name was.”
“Garten,” corrected Saracen.
Yes, that was it. You know him then?”
“I work in Dr Garten’s unit at the General,” replied Saracen.
“I see.” said Archer quietly. Saracen remained silent, letting Archer come to terms with the information.
It suddenly occurred to Archer that Saracen might actually have seen his wife at the hospital. He was anxious to find out.
“I’m afraid not,” said Saracen, conscious of the disappointment he was causing. “It must have been my night off.”
“She was admitted on Monday the twelfth.”
Saracen confirmed that he was not on duty on Monday night.
Archer face fell and he said, “I know it probably sounds silly but I just want to speak to someone who might have seen her since she got here, someone who might have spoken to her. Twenty three years married and I end up standing in an office being handed a plastic bag with some of her things in it…they even asked me to sign a chit…” Archer put his hand over his face and held his fingers lightly against his eye-lids for a moment.
Saracen was aware of the landlord’s curiosity. The man was wondering what was going on. Saracen spread his fingers silently in a gesture that said that everything was all right. He could not help but appraise the situation professionally. Archer, he concluded, was not the type to respond to platitudes about time being a great healer and the like so he came straight to the point and said, “Mr Archer you need some help.”
“Pills you mean,” answered Archer with scorn in his voice.
“Yes pills,” said Saracen flatly. “There is nothing noble in going through agony unnecessarily. Your wife is dead and feeling the way you do is not going to bring her back. What you need is a breathing space before you start getting your life in order. Medication can help.” Saracen had made his gamble with a firm, almost bullying approach. He waited for Archer’s response, not at all confident of the outcome.
Archer capitulated. “I suppose you are right,” he conceded.
“Good. Have you registered with a doctor since your arrival?” asked Saracen.
Archer replied that he had not and Saracen told him how to go about it then he wrote down the phone numbers of his flat and the A&E unit at the hospital before saying, “If you have any trouble or even if you just want someone to talk to, call me.”
Archer accepted the beer mat that Saracen had written the information on and slipped it into his pocket. “Doctor I don’t know how to begin to thank you. Up there on the cliff I was seriously thinking of…”
“I think I know what you were considering,” said Saracen.
“At least let me pay for lunch,” said Archer.
Saracen agreed.
Saracen tried to rescue what was left of the day with a slow walk round the harbour but thoughts of Archer remained uppermost in his mind as he found a smooth stone to sit on near the mooring wall. He found it hard to believe that Nigel Garten would have treated a dead patient’s relative in such an off-hand way for being charming to strangers was one of his fortes as it was with many shallow people. Perhaps Archer’s account of what had happened had been distorted by grief or, even more likely perhaps, the truth of the matter might lie somewhere in the middle.
It was sometimes difficult for a doctor, however well meaning, to adopt the proper degree of sensitivity or concern over the death of someone he or she had scarcely known, or in the case of a ‘dead on arrival’ someone they had not known at all. People expected too much. He didn’t blame them; he understood.
When he got home Saracen decided to return to duty on the following morning and telephoned Nigel Garten to tell him so. The news was greeted enthusiastically by Garten who wondered perhaps if Saracen
‘could possibly’ take over his period of duty with Chenhui Tang as he had been called to an all day meeting of the Skelmore Development Committee at the Council Chambers.
“Garten,” corrected Saracen.
Yes, that was it. You know him then?”
“I work in Dr Garten’s unit at the General,” replied Saracen.
“I see.” said Archer quietly. Saracen remained silent, letting Archer come to terms with the information.
It suddenly occurred to Archer that Saracen might actually have seen his wife at the hospital. He was anxious to find out.
“I’m afraid not,” said Saracen, conscious of the disappointment he was causing. “It must have been my night off.”
“She was admitted on Monday the twelfth.”
Saracen confirmed that he was not on duty on Monday night.
Archer face fell and he said, “I know it probably sounds silly but I just want to speak to someone who might have seen her since she got here, someone who might have spoken to her. Twenty three years married and I end up standing in an office being handed a plastic bag with some of her things in it…they even asked me to sign a chit…” Archer put his hand over his face and held his fingers lightly against his eye-lids for a moment.
Saracen was aware of the landlord’s curiosity. The man was wondering what was going on. Saracen spread his fingers silently in a gesture that said that everything was all right. He could not help but appraise the situation professionally. Archer, he concluded, was not the type to respond to platitudes about time being a great healer and the like so he came straight to the point and said, “Mr Archer you need some help.”
“Pills you mean,” answered Archer with scorn in his voice.
“Yes pills,” said Saracen flatly. “There is nothing noble in going through agony unnecessarily. Your wife is dead and feeling the way you do is not going to bring her back. What you need is a breathing space before you start getting your life in order. Medication can help.” Saracen had made his gamble with a firm, almost bullying approach. He waited for Archer’s response, not at all confident of the outcome.
Archer capitulated. “I suppose you are right,” he conceded.
“Good. Have you registered with a doctor since your arrival?” asked Saracen.
Archer replied that he had not and Saracen told him how to go about it then he wrote down the phone numbers of his flat and the A&E unit at the hospital before saying, “If you have any trouble or even if you just want someone to talk to, call me.”
Archer accepted the beer mat that Saracen had written the information on and slipped it into his pocket. “Doctor I don’t know how to begin to thank you. Up there on the cliff I was seriously thinking of…”
“I think I know what you were considering,” said Saracen.
“At least let me pay for lunch,” said Archer.
Saracen agreed.
Saracen tried to rescue what was left of the day with a slow walk round the harbour but thoughts of Archer remained uppermost in his mind as he found a smooth stone to sit on near the mooring wall. He found it hard to believe that Nigel Garten would have treated a dead patient’s relative in such an off-hand way for being charming to strangers was one of his fortes as it was with many shallow people. Perhaps Archer’s account of what had happened had been distorted by grief or, even more likely perhaps, the truth of the matter might lie somewhere in the middle.
It was sometimes difficult for a doctor, however well meaning, to adopt the proper degree of sensitivity or concern over the death of someone he or she had scarcely known, or in the case of a ‘dead on arrival’ someone they had not known at all. People expected too much. He didn’t blame them; he understood.
When he got home Saracen decided to return to duty on the following morning and telephoned Nigel Garten to tell him so. The news was greeted enthusiastically by Garten who wondered perhaps if Saracen
‘could possibly’ take over his period of duty with Chenhui Tang as he had been called to an all day meeting of the Skelmore Development Committee at the Council Chambers.
Similar Books
