain it was Patricia. I got out of the car and approached her before she entered the building.

"May I have the pleasure of meeting Ms. Patricia?" I asked.

"Yes, that's me. What’s your business?" she replied.

"To explain it properly, it would be best to invite you for a drink first!"

"That much? Fine! Next time, you can buy me a drink. For now, follow me. We’ll talk in the nurse’s station, but I have to take over the ward from my colleague first. You’ll have to wait."

Our first conversation sparked a glimmer of hope in me. Patrycja was undoubtedly communicative and open to new challenges. Soon, we were sitting in the dimly lit station, and there was no obstacle to telling her about my husband and the idea that had brought me here. At my suggestion, we changed to first names. The beautiful girl carefully ensured she understood my arguments.

"So, you think I have some supernatural abilities and can heal your husband?" she asked. "You also assume that the therapy you’re considering might include actions that most wives, even of seriously ill men, would not agree to. You think it’s necessary for me to sleep with your husband?"

"Yes, more or less like that."

"You know, I’m not sure if I have any special power or if it was just my body that caused that patient to recover. You believe that sexual intercourse with your husband will trigger an extraordinary response in him—emotional, neurohormonal, and metabolic—that will stop the further division of cancer cells. Hmm... It’s true that Jacek recovered, but I don’t know if it was because of my body or my conversation with him. Besides, I liked him a lot, and I wanted him to recover. I used everything I knew about people."

"So, if you wanted, you could do the same with my husband?" I asked.

"I don’t know if I could. It would depend on whether he appealed to me... I don’t like every man. And that’s not all; I twisted Jacek’s soul, but he was a lonely man... I could afford it."

"What do you mean, you 'twisted his soul'?" I pressed.

"It comes from my whole life and the views I've acquired... I’m uncompromising. To twist someone’s soul, you have to go all out... without considering the closest circle, which is usually stuck to them."

"For now, I don’t understand what your 'ultimate therapy' is," I confessed.

"I’m not a professional therapist. I don’t have much experience. However, you can see what’s in my head if you want. If you want to know how I was raised and by whom, read the text titled 'Shamaness'."

"But you do have some interest in this, as I see you don’t completely rule out the possibility of starting treatment. What are your conditions?" I asked.

"I would have to meet your husband, be alone with him, and see how he takes care of you and how you take care of him. Only then would I decide whether to try."

"I agree to everything. I want to save my Tom. I invite you to join us for the entire next weekend."

I looked at the beautiful girl. Patricia was deep in thought, silent, her mind wandering somewhere far away. I didn’t say anything. I waited for her decision. After a few minutes, she finally spoke.

"Okay, I’ll try. I’ll come to you. But I emphasize that I am not responsible for any consequences, and you’ll have to state that in writing."

I didn’t fully understand why I managed to convince Patricia so quickly or what her driving force was. But I was overjoyed.