𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙼𝙸𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 || Original Story

5 - brother

The war had taken family and friends from people as if they were free for the picking. As if human beings were dispensable. I'd heard countless tales from patients that they'd lost their brothers and fathers and uncles and cousins to the relentless fighting.

I, myself, had cousins who were killed. But I was fortunate enough not to have lost my dear brother. He was the only true family I had left.

Although a changed man, Alexander was a decorated hero- a true emblem of bravery- but he was now in a residential veterans hospital in London. He lived there now because there was nobody to take care of him- no wife, no parents, nothing. I wish I could do the job myself, but I was now in Pryhollow (which, thankfully, wasn't too far of a drive to the capital) and it would be impossible for me to work and take care of my brother simultaneously. It was reassuring to know that he was being well looked after and that's all that worried me.

On my next free Sunday, I took up to visiting him- my first visit since I moved. No doubt Alexander would be interested to hear how country life differed from living in the city.

It took just over an hour and half to drive from Pryhollow and seeing London again was almost strange. But also as if I'd never left in the first place.

The weather was nice for once and the golden sun made everywhere look like it had been filtered through a stained glass window. Cars swarmed the road, people weaved in and out of shops, dodging one another before continuing to rush off. Luckily for me, I'd be avoiding the more crowded areas (if that was at all possible for London) and I was glad of it as I hit the city at peak time. The drive wasn't as stressful as I hoped and I told myself not to leave near to tea time.

The institute was an old early-Victorian building with stone walls and barred sash windows for 'safety reasons'. I always thought it looked like a mental asylum from the exterior, however the interior was far more homely. It still had its old floorboards, decorative plaster boards, and fireplaces. Old gaslights and gold-framed paintings lined the walls, vases of freshly-picked flowers were perched on stands and there was a wide staircase with an oak bannister along the right side of the hallway. It was almost a mansion, situated in a quieter area of London, away from debris and ruin, which was believed to be better for the patients. I agreed with this, of course, knowing that seeing such horrible things would trigger bad memories for veterans.

The nurse at the desk greeted me with a smile and gave me the visitor's log book to sign. A moment later, a woman appeared from the hallway- the matron, whose name I knew well: Gertie Phillips. Her hair, thick and silver, was tied back into a bun and her uniform was pristine; not a single speck of dirt marked it. She, too, smiled upon seeing me as she strolled over with her usual brisk step.

"Good morning, Doctor Hillenbrand," she greeted. "It's lovely to see you again."

"And you, Gertie," I replied courteously. "How's David?"

David was Gertie's husband and an old patient of mine. He developed the early stages of sepsis after cutting the palm of his hand on a rusty nail and firstly passing it off as 'a little bit of a scratch'. I insisted on giving him antibiotics and then insisted he went to the hospital. The antibiotics slowed the infection, but he still needed specialised medical attention.

On my recommendation as the only way to save his life, David, unfortunately, had to have his hand amputated. My fellow doctors agreed, but David himself refused. I told him it was the only way he was going to live because eventually the infection would spread to his brain and kill him. He then (incredibly reluctantly) agreed and when he was discharged, he came to thank me personally for making a decision that would ultimately save his life.

Naturally, every time I saw Gertie, I would ask how David was doing.

"He's doing well," she often replied. "Still thinks the world of you, Doctor, and talked about seeing you again soon."