An Interesting Man

By Portwenn Hydra

Author's Note: Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of legal rights is intended. Portions of this story are written from the perspective of a tourist from the United States, so pardon the "Americanisms" in the story.

Chapter 2

The first thought that crossed Hal's mind was where in the world had the driver taken them? What was this place?

The small brick building facing them didn't look like any doctor's office he'd ever seen. It apparently doubled as the doctor's home, which reminded him of that old medical show, Marcus Welby, MD. Dr. Welby's house had also served as his office – but that program had aired nearly 50 years ago. What reputable doctor in the 21st century worked out of his home, even in a sleepy little harbor town like this?

The man in the elegant suit, at least a head taller than Hal, stared down at them with an expression that was far from welcoming. If anything, he looked annoyed at the intrusion.

"You're tourists?" he asked in a tone that seemed to equate tourism with terrorism.

"Uh, yes," Zarie answered. "From America - Missouri. We're here to see the choughs, you know, the birds. They're filming—"

"Do you have a medical emergency?"

The intimidating voice, the tailored suit, the medical question – this man must be the doctor. Hal felt the intensity of his steady gaze and couldn't escape the feeling of being examined even as he stood on the stoop of the man's home. The whole situation bordered on the bizarre.

Hal was about to explain that his medical condition wasn't all that serious when Zarie jumped in. "My husband Hal. Hal Chuppins." She nodded towards him. "He was having chest pain and he fainted. The nurse said his blood pressure was low—"

"It wasn't really chest pain," Hal said.

The doctor leveled his gaze on Hal. "Are you having chest pain at the moment?"

"I didn't have chest pain," he repeated, as much to Zarie as the doctor.

"Any pain in your arm or your jaw?"

Hal shook his head fiercely in the negative.

The doctor exhaled loudly. "Morwenna! Get back here."

Hal and Zarie's heads pivoted at the same time and watched the girl who a minute earlier had rushed out of the house now stop dead in her tracks halfway down the winding road, a quizzical expression on her face. "Thought you wanted me to go to the chemist and get all those things," she called out.

"Do that later." The doctor turned back to Hal and Zarie, motioning them toward the front door. "You. Come through."

Hal did as instructed, albeit not without some trepidation. The doctor didn't seem particularly interested in seeing him at a patient. He probably shouldn't have come here in the first place without an appointment and without a "genuine medical emergency."

A minute later, Hal glanced around the waiting room in which he and Zarie now found themselves. It was empty; they were the doctor's only patients. Maybe this doctor didn't have any other patients. The pit forming in Hal's stomach only intensified.

The waiting room was out of the 1970s. Hal was no expert on decor, but the vomit green flowered wallpaper had to be one of the ugliest things he'd seen in years. The furniture could easily have had been purchased at a yard sale – and, as he slid onto one of the chairs, found it as uncomfortable as it was unattractive. Worse, the waiting room had no magazines – not even the horrid, outdated, quasi-medical stuff like Parenting and Healthy Living that were staples in his own doctor's office. All things considered, nothing in this room inspired confidence.

For that matter, neither did the girl who'd followed them inside and taken a seat behind the room's only desk. Good Lord, she must be the receptionist. She couldn't be much older than twenty and between the too-short skirt, revealing top, tawdry jewelry, and overdone makeup . . . the only things missing were tattoos and neon-colored hair. If she'd been Hal's daughter, he'd have never allowed her outside the house in that get-up. So what kind of doctor permitted his receptionist to dress like that?

"Have them register as temporary residents," the doctor said, turning on his heel and heading through a passageway into another room, ducking his head as he did so.

And then there was the doctor himself. The man certainly hadn't received a ringing endorsement from the locals. While they'd described him as "quite good," they'd also called him "not the most pleasant chap" and even a "nutter." The nurse on the television set had said he'd been a surgeon, which was confirmed by the "FRCS" after his name on the plaque outside the door. Hal could understand if the man were elderly and had retired from his surgical practice. But this doctor looked to be no more than fifty. So why had he left surgery in what should have been the prime of his surgical career to become a small town GP? No doubt he'd made some huge medical error, had been convicted of malpractice, or had something else go terribly wrong such that he'd had to give up his chosen profession and now was forced to ply his trade in this medical backwater.

Hal and Zarie exchanged a wordless look of concern. Hal had a bad feeling about this and, he could tell, so did his wife. Here he was in a sleepy town, in an outdated and old-fashioned office, with a potentially serious medical condition and about to put himself in the hands of a doctor who probably couldn't get a job anywhere else. Just great.

The receptionist came around the desk, earrings and bracelets jangling, and handed Hal a clipboard with a form attached. "Here you go. Just fill this out."

