How to save a life (solo)

[Min]

Winter 50, 512 AV Min had always been an early riser, and though her designated hours of work at the Soothing Waters did not require her presence there at the break of dawn, she typically could be found already at work as soon as the place opened. So on this day, like many others, she had made her way in the early morning hours to the lower level and to the room that she had unofficially taken over for the study and preparation of herbal remedies, utilizing the local plant life which she had been trying hard to learn the properties of. For several hours she had studied her latest finds from the Bazaar, making notes and simple drawings in a notebook, and then pulverizing and mixing – either setting them in clarified oil to make an infusion, or sometimes mixing with alcohol to prepare a distillation. Others she ground into emulsified grease to make ungents and ointments, while some were boiled down to a tarry residue to cool into solidified boluses to be taken orally. Each day found her thus and by the time she was officially supposed to begin work, she had already compounded several medicines that she would then store away for later use. The spa had the needed equipment and containers, and the results of her activities she rightfully ascribed to her employer, and her co-workers – those who were healers and had need of them in their daily work. Some of the substances she made were of a less medicinal use, helpful for the staff that administered massage or for cosmetic applications. She did what she could to provide what was needed and helpful, more for her own desire to learn than so much to benefit the Spa owner. On this morning, those in need of healing began to appear at the appointed hour of opening. Some other healer had seen to the first lot, and those waiting thinned and then were gone. When Min began her official duties, the room for those waiting to see a healer was empty. It didn’t take long, though, for an elderly resident of the city to appear, with a complaint of stiff joints. Min examined the bent fingers and diagnosed easily that this was just the wear and tear of many years that made movement difficult and painful. She warmed some olive oil and added a tincture of peppermint, and rubbed this into the gnarled extremities, gently and thoroughly. Pouring the remainder of the oil mix into a small bottle, she gave it to the old woman, and advised a tonic of one large spoonful of honey mixed with one half a small spoon of Cinnamon to be taken every morning upon first rising, and before eating. The woman thanked her and handed over the fee, and then it was time to see the next patient. This time it was a young mother, a newborn babe in arms, who tearfully explained that her child had some malicious skin disease that was quite disfiguring. Upon removing the blanket the fearful mother had covered the baby’s head with, Min smirked, for it was nothing more than the common sebaceous accumulations on the scalp and eyebrows of the newly born – cradle cap they called it in her homeland. She fetched a thick paste of goose grease and rosemary, and showed the rookie mom how to moisten the child’s scalp and face with warm water and then apply the gooey ointment thickly. She instructed the girl to buy a very fine toothed comb and in the morning, after letting the ointment sit overnight, to comb it out gently but thoroughly. The girl went away wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks, looking cautiously optimistic, while Min shook her head in amazement over the concerns of such a naïve young mother. Following these were a toddler with a cough, an elderly man with trouble passing water, a baby with a fever – most of those who came in were at either end of the age spectrum. The older teens and young adults, up to middle aged residents of the city stayed healthy for the most part, or at least more so than the very young and the very old. It wasn’t until her fifth or sixth patient that Min looked up to see a rather good looking youth entering the room. He looked to be no more than twenty, but at his entrance, Min immediately frowned and moved towards him. There was a smell in the air, and she knew it well enough, unfortunately. The young man was supported on one side by an older woman, though she was not a pensioner. On the unsupported side, his held his arm cradled to his chest, his hand swathed in a thick bandage. Despite his handsome features, the young man’s face was ashen and twisted with obvious pain, and he guarded his hand most carefully. The woman’s face too was suffused with anxiety, and Min hardly needed to ask what the cause of her concern was. The smell gave it away. Min’s hands went out instinctively towards the boy’s bandaged hand but he shrank back, an apologetic look momentarily replacing the pained one. “I’m sorry,” he said in a trembling voice. “It – it hurts so much.” Min nodded and drew back, knowing she would have to look, of course, but not wanting to alarm him any more than he probably already was. The woman gave the healer a weak smile – one of politeness and absolutely no happiness – and said, “You must forgive my son. He’s in such pain. His hand…it’s…it’s bad, Miss.” There was no need to tell Min this, but she nodded and plastered a professional businesslike look on her face. “I see,” she said, nodding, gesturing with her hand to the examining table. “Please, sit. I will look – very carefully, I promise you.” With almost a whimper, the young man did as she had bid and he sat gingerly on the table, hand still clutched to his chest. Min put out her own hand, in a gesture for him to extend his. Slowly, reluctantly he did so, as his mother spoke. “He had a bad accident, down at the docks, a week ago. A crate fell on his hand, smashed it bad it did.” She shook her head in dismay. “We bandaged it up, thought if he just rested it, it would mend