Events

With only a week until Christmas, Louisa felt rushed, but also excited. The school's Holiday event was that Wednesday evening. The children had all practiced in their classes and in larger groups, with the usual frustrated teachers, squirmy children and upset parents.

She also vowed that next year Portwenn school would use a live Christmas tree which could be transplanted to a forest after the holiday. Perhaps, she thought to herself, Stewart James' meltdown was all in a good cause.

But back to present matters, first thing on that Monday morning Louisa was dealing with an upset parent.

The woman was glaring at her in her school office. "Why does Suzy Timmons get to play the angel? Why can't my daughter Jane do it? Jane was the angel last year, so she already knows the part."

Louisa kept a smile plastered on her face as the performance merits of Jane (versus Suzy) were trotted out, at least according to Jane's mum Mrs. Roskilly. When the mother paused for beath, which was not often, Louisa said, "Yes, alright. Your daughter does have a fine speaking voice and a good memory, but given she played the role last year, the Arts teacher thought it only fair to let some other girl play it this year."

Mrs. Roskilly dabbed at her nose; colds were rampant. "But she talked about it for months after and the child has just been crushed by your rejection."

Louisa tried not to sigh audibly. "Well I am sorry that she feels that way. But the decision was made weeks ago and now the programs are already printed, so I hope that you do understand." Plus coming to her three days before the performance was just rude. She sighed loudly. Dealing with prickly parents was not why she became a teacher. "And I do hope that you and husband will come to the performance Wednesday afternoon?"

Mrs. Roskilly gave her a glare and then stomped out of Louisa's office. Louisa sat down, took a good-sized blob of hand sanitizer and cleaned her hands because she had shaken hands with her visitor. God only knew how many airborne viruses were floating around in the school, let alone doorknobs and washroom faucets. Louisa penciled a note to ask Mr. Colley to try and do an extra thorough cleaning before the concert.

After the angry parent footsteps had withdrawn, Sally Chadwick appeared in Louisa's office doorway. Louisa's head drooped. "Not another parent keen to bite my head off?"

"No." Sally entered and closed the door, offering a paper sack to her boss. "I wanted to give you this."

Louisa's eyebrows went up.

"It's a gift," Sally explained.

Louisa reached down, opened her hobo bag and withdrew a small package. "Then I have something for you."

Sally shook her head. "You didn't have to."

Louisa stood up and went around the desk, to embrace her secretary. "Sally, there are so many things that you do for the school…" she had to stop, recalling her own breakdown in the staff washroom. "Um, to keep things going smoothly. Thank you. And for keeping me on track at times," she added.

"Part of the job Louisa." She looked down at Louisa's belly and her baby bulge was evident. Sally smiled at her boss and friend; happy for her and the Doc. Having a child was something Sally had wished for, but the right man never did stick around.

They exchanged gifts. "Might as well open them, I suppose," Sally suggested. "The staff party is Thursday, and we'll have the 'Secret Santa' gift swap then, but I wanted you to have this now."

"Alright," Louisa said then she tore at the wrappings. The package held tubes of body wash and moisturizing lotion, a pretty scarf and a paperbound book titled 'What to Expect When You Are Expecting'.

Sally smiled as Louisa exclaimed in delight. "I know the book was originally written in the States however in Cornwall and the USA babies get made the same way," she told her.

Louisa laughed. "I have been meaning to pick up a copy. I could always ask Martin for details, but of course…"

"He'd give you a lecture." Sally craned her head to peer into the carton. "There's something else in there."

In the bottom of the box was a flat object, wrapped in pasteboard. "What's this?"

"Oh just a photo from your wedding. Snapped it with my mobile."

Curious, Louisa opened the pasteboard overwrap and the image revealed struck her like a lightning bolt. In it, she was standing next to Martin and her face was bearing a huge smile at the photographer. Martin was half-turned to the front, but his head was turned, and he was looking at his bride with a medium-sized smile on his lips.

"Smiling," Louisa sighed. "Gosh… I… I don't know what to say."

Sally took her boss's hand. "He does love you, you know. But Doctor Ellingham is…"

Louisa cut her off. "Right. Private. I do know." Martin would barely touch her in public and that was an accident 90% of the time. But the more she knew about his upbringing, the more she understood why he was the person he was.

Sally opened her gift, which held a gift card for movie tickets at the theater over in Wadebridge, a tube of fragrant hand cream and a bonus cheque. Sally's eyes boggled when she saw the amount. "Oh, no, Louisa this is… too much!"

