Chapter 37
The next morning, after breakfast, Martin hurried to get shaved and dressed. The day before, he had been reluctant to shave. After all, he couldn't remember doing it. Then he scolded himself. After all, the motor memory was one of the most powerful forms of memory. Something you've done for years, you can do it even if you haven't done so for some time.
Having reassured himself, he decided the best way to do it was simply not to think about it and went straight into action – the faster he would be handling the razor, the more he would have to rely on his sub-conscience, the easier it would be.
His strategy had worked fine. As long as he didn't think about what he was doing, he did it quite well. He realised again, that he actually still had all his memories, but it was like having a set of memory cards, but they were all upside down. He had to find a way to turn them over, and the picture might be complete again.
Somehow it horrified him what picture would be staring him in the face.
Having performed his morning ablutions, he chose a grey striped suit and a red tie. Although he still had his arm in a sling, it was mainly to minimize the stress, so he slipped out of the sling long enough to get dressed properly. Being well groomed and smartly dressed gave him security somehow, he noticed.
Then he sat down in front of his computer, determined to brush up a bit more on his medical knowledge. He checked his emails and found a new description of symptoms by his tutor. He tried to read it carefully to get all the important hints, when he was disturbed by someone opening the door.
Martin jumped to his feet, only to find himself in front of a nurse fiddling around with some towels. He groaned and slumped back onto the chair. However, he simply couldn't concentrate. He stared at his watch constantly and jumped at every noise he heard.
Only very reluctantly did he have his appointment for physio, as he didn't want to meet his boss all sweaty and exhausted, but on the other hand also didn't want to give the impression that he was not working with optimal dedication to restore his health.
However, he was able to persuade the physiotherapist to take things a little bit easier than usual. After the session was over, he rushed to his room and enquired immediately if someone had asked for him in the meantime, but no one has called so far.
Martin quickly freshened up and changed back into his suit. He hated this waiting game. He couldn't really concentrate on anything.
Then the phone rang. He jumped up, answering it.
"ELLINGHAM"
"Hello Martin, how did it go?" Louisa asked, eager to find out.
"It didn't go at all!" He was impatient by now. "He stood me up! He bloody well stood me up!"
"He didn't say when he planned to come, so you can't say that. He'll probably pop by any minute."
"I'll tell you what happened! He found a bloody replacement in some smart arse post graduate at Plymouth University and now he doesn't think he has to bother anymore! That's what happened!"
"Calm down. Chris is nothing like that, believe me. Besides, he can't appoint a GP all by himself."
"Well, then prepare for a meeting of your precious panel committee soon, as you will be presented with a brand new doctor in no time!"
"Stop it! You're just driving yourself crazy, and there is no reason for it at all."
"Oh, I've got no reason, have I? I'm losing my bloody job, even the prospect of it, but I've got no reason to be worried. That's great!"
"You don't know any of this. Stop worrying and just wait to see what happens. There might be a completely harmless explanation."
"Oh, right. I forgot. Everything's rosy-red and just dandy. So it must be me just imagining problems."
"I don't say you're imagining problems, but maybe just exaggerating them a bit. Don't you say?"
Right now there was a knock on the door, which took Martin completely by surprise, so much so that he even forgot to rant. Staring at the door, he murmured into a completely different direction than the speaker "I…sorry…" then he rung off. He didn't even hear Louisa whisper "Good luck."
While fumbling with his new mobile Louisa had organised to replace his lost one, he yelled "Come in!"
It shortly crossed his mind that it was strange that this visitor didn't only bother to knock, which very few people did to start with in this bloody hospital, but that he also had waited for his reply.
A slightly overweight, middle-aged man with spectacles and definitely balding entered the room and came towards Martin.
"Hello Mart, how are you, mate?"
"Chris Parsons, Chris?" Martin stuttered. He wondered for a moment that he should have studied with this man. Was he really that old? OK, he noticed that he was definitely grey, but otherwise – did he also look that old? He looked down at his visitor, as he was definitely smaller than he was, and inspected him thoroughly. Martin had googled Chris Parsons, but he now realised that most of the photos he had found must be quite some years old. It dawned on him what a great chunk of life had been erased by his wretched condition. He must have more past than he would have future. A scary thought. Of course he had already found out his date of birth, but the numbers were purely theoretical. This encounter with his contemporary, however, was not.