Zarie spoke up. "That's the doctor?" she asked in a resigned voice, nodding toward the open room.

"Doc Martin."

"Doc . . . Martin?" Zarie repeated.

The girl shrugged. "That's what folks around here call him. He's really Doctor Martin Ellingham."

Hal realized Zarie was less than impressed with what she'd seen – heck, both of them were – and this nickname didn't do anything to change that. Despite the doctor's impeccable suit, the man was clearly some local quack. Equally clearly, it had been a huge mistake to come here and, at the moment, Hal wanted to get out of this office as quickly as possible. Against his better judgment, he started filling out the registration form, half-listening to the conversation between the two women.

"The nurse said he was a heart surgeon," Zarie said.

"Vascular surgeon," the receptionist corrected. "In London." There was a hint of pride in her voice, and something else that Hal couldn't quite identify.

Hal's curiosity got the better of him. "So, what happened? What's he doing here?"

"He . . ." the girl started, then sighed. "It's a long story."

"Morwenna!" the doctor called out through the open doorway. "What's taking so long?"

"Almost done!" she called out toward the other room.

"The doctor doesn't seem to have much of a bedside manner," Zarie noted.

"That's not really his thing, if you know what I mean. But he's really, really good at the medical stuff."

Coming from this gangly teenager who probably couldn't get a job anywhere else in town, the words didn't offer much reassurance. Hal reluctantly handed over the completed form and watched her carry it to the doctor.

A minute later, he called through the open doorway. "Mr. Chuppins, come through."

Hal bit his lower lip. If he were to leave, now was the time to do it. He could make some excuse and head for an ER or even another local doctor. Or just go back to the hotel and rest. Still, the fainting spell had spooked him. He sighed. He was here; he'd filled out the stupid form. Best to give this doctor a shot; if it turned out to be a disaster, he could go somewhere else later.

Hal stood up and gazed uncertainly at his wife. They'd always done important things as a team and there wasn't much more important than the next few moments. He held out his hand. "Come on."

Stepping across the threshold from the waiting room into the doctor's office was like entering a small time warp. The interior was clean, neat, efficiently laid-out, and – most surprisingly – modern in design with medical equipment as up-to-date as any Hal had seen. He couldn't repress a small sigh of relief.

"Take a seat," the doctor ordered.

Hal sank into one of the patient chairs, finding it even less comfortable than the one in the waiting room. Zarie sat down next to him.

The doctor focused his gaze on Hal. "Tell me about your symptoms."

Not much one for small talk, was he? Then again, it wasn't as if Hal would be a long-term patient.

"We came to Cornwall a few days ago. I'm a birdwatcher and couldn't pass up a chance to see the choughs. When we found out they were filming the tv program here, that clinched it."

Dr. Ellingham rolled his eyes and blew out a short breath. "Your medical symptoms."

"Right." Hal swallowed hard and continued. "I got a little dizzy, that's all."

"Hal! You passed out," Zarie said, and Hal watched the doctor give her an annoyed glance.

"How long were you unconscious?"

"A minute or two at most."

"Hmm. What medications are you taking?"

"Norvasc and Lasix. They're for high blood pressure."

Hal received another annoyed look. "I know what they're prescribed for. Dosage?"

Lord, the man was short-tempered. And why did doctors always think their patients were walking pharmacists? Hal took whatever medication in whatever dosage his doctor back home prescribed. "I'm not sure. I have the bottles back at the hotel."

The doctor sighed and made some notes on his form. "What have you had to eat today?"

"Toast and coffee for breakfast. Fish and chips for lunch. Have to admit they were even better than the ones in London—"

"And to drink?"

"The coffee and then a couple of Cokes with lunch."

The doctor appeared to scowl. "Any water?"

"Just a few sips with my medicine."

"A few sips?" the doctor mimicked and tossed his pen onto the desk. "Wonderful. You're taking diuretics and, instead of drinking plenty of water, you fill yourself with coffee and soda, both of which are dehydrating. No wonder you fainted."

"I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think, which is why you're sitting here in my surgery."

Hal frowned. The doctor made it sound like failing to drink water was a crime. Of course, in retrospect, it hadn't been very smart.

"Earlier you said you felt unwell before you fainted," the doctor continued. "Tell me about that."

Hal blinked rapidly in surprise; Dr. Ellingham had been paying more attention than he'd realized. Maybe this guy wasn't a total quack. "I just felt a bit sick; nothing serious."

The doctor scowled at him. "I'll be the judge of that."

"I had a burning pain right about here." Hal pointed to an area on his torso just above the ribcage.

"Have you experienced the pain before?"

"A few times." Hal couldn't bear to look at Zarie. This was something he'd kept from her and knew he'd get a earful once they were alone.

