Their Beginnings

Disclaimer: Les Misérables and all its characters belong to Victor Hugo. I'm just writing this for fun.

Chapter 2: Joly's Hypochondria

"Please Monsieur, consumption is a deadly disease and could be contagious. It is not a matter to be taken lightly!"

Joly was near to tears. The fact that his recent coughing and fever likely pointed to such a terrible disease was bad enough, but to now be denied any proper medical care at such a time was a nightmare came to life.

"Yes, if one has consumption." The annoyed doctor replied. "I recognise your face, boy. You're the one who came in here last week dying of appendicitis and of cholera the week before that. Get out of here. You should be ashamed of yourself for causing trouble when there are sick people actually in need of care."

The doctor's words were an exaggeration, but not by much. It was true that Joly had visited this clinic several times since he came to Paris three months ago to begin his studies, and although the other visits had been false alarms, that did not mean this one was not. Still, the doctor turned him away without hearing his arguments, and Joly left in distress.

He did not know what to do. At home when he was ill, it was his mother who cared for him, and reassuringly told him that his fever was going down or that his face was regaining its colour. Alone in Paris, he did not know where he could go. He had met many other students during his time here, of course, but none that he was familiar enough to turn to for this. Except, perhaps, for one.

It had been not long after his arrival in Paris that he had met the older medical student in the university library. Joly had only recently recovered from an awful cold, which was the cause of his starting his paper on the day before it was due. Seeing his frantic effort to complete the assignment, another student came over, introduced himself as Combeferre, and offered to help. Joly accepted gratefully, and with Combeferre's help he managed to earn decent marks on the paper. The kind-hearted student had given the younger man his address, inviting him to come see him if he was ever in need of more help with his studies.

Now, Joly was not in need of schoolwork assistance, but in the absence of a doctor, the medical student was his best alternative.

However, when he arrived at Combeferre's door, he began having second thoughts. Despite the gravity of his situation he was hesitant to ask the other student for help. Combeferre hardly knew him after all, and might be annoyed at being asked for a favour from the almost stranger. Worse would be if he laughed at his claim. Joly was used to people laughing at his illnesses, but that did not mean he was immune to it. Besides, it was evening and the student had likely gone out already for a night of enjoyment.

Joly had managed to convince himself of his foolishness in coming, and turned to leave when he almost ran into someone who had walked up behind him while he was lost in his thoughts.

"Bonjour, Joly." The placid medical student seemed unsurprised to see Joly there, although he could not have expected his appearance. He unlocked the door, and gestured invitingly for Joly to go in. "Can I help you with something?"

Joly was relieved to hear Combeferre call him by his name; he had worried that he may not remember him. That relief prompted him to forget his embarrassment for a moment, and he answered immediately.

"I'm ill. I was hoping you might be able to help."

That was not what Combeferre was expecting. Combeferre was sympathetic to the poor, and often helped the abaissés when he was able. So, it would not have been odd for someone too poor to afford a doctor to come to him for help, but Joly's outfit did not suggest that he was someone who would need charity.

"I can pay you." Joly assured him, his embarrassment returning. He reached into his pocket, and offered several francs as proof.

"Certainly I will help you if I can." Combeferre answered calmly. "I am not yet a doctor though. Perhaps it would be better for you to go to someone with more experience than I?"

"I have already gone to a doctor." Joly felt his cheeks grow warm and knew they were likely bright red. "He wouldn't see me. You see I have gone to him more than once before and he thought that I might perhaps be... that I may have made a false diagnosis."

The doctor had actually accused him of faking his numerous illnesses, but he did not want Combeferre to think that he was lying or trying to trick him.

Combeferre's eyes scrutinized him for a long moment and then seemed to fill with something that looked like understanding.

"Very well. Have a seat." Joly sat down in the chair which Combeferre had motioned towards.

"How are you feeling?" Combeferre asked.

It was one of the routine questions that was almost always asked, and the familiar words helped to calm Joly somewhat.

"Not well. I have an awful cough, and I had a slight fever early this morning. I think it may be consumption."

Combeferre simply nodded as though such a deadly diagnosis was of little significance. With a sinking feeling, Joly realised that Combeferre did not believe him. Still, the medical student preformed a thorough examinations. As he did so, he pointed out all the indicators that Joly was, in fact, not deathly ill. He mentioned that his temperature was not overly high, that there was a lack of blood when he coughed, and that he had a fairly healthy weight. He concluded that Joly likely had only a slight cold, and recommend that he get plenty of rest. His rational explanations comforted Joly, and in the end he accepted them as being true.

"Thank you." He said, as he offered Combeferre several francs for his help.

Combeferre simply smiled, and shook his head. "There is no need," he said. "You are welcome to come here anytime you are in need of care."

Joly thanked him once more, and left feeling better than he had in quite awhile.

Joly took advantage of Combeferre's open invitation, and came to him several more times. He came two more times with the next week, fearing that Combeferre may have been mistaken when he told him he did not have consumption. He came again a week later asking advise on what precautions one might take to avoid contracting cholera, and yet again when he developed a rash on his arm.

He was rather embarrassed about his fears, and he was ashamed of taking advantage of Combeferre's generosity. Yet his anxieties still overpowered all other feelings. As much as he tried, he could not prevent his thoughts from turning to disease and death every time he felt a tickle in his throat. He worried that eventually Combeferre might tire of being indulgent with him, as many others in his life had, but he never did. Combeferre continued to receive him. He also continued to decline Joly's offers of payment; telling him that he did not need payment for helping a friend-for that is what they had become.

The topic of the abaissés came up quite accidentally during one of Joly's visits. Joly, after being asked his plans after finishing medical school, had told Combeferre that he wished to work at one of the few clinics that catered to Paris' less fortunate citizens.

Joly's comment that there was too little medical care available to the poor led to a long, cautious political discussion that ended with Combeferre saying, "Are you busy tomorrow evening? I am meeting with some friends, and I hope you might be willing to join us."

Author's Note: Well, that's Joly's story. I hope you enjoyed. Coming next: Bossuet's story.

Please review and let me know what you think.