Chapter 17 Title: The Miller & the Ringbearer Chapter rating: PG-13

Iris would always remember October 6th, S.R. 1420, as the busiest day of her life. The day started suddenly in the dark of a cool early morning. Even before she had finished setting the kettle on for tea, the Physician's Office front door bells jingled. The clock had not struck seven bells yet. Iris took the kettle off and went to the door.

Young Molly Underhill, age six and quite cranky and croupy, was ill. Iris brought mother and daughter into the examination room and tried to shush the crying child. Diagnosis was easy as soon as Iris saw the swollen salivary glands. Molly had the mumps. She was miserable, of course, but otherwise fine. Getting the mumps was as common and as expected with young children as loosing their baby teeth.

But Molly's young, inexperienced mother panicked with her sick baby. She had bundled her daughter up in her favorite blanket and brought her to the Physician's Office instead of keeping her at home. Her husband was away on business in Little Delving, and Molly had been up all night crying. Poor Mistress Underhill was practically beside herself with worry over her only child.

As the sun rose, Iris was giving poor Molly a washcloth to suck on. It was soaked in a combination of willow bark tea and lots of honey. That seemed to pacify the miserable and tired youngster, who sniffled and coughed, then settled down into her mother's arms.

"Mistress Underhill," Iris said, "once you and Molly arrive home you must stay there until the mumps are gone. Then wash your house down thoroughly. Under no circumstances are you to take Molly anywhere outside of your house until she's better. You see, the mumps are very contagious. You will expose everyone you meet to them. You just exposed me by bringing Molly here. But since I've had the mumps, no harm has been done. It's best to have the mumps when you are young and can get it over with. In fact, you could do the community a real service. I recommend that Molly has a party while she's with the mumps, and all her little friends who have not had the mumps should be invited. Would you like that, Molly? Would you like to have a party?"

The precocious youngster with the mop of curly brown hair gravely nodded her approval to a party. Her mother smiled as she grasped what the doctor was asking her to do.

"With their parent's complete understanding of course," Iris added. "They should know that their children will be exposed to the mumps and will get it over with in a couple of weeks. But no one over the age of twenty who has not had the mumps should be allowed to visit. Especially not males. Sometimes the mumps effect their other glands, and that can be quite painful. Do you understand, Jasmine?"

Mistress Underhill nodded, thanked the doctor, and picked up Molly and the blanket. Iris sent them home with a little packet of willow bark. There was no other treatment for the mumps, other than giving the victim plenty of cool fluids. Time would take care of the rest.

Iris spent the next 30 minutes cleaning the examination room and her medical tools. She stripped the sheets off the exam table and replaced them with clean ones. She changed her own clothes and thoroughly washed her hands.

Iris grabbed a sheet of parchment and her quill, and wrote a notice of mumps quarantine for the Underhill residence. She also added the "or bring your children to get exposed to mumps" to the quarantine. Satisfied with the missive, she posted it on the Hobbiton posting board, right under the official malpractice verdict. Freddy told her it would remain on the board until the 10th, then he would remove it and return it to the Mayor for his official records.

The marketplace was in full swing in the bright sunshine. Chickens in crates and a temporary pen of sheep had been brought in from the outlying farms and pastures. Harvest was under way and the marketplace held extra tents and tables full of fresh and preserved produce. May Bracegirdle had come into town bringing her two sons with her to help run their family table. She was selling various preserves, jams, jellies and cheeses from their farm. Notices of goods for sale or swap competed with official postings on the bulletin board.

As Iris was returning to her Offices she noticed all the children running towards the main road from Bywater. Children were always the first ones to notice anything exciting happening. But what Iris saw was not good.. A group of five hobbits were carrying a stretcher up the road, clearly heading for her offices. Iris ran over and held the door open for the hobbits, quickly showing them into the examination room. Ted Sandyman was on the stretcher, his left hand swaddled in bloody cloths. He was in terrible pain.

"What happened?" Iris asked the closest hobbit. It was Dibble Culver, an assistant at the Bywater mill and Ted's best friend.

