It’s a fairly common factor among those who choose to study medicine, to have a desire to help other humans. Having worked in the aftermath of war, and seen the devastation that a loss of a limb can cause to a person’s entire story, it seemed like a logical and necessary step, to try and help people in similar situations. It’s strange the way time affects perspective. What started out as an amazing job was, after seven years, a living hell. you don’t notice the change all at once. You start off energised and enthused, then as the weeks becomes months, and the months become years, your energy is slowly sapped, until what you saw as idyllic and liberating, you endure, willing each day to end.
ersaTz had a good reputation, and had pioneered in the field of prosthetics, to the extent that the word “ersatz” became synonymous with any mechanical replacement. My experience with amputees set me in good stead for the job, and I found it immensely satisfying being able to support people coming to terms with a new limb. On the wall in the waiting room was a picture of Isaac, the company’s first customer. He’d become something of a celebrity after the success of his first operation enabled the company to thrive. He’d been in for numerous procedures since then and all the staff had their stories of the time they met Isaac. For seven years though, I never saw him.
I’m not supposed to have favourites, but Nelson is something special. He’s seen real hardship and trauma, but you wouldn’t know it to talk to him casually. His mother works here too, though I don’t really know her. We’ve met when she picks him up after our sessions, and chatted a little, but I don’t like to pry. Nelson has met Isaac, several times, and talks highly of him, and so it gives me no small amount amount of joy to see Nelson’s face when Isaac arrives. Nelson sees him first, and calls out his name, excitedly. I turn to see the great man, and have to quickly hide my revulsion. I mask it quickly, but not, I suspect, before Isaac has registered. He nods, as though to say “I know, you’re not the first, and won’t be the last”. I return his nod, and watch with a smile as Nelson proudly walks towards him.
They’ve had the same procedure, Nelson and Isaac. From what I understand, the elder was the test subject, and so the boy has him to thank for his new legs, in a way. I can certainly see why he idolises him, and I can’t help but feel some compassion for them both, but Isaac honestly horrifies me. He’s so much more mechanical than organic - some of that has to elective - he can’t have actually needed so much replacing. If this is where what I’m doing leads, I want no part in it. It’s a wonder of science, and testament to the great things humans can achieve with their ingenuity, but it’s grotesque, and it makes me question everything.
I manage about two hours’ sleep that night. The brief spells of fitful sleep that I manage, are disturbed by visions of automatons, previously human but now just cold lines of code in metal shells. I wake up in a cold sweat, and determine to hand in my notice first thing tomorrow.
Nelson is upset. He doesn’t understand and thinks I’m leaving because of him. I can’t tell him the real reason and let him feel that I judge his hero, or the aspects of himself that tie them together. I promise him that it’s not about him at all, and that we’ll keep in touch. I have a brief conversation with Dr. Niobe, and something about her disarms me. I tell her why I’m really leaving, and see her eyes fill up a little. She understands, but I can tell that she is concerned about Nelson suffering another loss, and so is enthusiastic when I suggest staying in contact.
Save for a few startlingly shaped clouds, it was a clear blue sky, and as the Sun plays hide and seek between the few bits of cover she has, it fills me with a joy I haven’t felt for as long as I can remember. It’s the joy that comes with optimism. The Merit Care Home puts one in mind of the kind of stately home which is the mainstay of english literature. The ivy is so neat and perfect that I struggle to conceive of it having naturally grown that way. The whole place has the air of being untouched by time.
I’ve been assigned to a dear old bird by the name of Constance Amser. I met her last week, and from what I saw, I expect that I will spend a large proportion of my time with her, listening to her stories. She doesn’t have any family left, or at least none that visit, according to the rest of the staff, so I’ll mainly be here to keep her company.
“Alexander Coxcomb”.
“Ah, you’re the new gladiator”.
“I…am?”
“Nurse/Carer/Gladiator, it’s all just semantics. Welcome aboard. Connie’s in her room. She’s excited to see you”.
“As I am to see her”.
“Good lad”.
This quickly becomes my routine. Months in, I find the work immensely satisfying, and a world away from ersaTzLabs. Constance, or Connie, as I will ever after call her, is very slightly besotted with me, and makes no secret of it. It’s completely inappropriate and absolutely adorable. Which rather well sums up our relationship. Not professionally inappropriate - she has a few too many decades and too few Y chromosomes for my liking - but we banter. This is our routine, and I look forward to going to work and spending time with my friend.
Whoever thought I’d look forward to a Monday morning? But here I am, almost skipping to work. It’s serenely quiet when I reach her room. Maybe it’s just the red hat, or the way the enormous windows so perfectly permit the early afternoon sun to light up the room, but I am instantly put in mind of Renoir. Connie basks in the sunlight with a look of such peace that one could believe she had never seen hardship in all her eighty years. For a moment I’m not certain she’s even still breathing. I am about to step closer to check, when she speaks.
“Did you bring biscuits?”.
“Course I did you old rascal, here you go”.
“Jammy dodgers? Is there a war on?”.
“Cut your cheek, you. I had to smuggle those past Dave”.
“Do I want to know where you had to hide them?”.
“You do not”.