"Sure, who else? So how are you?"
"Fine." Said Martin in the abrupt way he had when he didn't want anyone to delve into his affairs.
"I must say, for such a safe pair of hands as you are, you manage to get yourself into all kinds of trouble. I still remember your lectures when we wanted to paint the town red as students. How we would not only endanger our health, but also our careers. You never had a single drink, as you didn't want to endanger your steady eye and steady hand."
"And now just look at you – the only one who forbade himself every bit of fun, who put his career into the centre of attention, so much so that there was hardly room for anything else – and you're the only one of our old gang who has to fight his way back into his job for the second time."
"So what did you come for, then? To get even with me for the lectures I might have given you, how long – must be decades – ago?"
"Sorry, mate, but it was meant as my strange way of showing my heartfelt concern. Well, and maybe really the attempt to get it into my head how you've screwed it up this time."
"Well, I must say, you make it sound as if I am to blame! I didn't do anything at all! It seems to be the general assumption that I was called out to an emergency and then…somehow…" Martin gulped.
Chris noticed the trouble his old mate was in and came over to pat his shoulder, the one that was not in the sling.
"Sorry, Mart. I didn't want to upset you. It's just…I seem to be getting used to helping you to get back on your feet."
"If that's so inconvenient, why do you do it? I didn't ask you to. You asked for this meeting. I'm starting to wonder if you just came to ridicule me."
"Come on, I really want to help. I always did, because I know what a brilliant doctor you are. Actually, I always envied you a bit. Everything came easy to you, always the high-flyer, always so damn superior. Your little set-backs – and they really are nothing more serious than that – just make you a tiny bit more human."
"To be honest, Mart, I would even have readily accepted your haemophobia if some of your brilliance would have rubbed off on me with it."
"Mind you, I wouldn't take your amnesia, though, not for anything in the world. But then, I've got a bit more to lose."
"I must say!"
"Sorry, mate, but my wife and kids wouldn't take it kindly if I couldn't remember them. After all, you don't have anyone…"
"I beg your pardon! I do have people who care about me."
"Sorry, I forgot the fair Miss Glasson." Chris smirked a bit.
"There is nothing funny about it. She really…really…"
"She cares about you."
"Yes she does!"
"You lucky devil. I don't know how you did win her. Really well done."
"There is nothing to smirk about. Stop that."
"You don't want to tell me she's doing all this for you simply because she's a gentle soul?"
"She certainly is…I mean, she's not….uhm..:" Martin stuttered and coughed nervously.
"Quite alright, I get it."
"But I don't. Why did you come exactly – to ridicule or to gossip?"
Chris shook his head slightly. Whatever happened to his old mate, he certainly never had and probably would never have, any sense of humour. Maybe he knew now what made Martin so susceptible to set-backs. Martin took everything, including himself, too seriously. If someone would ever be able to unscrew that funny head of his, he certainly didn't want to know the mess that would pour out of it.
"OK, Mart, you're probably right. Honestly, I didn't want to ridicule or insult you. I really just came to help you."
"You've got a funny way of showing it."
"No, really. Look, I'm sorry, but I also have to understand what's happening, and these comments are simply my way of coping."
"Great."
"Let's sit down and talk business, right?"
Martin looked sceptically, but offered Chris a seat.
"Martin, I would really like to have you back in your surgery as soon as possible."
"But…Somehow I feel a but coming."
"But…" Martin frowned, but Chris continued. "…I can't simply re-install you. You have to work your way back."
"And I am working. It doesn't look too bad either. Look at the results…" Martin gathered several of his test exams, and placed them in front of his boss.
Chris picked them up, not overly interested. He knew what to expect. Martin looked quietly but completely tense over while the head of PCT flipped through the pages. Chris nodded while looking at the results.
"You see, there are hardly any inaccuracies, and certainly no mistakes. Dr. Fellows made contact for me with a tutor from Plymouth University, and he is practising with me, especially making diagnoses. I spent much time in the canteen, trying to find out what the patients in there are suffering from. However, I have to confess, it's not always easy to check if I was right. I can assure you…"
"Yes, Mart, I see. Nevertheless, you have to understand that you can't just go back to your surgery and shout 'Next patient!'."