alright. But…” Her voice trailed off as Min began to very, very carefully unwrap the thick bandage. The boy grit his teeth against each tender movement, and when the wrapping came away, the smell that assaulted Min’s nostrils was foul in the extreme. Her face remained placid, for she knew both patient and mother would be looking to her for reassurance, regardless of what she felt or thought inwardly. And that was not good – not good at all. The hand was swollen to almost twice a normal size, the skin angry red and shiny. The thumb and first two fingers were badly lacerated and bruised, the last two fingers less so, and it seemed that at least the thumb and first finger were broken. The hand had obviously been badly crushed and now – an infection raged within the ravaged flesh and the smell denoted that gangrene had set in. A creamy whitish-yellow pus oozed from a long split in the swollen muscle mass. Min’s eyes lifted to the young man’s taut face and she gave him a small smile of support. “It is good you are in pain. It is good you are here today.” She included the mother in the last statement, giving her a look that counseled against losing her head over the sight of the traumatized hand. And she only spoke the truth. “If you wait another day, maybe two, your hand will not hurt any more, but that would be very bad.” For when gangrene progresses from acute pain to numbness, it was a sure sign that the situation was deteriorating, fast. If the mother had delayed a day or two more, her son’s chances of survival would have been grim. As it was, they were still about fifty-fifty, but the color and heat of the afflicted hand and digits at least indicated there was still some blood flow there, and that was a good thing. Whether the infection had already begun to spread through the rest of his body, well…only time would tell about that. “I must touch it for a moment,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact and with a tone that didn’t allow for refusal. “I will be gentle, and fast,” she assured the boy who had looked at her with startled and miserable eyes. He gulped, but nodded, and Min ran her fingertips ever so lightly over the wounded area, having to press a bit, which made the patient cry out and gasp. But he didn’t pull away. She was done in an instant, and was satisfied that the flesh was still malleable, another positive sign. She spoke to the mother next. “We will begin to soak it. This will take many hours. He must stay here. I must watch him very carefully.” The next passing of the night and thence to the following morning would be critical. There was some chance that she could draw the infection out, and stop the gangrene from progressing, and thus save the hand. Though with his blood vessels already compromised, he might still lose that thumb and finger. Again, time would tell. “Do you wish to stay with him?” Min asked the woman, who nodded her head vigorously in reply. “Aye, I will, of course. He’s my only child.” Her voice was bordering on tears and her strained face looked terrified of the prospects before them. “You – you can help him, right Miss?” she asked, laying a pleading hand on Min’s forearm. Min nodded, but her words were cautious. “I will do all I can. Your fear will not help him. Be strong. We will do out best.” Min placed her own hand over the mother’s and gave it a light squeeze. She then turned away and busied herself for a few minutes, preparing a basin full of hot water and adding an oily infusion of garlic, goldenseal and rosemary. These herbs had properties of both cleansing and anti-microbial benefit – know to the healer as those which would promote healing, especially in wounds already turning putrid. To this she then added freshly ground calendula and dried turmeric, drawing agents that she hoped would help pull the infection from the wounds. Bringing the basin with her, she said to mother and son, “Come, this will take a long time. You must sit in a comfortable place.” They looked so worried and fearful, but Min simply left the room, slowly, knowing that it would really do no good at all to get emotional over this. She had work to do and that was the only hope she had to help this young man, so she had best get on with it. She led them to another room where there was a bed for very ill or injured patients. Setting the basin down on a little table, she helped the young man get situated, sitting up in the bed, propped with pillows. Bringing the basin over, she set it carefully beside him and eased his hand slowly into the hot water. He whimpered but she gave him a stern look and said only, “Be still. This will help.” Once he was all settled in, she told the mother, “Put your finger in the water every few chimes. When it has cooled to the point that you can barely feel it, come to me and we will refill it with fresh, hot water. The woman nodded, her stricken face at least taking on a new look of determination. Min had found that sometimes the best help – and sometimes the worst encumbrances – came from mothers. This one looked to be up to the task of standing vigil over the water temperature. Min felt the boy’s forehead and it as warm but not burning up, and his pulse point on his neck was not rapid and fluttering, so those were good signs. But in the end, all she could do was provide a little assistance to his stressed systems to fight off the infection that very well could take his hand, or his life. With a nod to the mother, Min rose from the bedside and let the woman take her place. “I will be back to see how he is doing in a short while. Find me when the water cools.” “Aye, Miss,” the woman nodded in understanding. “And….thank you, Miss.” Her moist eyes said much more than her few words could. Min thought it was early days yet for thanks, but she smiled a bit and nodded, patted the boy on the shoulder and left them, to let the herbs hopefully do their magic.