The Doc, the Teacher, the Boy, and the Case

by Robspace54

The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

Chapter 1 - The Doc

I was taken aback by what the patient's mum had just told me. "I don't understand."

She sighed slowly, and then said it again. "He wants the treatments to be stopped."

"That is absolutely medically contra-indicated! Your son needs these treatments. Without them he will sicken! Is that what you want?"

I watched as she wiped at a suddenly too-wet eye, so I slid a tissue box towards her. I hate it when patients or their mums cry, for I never know what to say or do which ever makes one bit of difference.

She dabbed at her face with the paper tissue, after snatching it from the box. "Don't you think I know what?" she said. "Do you think I want that? He's so much better now! And to think that he… he… wants to just give up? After all this? After all the time it took?" She then descended into silent sobbing.

I stood up from my desk, went to the sink, washed my hands and then drew her a cup of water, which she gulped greedily, gasping between swallows.

She took a deep breath. "Thanks Doc." She handed me the empty cup with her used tissue stuffed into it. I binned the cup, washed my hands once more, and then returned to my desk chair.

"Now," I started to say, but she cut me off.

She almost shouted, "I been thinkin' that it's because of the school!"

"The school? Whatever in God's name has Portwenn School got to do with your son's medical treatment?"

She stared at me intently. Her eyes were jarring at first sight, but not uncommon here in Cornwall, an admixture of genes which created such a light gray that they appeared to be violet in some light, fixed me in their stare. They contrasted with her dark hair and plain face.

She grimaced. "It's those bleddy kids, classmates, so-called friends. Teasing him, all the time! He doesn't go out to play anymore, no one ever comes to see him - drop by, ya know? - not that ever happened much. Now my Frank just comes home from school, won't let me walk him home anymore that that he's ten, now he goes into his room and disappears into a book."

Classmates and teasing. Lord. Some things never change. I sighed inside. "Have you spoken to Miss Glasson?"

"Ya. Said she'd clamp down on it."

"But reading is good yes," I went on, accentuating the positive. "Broadens the mind, teaches…"

She cut me off. "You know zackly what I mean, don't cha?"

I drew air through my nose. I did, oh too bloody well I did. "Look, Mrs. Marrak this isn't about me, is it?" I replied, redirecting her. "This is about your son Frank refusing his necessary bi-weekly transfusions. That is that he wishes to stop them. Don't you realize that without them he will get sick - extremely so - once more? Good God woman we've come so far! To stop them at this point?" The boy had been quite ill when I first saw him five months ago just after he and his family moved to Portwenn. I never met the now-absent father, but heard he was 'a piece of work.' It took many medical tests to differentiate between common illness and the uncommon until one particular test showed a genetic lack of a certain dietary enzyme. I shook my head. "We can't just stop now. He has a chronic condition and it will remain with him his entire life."

Mrs. Marrak gazed at me intently once more. "After his dad went away… two month ago, that's when I think it started. He wasn't around much, the tosser, but at least when he was around a bit, he'd take Frank fishing and stuff like that. Rambles too, out on the Moor. Two times they even went camping. My Frankie still talks about those trips. He talks about lookin' at stars at night… a campfire, real dad and son stuff." She sighed and shook her head. "If you know what I mean."

I nodded. "I do. I spent summers here as a boy with my aunt and uncle."

"Ya, I heard that. I mean… I never met yer auntie Joan Norton, but I heard she was right nice, even though she was from up-country."

Thusly proving that living over fifty years in this place did not make you Cornish in any local's eyes. "Now, back to your son, he MUST continue the biweekly infusions."

Her head sagged. "I know! Every other Wednesday. At least we don't have to spend all that time on the bus to get to hospital and back. Bodmin's a helluva ways to hospital. Bein' able to get his IV right here at your surgery is mighty handy. Nice even."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Mrs. Marrak had come here without the boy, who was still in class this afternoon.

"No. Frank don't know I come to surgery to see you." She pressed her rough hands together. The woman worked as an at-home seamstress. I heard she was quite good at dressmaking, so her hands were rough from the cloth and the needle work at her sewing machine. Pauline Lamb was very complementary of her work.

I nodded at her clenched fingers. "And calamine lotion or other emollients may help with your skin condition."

She smiled for the first time in the visit. "Thanks Doc, but it's fine."

She looked at me. "So, Doc Martin, what we gonna do?"

I nodded at her. "Right. First thing I shall speak with Miss Glasson about things at school. That sound okay?"

"Yep."

"Then I will speak to your son."

"Then what?"

"And then… well, leave that up to me."

Mrs. Marrak stood up, now nearly smiling. "Folks say you're not so great on the non-medical stuff, touchy feely, but I think they are wrong. Dead wrong. You can fix this."

"Uhm, erh…" I spluttered as she swept out of my consulting room.