"Is the pain worse when you bend over or lie down?"

How had the doctor guessed that? "Yeah."

After another minute of medical questions, the doctor stood up from his desk. "I want to examine you. Take off your shirt and vest and have a seat on the couch."

Hal frowned. He wasn't wearing a vest. And what did the doctor mean by a "couch?" He exchanged a questioning look with his wife as he stood up and unbuttoned his long sleeved shirt. The doctor grabbed his stethoscope off the desk and stepped over to a bank of cabinets along the far wall.

Hal looked around and decided he was supposed to sit on the exam table; that must be the couch. Odd that it was in the same room as the doctor's desk. And, the table was a bit . . . stark compared to the one in his own doctor's office. Oh well, in for a penny . . . He hopped up, still dressed in his white T-shirt and long pants.

"Mr. Huggins—"

"Chuppins," Hal automatically corrected.

"I need you to remove your vest so I can examine your chest," the doctor repeated, frowning. "Your . . . undershirt," he clarified, pointing.

"Oh." Hal quickly pulled the offending garment over his head.

For the next few minutes, he endured as thorough an exam as he'd ever experienced. The doctor took his temperature and pulse, measured his blood pressure sitting and lying down, listened to his chest, and then had him lie back while he palpated his abdomen. Once again, there was no small talk – merely a series of medical commands, which Hal did his best to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zarie silently taking it all in. Just when Hal thought the exam was over, the doctor insisted on performing an EKG. When he'd finished, he yanked the leads off Hal's chest, arms and legs, and headed back to his desk, having given Hal no sense of what he'd found.

"Get dressed," he said, seating himself and starting to write again on the form.

Hal quickly donned his white tee, and then his shirt, carefully tucking them both in. He exchanged another glance with Zarie as he took his seat. Between the rigorous questioning and thorough physical exam, Hal was now convinced that the receptionist had been right: bedside manner aside, this doctor definitely knew what he was doing.

The doctor continued scribbling and Hal couldn't help but start to panic. He knew that, sitting beside him, Zarie was experiencing the same emotions. What in the world was wrong with him? Was it serious? Would he have to go to the hospital? Would their long-planned trip be ruined? A couple of times he started to speak, to ask this Dr. Ellingham how bad things were. Each time, he shut his mouth and sank back in his chair.

After a minute, the doctor looked up and sighed. "Your syncopal episode – the fainting – was caused by hypotension, or low blood pressure, likely due to dehydration from your medication and lack of fluid intake. If you drink plenty of water, your symptoms shouldn't return. However, we may need to adjust your hypertensive medications. How long will you be in Portwenn?"

"Four more days; we leave Sunday."

"Good. I'll need to check your blood pressure daily; you can come by the surgery in the morning and evening."

Hal didn't like the sound of that but, before he could object, Zarie spoke up. "That won't be a problem, Doctor. But what about his chest pain?"

"There's no evidence of a cardiovascular problem."

"Oh, thank God," Zarie murmured.

The doctor ignored her. "It's most likely gastroesaphogeal reflux disease, possibly caused by a hiatal hernia. It's easily treated with diet and medication. You should follow up with your GP when you return home."

"So, Doctor," Zarie said. "There's nothing to worry about; nothing seriously wrong with Hal."

"Serious? No, provided he drinks plenty of water, especially on warm days like this."

It was Hal's turn to speak. "Doctor, I can't thank you enough for seeing me on such short notice and for reassuring both of us—"

"Make an appointment with the receptionist to have your blood pressure checked tomorrow morning. In the meantime, go back to your hotel, drink water, and rest." The doctor stood up from his desk. "We're done."

It was clear they had been dismissed. Hal scrambled to his feet, as did Zarie. He started to hold out his hand to the doctor, and then thought better of it. "Thank you again."

"Right."

Hal and Zarie made their way to the door. This had all gone much better than he'd expected. He was a pretty good judge of people and, while this Dr. Ellingham lacked interpersonal skills, his medical skills seemed first rate. Still, there was one thing bugging him and just maybe, now that the professional visit was over, he might get an answer. He turned around at the door. "Doctor Ellingham, may I ask you something?"

"Do I have a choice?" the doctor asked in a tired voice.

"I'm told you were once a vascular surgeon in London. So, tell me, how did you ever end up here?"


Medical glossary

Diuretic – substance (including a drug) that increases excretion of water from the body

Gastroesophageal reflux disease – commonly referred to a GERD. Symptom of stomach acid coming up into the esophagus.

Norvasc – generic is amlodipine. It's a calcium-channel blocker used to treat hypertension (high blood pressure)

Lasix – generic is furosimide. It's a diuretic used to treat hypertension (amont other things).