the third term | a series

Forty-eight hours is a long time. Especially when Pierre has yet to tell any soul about his trips to the doctor’s and so he is left with all the unanswered questions and untamed worries in his head. Not even a word to his own wife. Pierre tells himself that it is nothing to fuss over, he will not need the support. It is winter after all; the doctor will probably prescribe him hot broth and a week in bed. Not that a week in bed is at all possible with the piling Ratmas schedule he has in the diary.

The walk back to the doctor’s house is a long one. This morning he had no appetite for breakfast. Last night he could not finish Abi’s cooked dinner. Food has been everywhere the past couple of weeks…of course he would finally be unable to stomach it. Excuses fill every crack and void; they answer every worry. Yet not one of them reassures him. It is the doctor who is the only one with the real answers. The ones to ease his worries or to likely pile on some more dreaded news.

It takes a few moments for Pierre to dare knock on the door. His breath causes condensation to form on the brass door knocker on the dark wooden door. It has been so cold lately, despite being layered up he can still feel the chill hit all his bones. He has yet to tame his beard this season though its warmth is too inviting to take away.

Pierre is soon sat in the doctor’s examining chair, the other man flicking through the paper notes in his hands. Glasses at the end of his nose, and a sigh after every sentence that he reads. ”I am very limited on what blood tests I can run. As you know, we are not District Six and certainly do not have the same capacity as the Capitol. Though I was able to detect low levels of a protein in your blood…” The doctor floods the room with medical jargon, most of it going in one of Pierre’s ears and out of the other. ”…It is likely your liver is not functioning properly. If you are ever invited to District Six or the Capitol, I would recommend getting an ultrasound and a biopsy. I am not sure if a man of your position would be able wiggle your way onto a testing list?”

So, it is just his liver is not working properly. Not a big a deal, surely? ”The liver can repair itself. I can give you some milk thistle to take. Of course, I cannot determine the extent of the damage and there is a long list of complications of a damaged liver. It can make you susceptible to infections. I recommend cutting out alcohol from your diet altogether. Your weight loss is very likely to have been caused by this…” There are very few words from Pierre to the doctor, other than a thank you when a little leaflet and the paper bag of milk thistle leaves are handed over.

Maybe it was the drinking? Maybe it was the stress? It does not matter now; the damage has been done. Pierre holds onto the fact that the organ can repair itself. But has the idiot man damaged it beyond repair? Has being mayor lead him down this path of empty whiskey bottles and popping open bottles of fizz? He never indulged himself so much when he was a simple tailor shop man.

Pierre heads straight back to his house and back into his bedroom. Maybe there was a meeting he was supposed to attend this afternoon…he does not care. Instead, he throws off his winter coat onto the bed, peeling off his gloves and woollen hat. Damn ripred, now he must take care of himself and everyone else around him. He has been so fortunate for an exceptionally long time that health has been so kind to him and now all he has is some leaves to help fix an organ and now must dodge every germ ridden coughing kid just in case a virus knocks him out. Pierre throws the doctor’s handwritten guide on “how to live with liver disease” under the bed. Instead pulling out dust covered photo album that has not been looked at for a while. It is filled with the faces of his family, his daughters, his son, and his wife. All the happy memories that once were. He leaves it open on a page filled with pictures of himself and Abi. His dear wife, the one who has his heart. The one he has been doing this all for. He cannot let her down. Not like his daughters. Not like the son he rarely sees.

He has got to look after himself for the living loved ones that surround him. Or he will soon be joining those in the other world…