Care

I suffered along with my cold another day and it started to ease, as they usually do. The surgery wasn't quite as busy as it had been, likely because most of Portwenn was down with this virus.

Pauline Lamb had managed to take precautions and she was germ free so far. She sat there slurping down orange juice like she had a massive bout of low blood sugar, claiming that vitamins and orange juice was helping. "Doc," she said as I sneered at her ministrations, "I read it in this magazine that…"

"Rubbish!"

"But it said that these things can help the immune system..."

"What rot!" I went on as I pulled a file from the cabinet. "If these articles had a shred of science behind them, they'd never be in print!"

Pauline rose and shoved the magazine under my nose. "This is it! Is this rubbish?"

I looked at the glossy thing. It was the BMJ, the British Medical Journal. "Oh…"

She chuckled. "Not rubbish now, right?" She went on laughing. "Your face - it was perfect! When you saw it was the BMJ!"

I could only glare at her, and was preparing to yell, when the door opened and a patient came in. It was Louisa Glasson.

"Louisa!" I exclaimed,

"Hello Martin – Pauline," she said indistinctly.

"Louisa is your first patient today, Doc!"

"Yes. Well, then go through."

Pauline smiled at me. "I snuck her in first thing; says she's not feeling well."

I followed her into surgery and admired her walk, her dress, her hair, her… ahem. She sat and looked at me as I took my place behind the desk.

"Miss Glasson, erh, how can I help you?" More important, how could she help me?

"Doctor Ellingham," she started and I knew this was strictly a professional call. "I've come down with this cold, but I feel rather feverish, and my throat, is quite red and sore."

I took her temperature with the tympanic thermometer. It was almost 39 C. "A bit over normal."

"I told you I felt feverish, Martin!"

"Other symptoms?"

"Been feeling a bit off, some nausea this morning, and a headache to beat the band."

"Yes."

"It seems like strep throat to me. We've had a few students…"

"Let me be the judge of that." I next plied flashlight and tongue depressor, seated on my examination stool, getting quite near that lovely face, eyes, lips…neck. The back of her throat was inflamed, as she'd said. "Yes, I can see - what's that?" The telltale spots on her tonsils were apparent.

I binned the depressor and wheeled myself backwards. I unpacked a sterile swab. "Open." I poked around and took a good sample of secretions. The swab went onto an OfficeMed strip and I noted the time.

"Martin?"

I held up my hand.

"Martin? What is it?"

I held up my hand again. "Shush." She did.

A telltale ring appeared on the strip in three minutes. "Yes, streptococcal pharyngitis. You have whitish spots on your tonsils and elevated temperature. This test confirms it. Strep throat, as you call it." I tossed the test and swab, washed my hands thoroughly then went to the desk and started writing. "Allergic to amoxicillin?"

"No."

"I'm giving you a ten day course of Amoxicillin – twice a day. Drink plenty of liquids, gargle with warm salt water if that helps, and you can take paracetamols for discomfort. Mrs. Tishell also has any number of lozenges for throat discomfort."

"And work?''

I nodded. "You should take a few days off. Perhaps four or five, or until your energy returns, the antibiotics take affect and your throat stops hurting."

"Right. That it?"

"Yes. Here is your scrip."

She took the prescription. "Martin, thanks for seeing me…"

"Just doing my job."

"Alright, if you say so."

"I just did."

"Yes, you did." She stood there looking brilliant to my eyes. "Better be off, then."

"I'll check in on you in a day or so; just to make sure the antibiotics are working."

"Oh, ok."

Damn, did I just say that? "And Louisa?"

She'd walked to the door. "Yes?" Her blue eyes looked guarded.

"I'm glad I could take care of you, in surgery, I mean."

She smiled a bit at that. "Yes, me too."