"We had an accident at the mill, Doc," Dibble's voice quivered with concern for his friend. "Ted got 'is sleeve caught in the small loading hopper, and it pulled 'is hand in ta the grist wheel a ways before we could stop it."

Ted's last three fingers of his left hand were crushed. The blood pooled into the cloths and dripped onto the fresh sheets. Ted's eyes were screwed up tight and his breathing was harsh in an effort to control the pain.

"Mister Sandyman, can you hear me?" Iris asked. The poor miller's face was pale and slightly clammy.

Ted opened his eyes and frowned. "Yes. Course I kin hear ya," he panted.

"The last time you required medical treatment you refused my services," Iris intoned, crossing her arms. "This looks a bit more serious than a broken nose. However, this is your hand and your injury. What do you want to do? If you desire, I can call in the Apothecary or the Midwife, but I'm warning you, they will not know what to do with as severe an injury as you have here. I will not treat you if you do not wish a South Farthing witch to touch you." Iris stood beside the injured hobbit and waited.

"Teddy-boy," Dibble whispered in his ear, "ya got no choice here. Best go along with what Doctor says else you'll loose ya hand. Ye know t'is truth. I won't lie ta ya."

Ted looked at the doctor, then at his friend. "Dibble? I'm . I'm scared. Will ya stay with me and make sure she don't try no funny business?"

Dibble turned a questioning look to Iris, who smiled and nodded.

"Sure, Teddy," Dibble said. "Now tell her straight."

"Doctor," Ted swallowed his pride, "Please save me hand. I'm sorry I called ya them names, and I really didn't mean nothin' by it."

"Mister Sandyman, I will do everything in my power to try to save your fingers," Iris said. "Now, this will hurt as I take the bandages away. I'll try to be as gentle as I can, but it won't be easy for you. Scream if you want to. Mister Culver, would you please stand close to Mister Sandyman and hold his good hand? Thank you. Now, let's see how badly these were crushed."

A few curious children were peeking through the Physician's Office window, but their parents retrieved them. "Shoo! Get away from there! Don't you know it's bad manners to stare at someone? And peeking in someone's windows! Well, I never! You know better than that, Bungo! Tulip! Curiosity is most unbecoming a hobbit!"

However, May Bracegirdle could not resist peaking in as well as the children. After all, her reputation as the best source of information in Hobbiton was at stake. "Jamus! Watch the table for a moment." She left her son to mind the family's table while she went into the physician's waiting room to find out what happened. May Bracegirdle had some of the old Tookish curiosity in her.

Meanwhile, Iris was debating. Should she amputate? Should she try to save Ted's fingers? The whole affair reminded her of the same choice she had to make while tending to Ted Wyncot, except this was not as life-threatening. It was not a comfortable feeling. Sandyman's hand was terribly swollen. He was obviously in quite a good bit of pain as he moaned and thrashed while Iris removed the bandages and examined the wounds.

The easiest and least-controversial treatment would be to quickly amputate the three mangled fingers. It was clear that all three suffered crushed bones and tendons. The skin and muscles were the only things holding the fingertips onto the rest of the hand. Amputation would be justified and reasonable. There would be no question as to whether it was the right choice of treatment. No question. Iris could hear the clock in the hallway ticking. Tick. Tock. Too late.

But she might be able to save Ted's fingers if she acted quickly and if the damage to the blood supply was not too extensive. Tick. Tock. Too late? Maybe not. Tick. Tock. Time dribbled away with beat of her heart. Hope for Ted's fingers dribbled away with each second. She had to make up her mind quickly if there was any chance. Tick. Tock. If she amputated, he would hate her, but would understand. If she attempted to rescue the fingers and failed, he would hate her and blame her forever. But. . if she did rescue the fingers and succeeded, Ted would be in her debt forever. Tick. Tock. Not too late to try.

"Mister Sandyman, I've decided to try to save your fingers rather than amputate," Iris calmly stated. She was amazed at how controlled her voice sounded. It was as if someone else was speaking. "There is a good chance you will still loose your fingers, and even if I do save them, they will be useless for work. But I shall try."