Martin grew tense. With definite venom in his voice he asked. "So who will replace me?"
"Look, it's nothing like that. I don't want to replace you."
"But you will, or do you have someone already?"
"Can we talk about this amicably, please? I have to tell you some things you won't like, but in the long run they all lead towards you being the only master of Portwenn surgery. I want you to remember that."
Martin frowned.
"Look, we need someone to look after the health of the village soon. Sooner than I can possibly re-install you. Furthermore, you've got to do some exams first and I would feel far more confident if you had someone around to start with."
"So, yes, I did look for a locum…" Martin stared at his boss in horror and disgust. "Mart, I said a locum. Nothing permanent. And I also think I've got the perfect choice."
"Well, everything's sorted, I don't see what you need me for, then." Martin replied sarcastically.
"I need you to get back in form, get fit, to take over your duty as sole medical support of the village next year."
"What? Next….and what do you think my replacement will do? If he has done so well, why should he possibly leave? "
"That's just the point, he wouldn't want to stay. That's what I meant that I have the perfect solution, and now, please, listen to me without interruption and without boiling with anger. You won't like some of it, but it's the only way I can see at the moment to re-install you without neglecting my responsibility for the village."
"See, I've got a friend whose nephew has finished his studies and his assistant years. He was quite a high-flyer himself. This young lad, Archibald Graham-Simmons, is strictly upper-class, was in one of the prestigious boarding schools, then Eton, Oxford…you know the routine. After all of this posh environment, we thought he might profit from meeting real people for a change. Especially as he has bought himself into a group practice in Harley Street already."
"Point is, he can't start his job until beginning of the year after next, as the physician he shall replace won't retire until then."
"So he has one year to fill, to gain some experience. For him, it would be ideal to get as much contact with down-to-earth people as possible. As you have experienced yourself, they don't get more down-to-earth than in Portwenn."
"I thought, you can hold surgery with him. You would both profit by it, I think. He has his approbation, but hardly any experience. I think, and meeting you has so far confirmed my hopes, that you will still be able to teach him a thing or three as a diagnostician. You can serve your time as assistant doctor for your refreshment in your own surgery."
"Arch is quite a serious-minded young man, quite bright, with stiff upper lip and all that. So maybe you two will get along alright."
"There is no chance whatsoever, that he will have any wish to stay in Portwenn longer than necessary. From mid of next year on, he will have to go for London sometime to settle his affairs there, get a bit involved in his new surgery, organise things. That will give you opportunity to take over slowly as full-time medical support."
"To start with, however, you won't have to be there often, which will give you time to recover and for the time you will have to spend at Plymouth University. There are some courses, seminars and practical courses you will have to do before you regain permission to care for your patients alone."
"So what do you say?"
Martin took a deep breath.
"So I shall be the water boy for this smart-arse for a year, give him some unpaid and unwanted extra-lessons and have him get all the praise for it?"
"Sorry mate, if you're looking at it that way, but the only alternative I'd have is to get another doctor, and I'm not sure if they would be so easy to get rid of afterwards. You know what, you think about it and I'll call you tomorrow. But I need your response then. Sorry, I really can't wait any longer."
"First, Arch has to know for sure if he can come down here, otherwise he has to look for something else."
"Second, Miss Glasson's announcement Friday in the pub has stirred the water. Members of the panel committee have phoned me, urging me to solve the problem of medical support. I guess I will have to organise a meeting this week and would like to know for sure first if I can offer this solution."
"Honestly, mate, I think it would be the best solution for everyone."
Martin was flabbergasted. This was not at all what he had hoped for. His first impulse was to reject it vehemently right away, but some little voice in his head told him not to burn any bridges he might still need. In a daze and absentmindedly he simply nodded.
"Good. I'll call you tomorrow. My advice is to accept it. It's the best I can come up with. Besides, it would do you good not to overdo things immediately."
As Chris Parsons got up, Martin did so, too, and showed him to the door.
After he had seen his visitor out, he slumped onto his bed. He felt tired and exhausted beyond words, and his little bubble of hope really had been punctured at several points. He also had to admit, that it didn't burst completely.
He would call Louisa and talk it over with her. Get her advice. Later.
First he had to let it sink in.
To be continued…