1742
Carlisle
After the near-disaster in Germany, I had simply left town and never shown up at that university again. My professor and classmates had probably presumed I had dropped out because I was scared of blood.
I suppose they would have been right in a way.
I had all but given up on the idea of studying medicine after that episode and probably would have never considered it again, if it hadn't been for a chance incident three years later.
I had been staying in a small Prussian town. Having purchased a house in the outskirts as usual, I had hoped the townspeople would simply assume I was some rich eccentric and keep their distance. I had not been doing much with my time aside from hunting and reading. Ever since leaving Germany three years previously, I had felt like I was doing nothing more than simply existing, with no purpose or plan to speak of.
One day I had been returning from a hunt, when I had heard the panicked shouts of a man in pain. Fully aware that there was no one else around to hear him, I had decided I could not just leave him there, despite the precariousness of having to explain why I was in the middle of the woods.
Rushing toward his shouts, I had almost recoiled when the scent of fresh blood washed over me, relighting the just-cooled burn in my throat. It was lucky I had just hunted beforehand and therefore had not been too thirsty.
I could have fled and left the man to what I could only presume was his death. Or I could have stayed and tried to help, risking his life in the progress.
Hadn't I once wished to use what I was as an advantage? To try and save lives? This is my chance to see if I could do that. I remember thinking.
But still I had hesitated. I had stood frozen, my thoughts unable to decide what to do.
What if I fail and kill him? Will my attempt to save his life actually end up killing him?
But if I leave he will surely die anyway? It had to be better to at least try and help?
How do I know someone won't find him and help him if I do leave?
"Oh thank god. You have to help us. We were felling trees when my friend slipped and cut his leg with the axe. He's bleeding everywhere and can barely move. I had some bandages, but it's not enough. We have to get him out of here."
I had hesitated too long and the decision had been made for me.
Together the man's friend and I had carried him to my house on the outskirts of town. Of course, I could have carried him by myself and quicker, but it did not seem wise to bring attention to that fact. My throat had burned the entire time, screaming at me to kill the man. But I had ignored it, focusing instead of getting the man to safety.
I had not even realized we had been heading toward my house until we got there, I suppose it had been a sub-concious decision on my part.
"This is my house, we can take him in there," I told his friend.
"No, we need to find him a doctor," his friend argued back. The injured man was no longer shouting, but protesting feebly, and I knew he had lost a lot of blood.
"I am a doctor," I replied impulsively. His friend looked surprised, but did not say anything, and together we lead the man into my house and onto the bed I never used.
When I had first started studying medicine in Germany, I had bought a small box of medical supplies out of intrigue, and also excitement at finally pursuing an idea that had nagged at me for decades. Though I had not even considered the idea since leaving Germany, some small part of me had refused to throw them away, knowing that in doing so I would be truly giving up on my vision of myself as a doctor.
Inside the box there was some bandages, a couple of needles and some thread. Upon first purchasing them I had been fascinated by the idea that it was possible to sow up skin, and had tried to imagine myself doing it one day.
As I had unwrapped the botched attempt at a bandage from around the man's leg, the scent of blood in the air had increased and my throat had burned worse then ever. I had frozen, torn between my mind's desire to help and my body's desire to kill.
"Erm … doc, everything okay?" His friend's anxious question reminded me off his presence.
They would both have to die. And you do not want to do that. You do not want to kill them.
"Fetch me some water," I had ordered his friend. He had disappeared without a word.
Once his friend returned, I had washed the wound on the man's leg and used the needle and thread to stitch him up. Though I had never done the procedure before, I had read about it many times, and with my vampire reflexes was able to do a good enough job of it to stem the bleeding. The burn in my throat was ever-present throughout, but I had realised my desire to save the man's life was stronger than my desire to kill him.
I had left the town I was living in shortly after that. Despite their thankfulness the two men had still been somewhat suspicious about the whole incident, and the most prudent action was to move on. Plus, I had wanted to move to a city with a university that taught medicine. I had proved to myself that I could save lives, and the idea that doing so was my purpose had once again taken hold of me, fuelling me with hope.
Since now and then, I have finally earned myself a degree in medicine and have worked in several hospitals across the continent.
I still think of that day often. I do not even know that man's name, but he is the first life I saved.
In my darkest hours, when I am struggling with my thirst at the hospital and wonder why I even bother, I try to remember that day. I wonder if he had a wife or children and what they would have done without him. I remind myself that by fighting my thirst, I was able to give them back their husband and father. I endure pain to help others and their families. That whatever pain I may suffer, it is ten times less than what someone who has lost a loved one must go through.
Another short chapter, but I needed a way to show that Carlisle does eventually become a doctor.
What did you think of my version of how Carlisle became a doctor? Reviews are always appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts, good or bad.