"You've earned it." Louis smiled as Sally wiped a suddenly wet eye.

"But this is…"

"Appropriate." Changing subjects, Louisa said, "We're having a few people over on Boxing Day, if you'd like to come." She crossed her fingers at the white lie, for she was planning on an open house; she had just not discussed it yet with Martin.

"Oh, thank you, but I'm going down to my sister's house," Sally replied. Then she cocked an ear to a ringing phone. "Phone."

Louisa sat down to a now-cold cup of cocoa (she did miss coffee) and went back to work on this quarter's school report. Paperwork; bane of any teacher's or head teacher's life.

Martin was having the usual surgery that morning, meaning moaning patients, whiny snot-nosed children, and of them a few who were actually ill. Eventually, he got an actual case to diagnose when he was examining a small scaly lump on the back of Penhale's neck.

"Not the 'C-word' is it Doc?" Joe asked. "My mum's grandad went that way. I never knew the man, but I heard stories. Nasty stuff."

"No. Shush," Martin told him. The bump was not beneath the epidermis but was on it. That ruled out something in a range of subcutaneous things; the most usual an epidermoid cyst. This thing was scaly and non-mobile, but not red in appearance. "Hm."

Joe continued soberly, "I mean I was hoping to do a lot more things in my life. Maybe travel to Exeter someday or even Falmouth. Guess that ship might have sailed."

Martin ignored Joe's miserable ruminations, which were always morose if of a medical nature. Then he measured the diameter with a flexible plastic rule. "Two-point five millimeter, scaly and slightly raised. It's an actinic keratoses."

"Oh my God!"

"Does it bother you? Rub against your collar?"

Joe rubbed the spot. "Sort of. So this ack tinned toe thing, what you gonna do?"

Martin moved to face Joe directly. "I can freeze it. That will destroy the cells. I'll then apply an ointment – Vaseline – and a plaster."

Joe shuddered. "Sounds nasty."

Martin shook his head. "It will take a few seconds. I recommend that you come back in a few weeks, and I can then do a complete skin survey. If I find anything more serious I can refer you to a dermatologist."

"Nothing wrong with my teeth, Doc."

Martin sighed, for he was constantly having to educate patients, "A dermatologist is a physician diagnosis's and treats disorders of the skin, which is the largest organ of the human body. A dentist typically treats your teeth, gums, or oral tissues."

"Oh, but I never go out in the sun. Tanning? The beach? Phaw."

"Sun exposure is a lifetime thing, Joe, and the skin between your collar and your hair, ears, face, and hands; those get exposed every time you are outdoors."

"Oh."

"An ultraviolet blocking skin cream should be part of your standard daily regimen." Martin went to the equipment cabinet and retrieved his dermal gear, including the freezing kit, which was a small container of compressed nitrogen. He turned to Joe. "Remove it?"

"Will it hurt?"

"No."

"Then get rid of it." Joe braced himself.

With an alcohol wipe, Martin cleansed the area, then applied a few puffs of gas from the container, shielding the surrounding area with his gloved fingers. "If you were in a dermatologist's office they would use liquid nitrogen; a tiny drop would cause the skin cells to lyse and die."

Joe said, "I don't feel a thing."

"No." Martin added a dab of Vaseline and a plaster. "It's done. Put your shirt back on."

"Whew," Joe sighed. "When you were talking about an actinic thingy you had me worried."

"It is a pre-cancerous condition," Martin told him as he was writing the notes. "I'll give you an information pamphlet."

"Pre-cancerous?" Joe's voice quavered.

"Joe, that means it is NOT cancer, but that the cells had been changing; altering from normal forms and functions"

"Oh," Joe relaxed. "And that would be bad."

"Right. But you are fine."

Joe laughed. "That'd be a helluva Christas present, right?"

Martin did not reply.

Joe buttoned his shirt, relieved that that was over. "So, Doc," he reached over and punched Martin on the shoulder, "the Dynamic Duo in action once more!"

Martin sneered. Oh, he meant dealing with Stewart the other night. "Yes. Glad that I could assist."

"Stewart calmed right down on the way to hospital. Got very philosophical about life, the universe and everything at the end. Claimed the answer was forty-two." Joe laughed. "What's that supposed to mean anyway? Then he was going on and on how two times three times seven is a special number!"

"Yes," Martin was steering Joe towards the door. "Now, if you would."

Joe pulled on his heavy coat. "Best be off."

"Yes."

"I'll be providing security at the school on Wednesday. You coming?"

Martin cleared his throat, opened the door and announced, "Next patient!"