by W. Arthur
Before I met John Bentley, I had dreams I didn't fully understand, strange and powerful dreams in which I freely gave myself up to a man. But not just any man; a man who loved me and respected me enough to bring me into his world, a world of purpose and commitment, a man who would discipline me when I needed help in becoming the woman and wife I believed I was meant to be.
Then I met John and discovered that dreams can sometimes come true; at least they did for me. So I can now say, after nearly forty years by John's side, that my life, tempered by uncompromising love and occasional discipline, is better and far richer than anything I could have dreamed when I was young and naive. And although I never would have thought it possible back then, I love him more each day. I love him in spite of the discipline - which I have never enjoyed. Or perhaps I love him because of the discipline. In the end, what difference does it make?
From the beginning, we were an unlikely couple, and even today, I sometimes marvel at how a force apparently beyond our control or understanding brought us together as though we were absolutely meant to be.
I was born in 1958 in Green Tree, Pennsylvania, the only child of Edward and Marian Stapleton. My father was a highly respected and well-to-do banking executive in Pittsburgh who had served in World War Two. My mother, who was nine years younger than my father, was a fourth grade teacher. Needless to say, I had a comfortable upbringing and lacked for very little in the way of material possessions.
However, if my parents ever actually loved each other, they certainly didn't show it. Looking back, I'm not even sure they liked each other. When he wasn't working, my father spent most of his time on the golf course at the country club. Nearly every weekend he was with his friends and business associates either playing golf or talking about golf - or so I assumed since I was never actually invited to accompany him.
My mother, on the other hand, spent most of her free time either shopping or gossiping with her two sisters and her friends from school. Sometimes she would take me with her to the department stores in Pittsburgh; often she would leave me with my two cousins, both of whom were older.
When my father died of a heart attack - while playing golf, of course - two months before my high school graduation, my mother cried and mourned for about two days before cashing in his substantial life insurance policy. By the end of that August, she was already dating some tennis pro named Dirk.
I saw the proverbial handwriting on the wall and realized I would soon be displaced, either by Dirk or some other eager male suitor. So I followed one of my friends and enrolled in the River Valley Hospital School of Nursing, one of the last of the traditional hospital-based nursing programs left in Pennsylvania. I even got a job as a nursing assistant at the hospital and stayed in the nurses' dormitory.
I found, much to my surprise, that I actually enjoyed nursing and set about to learn as much as I could. Between classes and working, I was logging about seventy hours a week at the hospital, making new friends and relishing the patient contact-such a refreshing counterpoint to my sheltered upbringing. I also, I admit, looked over the doctors, especially the interns, who were still almost exclusively young males back in the late seventies. It was at the hospital where I first met John Bentley in July of 1978.
John came to River Valley as an intern, having just completed medical school at Marshall University. As he was only one of fifteen young men who started that July, I'm not sure what it was about him that got my attention. Oh, I admit that in the beginning it was probably his looks: tall with a sturdy build, chiseled features, dark hair, and brilliant blue eyes. Almost like a character straight out of a romance novel.
The first time I heard him talk I could tell he wasn't from Western Pennsylvania but rather rural Kentucky or West Virginia. He tried hard to suppress his accent, but he hadn't quite succeeded. That August, he was assigned night shift duties on the general floors. And because I was working night shift at the time, we saw each other frequently.
One slow night, we bumped into each other in the cafeteria at around two o'clock and sat down together to eat our lunch. While we ate, he opened up about himself. I think he was attracted to me, although he never would admit it. Anyway, I knew he didn't have many friends, if any, and was not well thought of by his colleagues, probably due to his background, which was rather atypical for our part of the world. In me, he found a willing listener.
He said that he was born and raised in Larisa County in eastern Kentucky. His father, Robert, was the only doctor for both the town of Bentleyville (named for the family) and the surrounding hollows - 'hollers,' as he put it. In fact, he said he came from a long line of doctors going all the way back to his great-great-grandfather, Elias, who had been a medical officer in the Union Army stationed in Larisa County during the Civil War.
As the only son, John was expected to become a doctor, help in his father's small hospital, and take over the practice when his father retired. It was a role and a responsibility that he was looking forward to assuming once he completed his internship. However, he hadn't gone immediately into college and then med school after high school. Rather, he enlisted in the U.S. Army and trained as a medic. He served two-and-a-half years during the Vietnam War, working for a year in a hospital in Saigon, an experience he rarely talked about then and still doesn't talk about unless pressed.