We sit and chat for several hours. She’s more lucid than I’ve seen her in months. More vibrant, energised. She tells me story after story, and I laugh so hard that the lines on my face are still visible later, when they are retraced by new tears.
“I want you to have this”.
“What is it?”.
“A Locket”.
“What’s in it?”.
“You’ll find out, when you’re ready”.
“Why are you giving it to me?”.
“Because it’s yours. Open it when you need answers”.
“I need answers now”.
“No you don’t. Now you want answers. That’s just curiosity. You’ll know when it’s time”.
“Thanks, Connie”.
“Thank you, Zander. You’re precious to me. You know that, don’t you?”.
“I do. And you’re precious to me”.
“Not yet. You’re fond of me. But maybe in time”.
That is to be the last time I ever see Connie. I think I knew when she gave me the locket, that she was saying goodbye. When I get the call, at eight thirteen that evening, I think I’m prepared. I manage to croak out a thank you, and end the call, and then slump to the floor. The first tears follow the path of the last ones I shared with Connie, and are closely followed by the deluge for her.
It is three weeks before I return to work, though when I do, I can see in the eyes of my colleagues that I appear to have aged several years. I am thin, and drawn. My self-care has been virtually nonexistent, just about managing to eat and drink enough to stay technically alive. Sleeping when exhaustion takes me. Exercising without fail on every day that doesn’t end with a “y”.
They’ve given me a quiet new girl to ease me back in. Ellie Kairos. Bit of a space cadet, by all accounts. Always daydreaming. She doesn’t have any family, so they’re not sure if that’s a new thing. Apparently she’s in for tests today, so my first job is holding her hand.
Ellie and I are fast friends almost immediately. She has a child-like mischief about her that makes her irresistibly endearing, and that first meeting - her nervous about her tests, and me nervous about being back, and about the unknown quantity that Ellie represented - serves as a real bonding moment. We’re both completely candid about our unease, and make a pact to get through it together. By the time I roll her back into her room a few hours later, we’re both laughing so hard that any casual observer would think we had known each other forever and have not a care in the world. In truth, we both just use humour as a coping mechanism, and on that subject, our senses align rather well.
She’s mostly rather amused and disinterested by all the attention she’s getting with these tests. the condition she appears to have, is nothing remarkable in itself, but what has the medical profession, and some of the smaller media interested, is the fact that she shouldn’t have it at all. Back in the days of the Mandatory Sterilisation Act, this condition disqualified someone’s legal right to have children. Since everyone back then was screened, and everyone with the condition was treated, Ellie still having the condition is a mystery in itself, and its also the first chance for several decades that doctors have had to study someone with the condition.
I spend the larger part of most days with Ellie now, though often she is lost in thought, which is apparently one of the symptoms of her condition. She generally seems content when she’s in “the other” place, as she calls it, and while she never shares what she sees there, I get the feeling that it’s more pleasant than her life here. her husband passed about a decade ago, and she has few other living relatives, so I’m the only regular company she has. There’s a part of me that hopes once they cure the condition, she’ll be more lucid, and present, but I know that’s selfish, and ultimately if it’s not causing her harm, I’m just happy that she has some respite from the solitude.
The test results came back today. They don’t seem to know why, but it seems Ellie should have been sterilised, and cure at the same time, but wasn’t, which is why she’s started having symptoms. The doctors are a combination of relieved, at having correctly diagnosed it, and being able to cure it, and excited at the opportunity to study something that has otherwise been eradicated. Ellie is quite distracted during the consultation, and barely seems to know, or care, where she is, and doesn’t seem to know how to feel about the prospect of being cured.
“Just you never mind them, Ellie. they think they’ve got a lead in a 60 year old mystery, all looking for their Reichenbach Falls. What really matters is that we’re going to make you better”
She’s listening, but not responding yet. I got us champagne - I figured it would be welcome whether we were celebrating or commiserating. I’m honestly not sure now which we’re doing, but I pour out two glasses anyway.
“Get this down you”
Ellie smiles, and knocks it back like someone who needs a drink, and then is almost immediately lost in thought again. I manage to gently take the glass from her before she drops it. She frowns, but it’s not concern, I don’t think. It looks like the frown of someone trying to work something out. After a while she smiles again though, and as she does, I see her whole body relax. Suddenly she’s back in the room, and sits upright, with a newfound energy I’ve not seen before.
“Alex, you are a star. Thank you for the champagne, it was exactly what I needed”.
“Well, I’m happy to be your enabler, Ellie”.
“You are good at it. But I think maybe it’s time for me to enable you for a change”.
“How so?”.
“Have you still got that locket you told me about?”.
“Yes, I haven’t decided what to do with it yet though”.
“May I see it?”.
“Of course! Here you go”.
I’ve taken to wearing the locket. It’s not really my style, but it feels important, so I want to make sure I always have it with me. It’s quite delicate, and of a design that dates it at least a hundred years, at a guess. Ellie takes it, very carefully, and inspects it, but doesn’t open it. She scrutinises the back, and holds it up to allow the sunlight to reflect off it. She smiles again.
“Did the doctors give you the pills for this mystery disease?”.
“They did”.
“Well then hand them over, comrade. I’m going to need to focus for this. Get your coat”.
“Where are we going”.
“We’re going to visit my husband”.
