Holidays

Martin had to bite his tongue as the old man nattered on, while he examined his feet.

"And them waves, oh, musta been 10 to 15 feet, and outta the west a killer wind, and the sky was all black," the fisherman was saying. "There we was, me and Harold, trying to get back t'harbor!"

"Uhm, Mr. Rose…"

"Grose! Grose, Doc! Doc Sim never got my name wrong." Brian Grose shook his head at Martin. Daft bugger can't keep any names straight at all. "And I'm Brian. My old lady's name is Rose."

"Right." Martin knew very well that Dr. Sim was dead and gone and given the fragile state his patients left behind, perhaps that was good. "Mr. Grose, your feet feel very cold to the touch and that sore on your large toe does not look good."

"Aye, been worrying me, it has."

"You have been keeping on target with your diet? Plus the insulin?"

"I hate the needle, Doc. But I do it anyway."

Martin opened a tube of antibiotic ointment and applied a dab of the oily salve to the sore between the large and great toe. "I want you to wash your feet three times each day and then soak them in warm water, got that? Wear soft and warm, not constricting, socks and footwear."

"What if I don't?"

Martin stared at the man. "Your circulation in your hands and feet has been slowed by your medical condition. If you do not take care of them, especially your toes, then they may have to be amputated."

"Amutated?"

"The word is amputated. As in cut off."

"Oh Lord. That sounds bad." He grunted. "Like my old granddad, but he was a Great War vet, you see. Lost one set of toes in the conflict. But that didn't stop him from going back ta fishin' after the War."

Martin put a light dressing around the bad toe. "I want to see you again in a week. Make an appointment with Pauline on the way out."

"A week?"

Martin fixed him a stare. "Yes. I don't want to have you end up like Granddad."

The man's face was still pale, but he laughed. "Make a rum job stumpin up and down these hilly streets with no toes, eh?"

Martin nodded. "We're done here."

The old man stood up, after pulling his socks and shoes back on. "I hear you and Louisa are in the family way."

Martin braced himself for another blast of triviality about pregnancy.

Brian stuck out his hand. "Good for you; got right to business, right?" He winked. "Me and Rose had four kiddies. And this first Christmas together, the two of you? It'll be something special."

Martin gingerly shook his hand. "Thank you. Now if you would?" He dropped the man's hand and pointed to the door.

Brian shuffled to the door and opened it. "Oh, Louisa!" he said when he saw her standing there. "Mrs. Ellingham, and how are you? Congrats on the wee one comin' along."

Louisa had not left the house yet, because she had been finishing some paperwork. "Thank you. I'm feeling fine Mr. Grose. And how are you? Your wife?"

Martin approached them. "Mr. Grose, can you make an appointment with Pauline and thereby clear the door so I may have my next patient enter? Next patient," he added at the end.

Louisa made an apologetic face to the old man. "Give my best to Rose."

"I will, luv."

After the old man left them, Louisa hissed at Martin, "You don't have to be rude."

"Louisa, this is my surgery and not the village coffee and gossip catchup stall!" he bristled.

She sighed. "Fine, I get it. Now don't forget tonight is the village Christmas Light Switch On."

"Oh, that?" he groaned.

"Now, before you get all hissy about going, it's a village tradition, long time going now, and we can't let the custom die out. Right?"

"You'll want to eat early then," he grumbled.

"Yes. I'll be staying late at school to get the children's choir organized - last practice. Then I'll rush up here to eat, then back down to the harbour by five o'clock."

Martin recalled getting dragged into going last year. It had been freezing and he'd had his feet trodden on in the crush. He wondered how many cold viruses would get spread around. "Yes."

She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "See you later."

"Next patient!" he bellowed, and his spirits fell when he saw Bert Large stand up from one of the reception chairs. The man was a lumbering medical encyclopedia of ailments and conditions; most of which were imagined. But of course, he had to stop and have a chat with Louisa while Martin checked his watch and fumed.

With the door closed and Bert perched on a chair, Martin addressed him. "What's your problem?"

"First off, Doc, congratulations!"

"Yes," Martin looked down at the patient notes, which Bert had carried in. "Now, you?"

"Oh, kinda sad. The restaurant is almost shutdown. Too cold to eat outside but the takeaway business is keeping along." The man smiled. "But we'll be doing hot drinks tonight down on the Platt." He looked over his shoulder conspiratorially and then back at Martin. "And for an extra Pound you can have a shot of rum in your cocoa!"

Thusly leading to more public intoxication, thought Martin. "Bert! I hope that you didn't come here just to discuss your business dealings! This is where I work! Good God!

"Now, now, Doc. Calm yourself." He held out one of his fat arms. "This."

"This? It's an arm!"

"My elbow, Doc. I sorta stumbled into the wall getting to the toilet other night and it's really bothering me."

Martin nodded. "Take off your cardi and roll up your sleeve." Martin rose from behind the desk and sat on his exam rolling chair. As he wheeled himself over to Bert, he saw a gauze bandage on the man's forearm, halfway between wrist and elbow. "What's this?"

"A burn." Bert nodded. "Got it on the rim of the soup kettle other day."

Martin put on gloves and gingerly peeled the dressing away. The burn was red-rimmed and long; about five centimeters by one across. It was oozing a yellow fluid and the flesh under it was red and raw. "Bert!" Martin exclaimed. "You should have come to me right away!"