Ted nodded grimly at the news. He had thought the doctor would immediately amputate, seeing as how squashed and then swollen his poor hand had become after the accident. But if she was willing to try to save them, then he was willing to try too. "What do I have to do?" he croaked out. Dibble smiled reassuringly and clasped him on the shoulder. Ted Sandyman was not a coward, even if he was not generally liked by the community. Dibble admired his friend's courage.

"I'm going to give you a sedative so that you will not feel the pain while I operate," Iris instructed. She went into the storage closet and retrieved a special herb mixture. "Mister Culver, please stay with Mister Sandyman until I return with the tea." Iris disappeared into the hallway. Dibble was left holding onto his friend's good hand and softly reassuring him.

In a few minutes Iris returned with the sedative. Ted managed to swallow the entire lot without much fuss. Within ten minutes he was asleep, much to Dibble's relief. Iris excused him from witnessing the surgery, but Dibble insisted on remaining.

"I did promise Teddy I would stay," Dibble apologized. "Meanin' no disrespect, Doctor Proudfoot, Mam, but Teddy did ask me to watch, so I'm gonna watch."

"I have no objection as long as you remove yourself into the corner and do not interrupt me, not matter what I do," Iris said. "Is that clear? There will be things I'm going to do which might cause you discomfort, or which you might question. But I will NOT have you interfering with my treatment. Is that perfectly clear Mister Culver?"

"Yes Mam," he gulped as he retreated beside the children's toys in the corner.

Satisfied that she would be left in peace to treat her patient, Iris cleaned the wounded fingers and placed tiny splints on each one. The hand was bandaged and wrapped in a cooling wet towel. That was the easy part. But Iris had noted that the fingertips were turning blue, indicating no blood flow. Ted Sandyman would loose his fingers if she could not restore adequate blood flow to the tips soon. Iris went over to a little aquarium sitting on top one of the counters and used tongs to extract something from it. Something small. Something black. Something wiggling.

"You're not goin' ta use them on him, are ya?" Dibble squeaked, concern darkening his normal tenor voice.

"I warned you about interfering, Mister Culver," Iris growled. The poor hobbit backed up into the corner and shut his lips tightly. "If you do not wish to witness this procedure you may leave." Dibble shook his head and swallowed, but remained with his unconscious friend.

Iris encouraged her tiny helper to latch onto Ted's fingertip. The leech was young, thin and hungry. It readily attached itself to the proffered flesh and began its job of pumping anticoagulant into the patient while sucking blood out. This was the only method of stimulating the flow of blood into the crushed fingers that Iris knew. A couple more leeches were attached to the tips of the other mangled fingers. There was nothing more to be done for Ted except bed rest, checking the leeches to guarantee they didn't take too much blood, and waiting to see if the tiny organic surgeons were able to save his hand.

With the help of Dibble, Iris moved Ted from the Examination and Surgery room and settled him into the Patient's Bedroom for recovery. Iris sent Dibble home with Ted's clothing and asked him to return the next day at about noon, bringing a change of clothes for Ted. Dibble thought about it for a moment, bowed to the doctor, then left. All of this was witnessed by May Bracegirdle, who went out the door with Dibble and straight into the Green Dragon Inn.

Treating Ted Sandyman took up the rest of the morning. Iris suddenly realized she had not had first breakfast, let alone second breakfast or even lunch. Just as she was about to sit down to eat a late lunch, the little doorbells jangled again. It was Sam.

"Iris! Can you come out quick? It's Mister Frodo. He's taken ill from the shoulder wound, just like last March. Can you come out to Bag End?

"Sam, describe what he's doing," Iris asked.

"I found him in the study sitting in the chair beside the fireplace. He's very pale but kind of sweaty too. I can tell he is in pain from that shoulder wound. He's not in his right mind, babblin' on about orcs and seein' things far away, like in Mordor and such. I'm not sure, but I think in his mind he thinks he's still in the tunnels there. Me and Rose can't get him to notice us, and he won't budge from the study. Is there something you can do? Something you can give him?"