I was intrigued. Unlike most of the interns I had encountered who came across as condescending and arrogant, here was a man whose significant life experience had made him both wise and humble, a man with an appropriate level of self-confidence who also knew his limitations. And he was talking with me as though I was a friend and colleague, not just another nurse in training.
After that late night conversation, we talked every chance we got, which wasn't nearly as often as I would have liked. In fact, between his rotations and duties and my work and class schedule, we were lucky to have any time at all. Still, I could sense that a bond was slowly forming between us. And for reasons I didn't understand very well at the time, I wanted that bond to get stronger... so much so that his face began to appear in my dreams.
Although we spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve together (on duty, of course), he never asked me out for a date. But this didn't particularly bother me because I could tell that he was both extremely dedicated to his work and just a little bit timid when it came to women. I don't believe he had more than a professional conversation with anyone else other than me. He even had a reputation for being aloof, which I found a little amusing. I liked to fantasize that I was his one and only.
Our relationship took a dramatic turn near the end of that February, a turn that changed me forever. Looking back, I can say that it was a very good change, probably the best thing that could have happened to me. But I'm sure I didn't think so at the time.
That month, we were both finishing up our obligatory rotations in pediatrics. I didn't particularly care for the experience. At the same time, I was beginning to feel the weight of nearly three years of continuous work and study. To say that I was looking forward to graduation would be a gross understatement. These feelings coupled with being in close proximity to John on a daily basis made me less than diligent.
Without going into detail, I will just say that I made a serious medication error on a patient for whom John was responsible. Fortunately, the error was caught before it became truly life threatening. Because it was John's patient, he was blamed even though it was my mistake. I learned two days later that he was severely reprimanded. To his credit, he apparently never attempted to shift the blame onto me even though he would have clearly been within his rights to do so.
When I heard of the reprimand, I did feel a little guilty. However, because no real harm was done and I certainly didn't want to risk not graduating, I kept my mouth closed about the incident. I never even approached John to thank him and apologize for getting him into trouble. I was pretty self-absorbed in those days, sorely in need of a strong hand to set me straight.
So thoroughly had I put the incident - and the guilt - behind me that I had almost forgotten about it completely. That is, until John confronted me. On the last day of the month and the end of the rotation, John came up to me when I was alone near the nurses station.
"Connie, I think we need to talk," he said, putting one hand on my arm.
I had been trying to avoid him but saw that I could do so no longer as his eyes were insistent. I made a feeble attempt to feign innocence. "Okay."
His expression remained serious, and I knew at that moment he wanted to discuss the error. "Obviously, we can't talk here. Are you off duty this evening?"
This was a Friday afternoon and, remarkably, I was off the entire weekend. "Yes."
"Good," he said. "I'll be off duty in two hours. Meet me in the old intern lounge - room C 420, at 6:30."
I swallowed hard. "That's in the old part of the hospital," I said.
"I know. It's one of the few places around here where we can be alone."
Now I was getting a little nervous. A face-to-face meeting in some secluded and spooky part of the massive hospital complex was not exactly how I had envisioned our first date. "Dr. Bentley, what is this about?"
"I think you know, Miss Stapleton." Then he broke eye contact and his lips curled slightly upward. "It'll be all right. But we do need to talk."
I guess at that moment I felt I owed it to him to at least hear what he had to say. I really didn't think he meant to hurt me. Besides, a part of me was actually intrigued at the thought of being alone with him at last.
"Okay," I said. "I guess it'll be okay. Six-thirty in C 420."
His eyes once again found mine. "Thank you," he said, then turned and walked away, leaving me to ponder what exactly he had in mind. Revenge? Amorous tryst? My mind raced with the possibilities. However, nothing I conjured compared to what actually happened.
I went back to my dorm room, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed from my uniform into jeans and an oversize tee shirt, deliberately not dressing as though I was going on a date. At six-twenty, I left the dorm and made my way to the old and largely deserted part of the sprawling complex. When I reached the designated room, I saw the door was open. John was sitting in an old armchair reading a journal.
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