Bart winced as Martin prodded the spot. Then he hissed through his teeth "Owww, yeah, it's bad."

Shaking his head, Martin pulled the man's sleeve higher to see the elbow, which was puffy with the skin taut. He returned to looking at the skin around the burn. "Two days ago?"

"Or three, maybe."

Martin probed a point away from the burn, pressing the skin in then watched as it very slowly rebounded after the removed the pressure. "Indurated."

"What's that?"

"It means, Bert, that this burn is not only painful but now infected. Bacteria have entered your skin and now travelled up your arm to the elbow. These things are typically caused by staphylococcus, a comm on bacteria which lives on the skin." He eyed the man, thinking he was ill suited by intelligence or education to be running any sort of eating establishment. "I'll clean and treat the burn with an antibiotic cream and a painkiller. Then cover with a clean bandage." He looked at the man. "Bert this is serious. You have a burn which you likely did not treat properly and now your arm in infected."

"So that's the indurated thing."

"Yes. The bacteria have spread along your skin layers. The skin of your arm is now infected and inflamed with the inflammation leading to thickening and inelastic response of your skin."

Bert's eyes were now wide. "And that's bad."

Martin stuck a thermometer into Bert's mouth. "And you're likely running a fever."

"Told you I felt bad," he muttered around the instrument.

"You told me sad. Not bad. There's a difference."

Bert rolled his eyes. Always so precise, is the Doc.

When the electronic thing beeped Martin examined the read out. "Yep. You're running a fever. Temp is thirty-eight and a half." He set to dressing the burn, then bent Bert's arm at the elbow. "The elbow stiffness is from the infection."

He binned his gloves and wrote a prescription. "Take this to the chemist and have it filled. Three pills each day for fourteen days. And come see me in three days." He stared at Bert. "And no shirking. You could lose your arm or your life."

"So it's serious then."

Martin nodded. "Bert, on top of your pre-diabetes and high blood pressure this could kill you. And if the bacteria spreads to your heart valves, well…" he snapped his fingers.

Bert gulped. "I get it."

"You can take paracetamol for fever. Wrap cling film over the burn and soak your arm in warm water three times each day. Have Al help you if you need it. If the swelling persists then call me. And if your fever gets high, call me day or night."

Bert sighed. "Happy Christmas."

"You'll be fine. Now get dressed." He watched as the man pulled his sleeve down and buttoned the cuff, then pulled on his ancient cardigan.

"Any questions at all…"

"Righto, Doc. Call you. I get it." Bert stood up grunting. "Good thing I come to see you."

Martin escorted Bert to the door. "Take care of yourself Bert," he told him.

Bert was going out but then turned back to face Martin. "And Doc I see that you and Louisa don't have a Christmas Tree yet. Al and I have a few on hand and I can get you," he winked, "a good price."

"I… I'll discuss that with my wife."

Bert chuckled. "You know when you come to the village you were a rude 'un but I guess you've softened a little."

"Just doing my job."

"Speaking of jobs, Doc. Proper job!"

"For what?"

Bert smiled. "You know I always sorta considered Louisa as a daughter since she was little and now she's grown into a fine woman, and she'll be a proper mum. One of the best!"

Martin realized that Bert, in his way, was telling him 'good job' for getting his wife pregnant. Well, it's what can happen when a man loves a woman, but he didn't want to discuss that with this man. "Bert. Get out. Next patient!"

=0=

The Platt was packed that night just as Martin had predicted and he heard plenty of coughs and sneezes in the cold night air, so he tried not to inhale too deeply. Louisa was lining up her school choir to sing songs in front of the community Christmas Tree, while Martin stamped his feet to keep them warm. He hoped that Louisa was dressed warmly enough and also that she would not contract any of myriads of contagions that must be floating about.

He was greeted by many people, since he stood a good taller than most of the throng, and thus seemed to be a magnet for revelers. Bert and others were selling hot drinks and holiday trinkets, as well as pasties, and along with people around Leonard Maitland, who was dressed as Father Christmas, there was quite a merry air to the proceedings. Of course, Martin wondered how many cases of food poisoning he'd be treating the next day.

Many doors were decorated with wreaths and garlands and a few houses exhibited lit Christmas Trees in front windows. Martin just stood there, wondering what it all meant, this amalgamation of ancient and modern ceremonies, for to him Christmas was something to be 'got through' and not something to be celebrated.

After a long palaver by three of the parish councilors, the school choir sang Christmas songs in high-pitched voices. Then there was a joint countdown and when it reached null, all at once the colored lights decorating village shops and hanging across the streets were switched on.

Louisa was suddenly at Martin's elbow, hugging him with both arms. "Happy Christmas," she told him. "Isn't it wonderful?" she exclaimed , cheerfully gazing at the lights and the decorations.

He was glad to see how happy she was. "Yes," he said to her.

"Oh, I love you, Martin!" she yelled in his ear.

He nodded, not about to respond verbally in public. "Are you warm enough?" he asked her.

She hugged him tightly her eyes shining. "Oh yes! Isn't this magnificent?"

Yes, he thought she is magnificent. "Louisa, may we go home now?"

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