"Sam," Iris sighed, "I'm not sure there is anything I can do for Frodo. And I have a patient just out of surgery under sedation in recovery. I can't leave him alone as he is still undergoing a treatment which requires constant attention."

Sam was taken aback. Surely she could see that caring for Mister Frodo was much more important than waiting around for another patient to wake up. "But, but doctor," he stumbled, "Frodo needs you!"

"And so does my other patient. Sam, think carefully. Is Frodo in emanate danger of dying within the next hour?" Iris gently placed her hands on Sam's shoulders. "If you and Rose can take care of him for an hour, I'll arrange for someone to stay with my patient while I come out to Bag End. Can Frodo wait that long?"

Sam frowned, "Well, I guess so," he slowly admitted. He still thought Iris should drop whatever it was she was doing and run back to Bag End with him, but he had to admit that Frodo's life was not in immediate danger. "Is there anything you want me and Rose to do while waiting for you?"

Iris smiled. Sam was such a loyal, steadfast, and rather single-minded friend to Frodo. It was a good thing Frodo had him along during their Quest. Frodo would have never made it without Samwise Gamgee. "Try to get him to lie down, even if it's on the floor in front of the fireplace in the study. If he agrees to lie down, put something under his feet and legs. And really build up that fire. You need to keep him as warm as possible. But if he fights you on this, let him be. At all costs, keep him from going outside. And make sure you stay with him, even if he doesn't recognize you."

"Well, all right then," Sam reluctantly agreed. "But Doc, please be as quick as can be." Sam disappeared at a trot back towards Bag End.

Iris peeked in on Ted, who was quietly snoring while his little helpers voraciously sucked life back into his three fingers. Iris was satisfied that all four of them would spend a quiet afternoon and evening doing their respective jobs without anyone's supervision. But Ted Sandyman would need someone there to watch over him until the sedative wore off. They would also have to keep an eye on the leeches, in case one decided it was full and let go. Uncontrolled bleeding could follow if that happened and no one was there to staunch the unconscious hobbit's wound.

Iris slipped next door to Tandy's Apothecary. She and Tandy had an arrangement whereby one cousin would look out for the other or act as an assistant should the need arise. Iris arranged for Tandy to check up on her patient while she went on the house call to Bag End. Tandy suggested his wife Opal would make a better nurse, as he was occupied with customers and Opal was interested in learning more about the family medical business. Opal said she wasn't squeamish about the leeches and blood, and didn't mind at all. Within a few minutes she joined Iris back in the Patient's Bedroom.

Opal had brought over some embroidery she was working on, since Iris had mentioned she would probably be there with the patient through the afternoon and into the evening. Opal was quite interested in everything Iris told her to do. It was the most exciting thing she had ever been asked to do, outside of marrying Tandy, of course. The young hobbitess had a secret desire to become a midwife or nurse, but had been discouraged from pursuing her interests by her family. She was thrilled to be asked to actually take over a patient's care while the doctor was away. And Tandy was next door if anything unexpected happened.

As Iris prepared her medical kit for the trip to Bag End, Opal made herself comfortable in the rocking chair next to the bed holding the unconscious Sandyman. The embroidery had been sub-contracted by Mistress Chiswell from the Hobbiton Tailors. It was fine needlework on one of her client's custom dresses. Iris was so distracted by worrying about Frodo's condition that she didn't notice the dress. Opal was working on a dark midnight blue paisley print. Iris grabbed her medical bag, extra herbs, and an apple and quickly headed out the door towards Bag End. About 45 minutes had elapsed since Sam left.

Opal moved the rocking chair to a nice, bright area of the room. She was going to need as much light as possible for this embroidery. The design was a nightingale in black thread on the bottom of the dark blue ribbons of the bodice. "What a strange request," she thought. "Black on midnight blue. This is incredibly difficult to see. Nobody's ever going to notice my handiwork. Oh well, it's not for me to question someone else's designs." She hummed to herself as the hallway clock passed the time of day. Tick. Tock.