Chapter 35 – Fingers

"How's it going Doc?" asked Bert.

"It's fine," I said.

"Well how much longer?" he asked.

The edges of the wound were coming nicely together with the tension of the mattress stitches I was putting in with 5-0 sutures. The ugly arm wound was now down to a length of 2 centimeters, and I was stuffing fatty tissue back inside that had been avulsed by the knife. I had pondered if I should detach this bit or place it approximately in the original location. I ignored Bert and kept working, having decided to reintroduce the tissue to the arm. One advantage of my years in vascular surgery was that the patients were unconscious and I never people prodding me with my questions. Even the medical students were trained to be silent pairs of hands, unless invited to speak. But just now…

"You are about done?" Bert added. "I'm certain that my Al needs some looking after, too. If you're going to keep poking about inside Ari's arm, well, maybe we should call…"

"Shush!" I shouted at the fat man. I shook forceps towards him, to where he sat overflowing my desk chair, which he'd likely damage due to his girth and weight. "Shut it!"

"Just wondering," he put in.

"Martin?" asked Louisa timidly. "Do you want Morwenna to help?" she shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Would it be better… if she helped you? After all she did assist when you operated on my mum."

I looked at her lovely eyes, framed by her dark hair above and the surgical mask below. "No, almost done. Just keep stabilizing the arm. Ignore Bert. You're doing quite well."

Ari laughed aloud. "Ignore Bert Large?" Hah! I'd like to see if anyone can do that! He is a bit…"

"Noticeable," I said.

"Yes," the woman said. "Still, he is nice, don't you think?"

I curled my lip which she did not see under my mask.

"Yes," answered Louisa. Her eyes swung to mine apprehensively. "Well, usually. I mean, he's always been nice to me." Her voice dropped. "You mean that?"

"Yes." I looked at her. "Oh? I didn't know."

"It's true," said Louisa.

I placed one last stitch, pulled it firmly to match the tissue edges, and tied it off. I ran my finger tip over the seam, now held securely by fifteen mattress stitches. "There. Done" I put down the needle holder. I looked over at my patient's face. "I think that will do. I should examine this on Monday to ensure there is no tissue necrosis. These stitches make a tight joint, but may compromise blood flow at the juncture. You're staying in the village? I'll write a script for antibiotics and painkillers. We'll have to arrange to get that filled in Wadebridge or Truro."

"Yes. I'm staying here." her eyes flicked towards Bert. "At the Oceanside. But I had planned on leaving tomorrow."

"Oh?" said Bert. "Bit pricey that. If you need someplace to stay… ahem… we do have a spare room, over the restaurant."

"It's alright, Bert. I've got a bit put away. A few more days will be alright." She said. "Not to worry."

Louisa's head swiveled from Bert to Ari and back, stripped off her gloves and face mask. "I'm sure… well," her eyes swung up to mine. "The village is quite nice. Wouldn't you say so, Martin?"

I had just bound up the arm in sterile gauze pads, a wrap of more gauze and a layer of sticking tape. My bloody gloves went to the bin and I pulled my mask down. "The village?"

Louisa brightened. "Yes, Portwenn. Didn't you say just earlier there, were certain… attractions, to being here?" She smiled broadly. "That you were happy here?"

I looked over the exam table at Louisa Glasson and managed to keep a jeer from my face. "Well…"

Bert slapped his leg and stood. "This has been a day of miracles then! Doc Martin says that being in Portwenn makes him happy? Ha-ha! Bless my soul, I'm going to circle this date on the calendar and every year I will lift a glass to remember it. Doc Martin happy!"

Louisa's eyes crinkled up and she smiled as she took my hand. "Sorry, Martin," she said softly. "I hope you don't mind."

I stared hard at this lovely woman, now holding my hand. Little would I know when I arrived in Portwenn, a veritable purgatory and an escape from the wreck of my professional and surgical life in London, what I would find here. Odd and clannish people, with the most absurd ideas of hygiene, dietary habits, and proprieties. Beautiful white washed cottages, all with leaking plumbing. The smell of kippers cooked with a fried egg atop. Coarse brown bread which if left until day-old could break a tooth with a single nibble. Barmy police constables, narrow lanes, and salty fishermen who'd drop tools at the sound of trouble to help out. And somehow, somehow, they had taken in the uptight, rude, too factual and brusque, refugee of a GP who was afraid of the sight of blood.

I bent slightly toward the exam couch and inhaled deeply. Yes; I smelled blood, the odd greasy smell of human fat, the clean starchy odor of gauze and the slightly petrochemical smell of surgical tape. I had missed surgery. But it no longer held the satisfaction it once held. Cutting and sewing pieces of flesh like a tailor! What of it? Isn't vaccinating a little child, a baby, and protecting it for a lifetime just as important? Or diagnosing malignant hypertension and slowing the onslaught equally critical?

Louisa's hand lay gently on my hand. Her fingers were slender, soft, cool, and so much smaller than my rather largish and blunt fingers. Voluntarily I shifted my fingers and grasped hers. Her fingers interlaced with mine and I swear I felt an electric jolt from her skin to mine.

I raised my face towards Louisa and my mouth opened. "No, Louisa. I don't mind."

I then shifted my gaze to my patient, who Bert was now helping to sit up. "Portwenn is… ahem… well…" I felt the earth shift just a little. "Portwenn is…" I looked into Louisa's eyes, which gave me a wary look. "Is…"

"Yeah, Doc?" interrupted Bert Large.

I felt my eyes smile a tiny bit at Louisa and I saw her relax in response as my fingers squeezed her hand. "Portwenn is fine."