It was early evening and Ann, the surgery receptionist, called through to Manika’s room just as Manika was about to snap shut her laptop and was visualising the cup of tea at home with feet up.
“Manika, I’m sorry, but you’ve got one more last minute appointment,” Ann said. “A new patient, Peter Podmore, just moved into the neighbourhood and registered with us last month, aged sixty-four, with a stubbed toe issue. He’s in the waiting room now.”
Manika sighed, set her pen back down, and straightened her desk. “Send him in, please.”
A polite double tap followed a moment later.
The door opened and in walked a lean, well-dressed man in a suit. He had that polished look and quiet confidence of someone who is naturally welcomed almost wherever he went. His brown leather shoes shone, his dark blue suit hung stylishly, and a rose handkerchief peeked neatly from his breast pocket. It could have looked slightly vain on someone else, but on him, it was quite classy. His face carried a healthy reddish glow; he looked way younger than his biological years.
“Mr Podmore,” Manika said, standing to greet him.
Just as she said his name she saw the date that he would cross over, which put him at sixty-five, hard to believe, less than twelve months from now, she thought, this is a fit man. And yet she knew that the information given did not come from her, and it had never yet deceived.
He smiled warmly and extended his hand. “Dr Kundu, thank you so much for seeing me at the last minute. Much appreciated.”
“Not at all. Please, have a seat and tell me a few words about yourself, Ann, the receptionist tells me that you’re new to the area.”
Manika had refined her “nice to meet you” requests over the years. She used to say, “tell me about yourself”, but surgery meeting times had become squeezed and, worse still, most patients forgot time when they were in flow state, talking of themselves and their issues. So now she leant on the word “few”. Peter took the cue and, crossing one leg neatly over the other, adjusting his cuffs, said:
“Well, we’ve just moved up from Hampshire. My wife’s an accountant with Ernst & Young, she’s been promoted from the Guildford office to a London branch. So we’ve rented out our place down there and taken a flat here.”
“Congratulations to her,” said Manika.
“Yes, thank you. It’s all rather new to us, but I can work anywhere, really. I’m a business consultant these days.”
“Is that so? What kind of consulting do you do?”
He smiled, pleased at the question. “I used to sell medical equipment, actually, in the former Soviet Union. That was my trade for years. But now I do more general business consultancy. Strategy, client development, a bit of training. I’ve always liked meeting and talking to people.
“Medical equipment, you said?”
“Yes, yes. Back in the day, I sold to Russian hospitals. This was just after the breakup of the Soviet Union, ninety-two, ninety-three. Quite an adventure, really. I was one of the first Western salesmen to go in. Russia was still deep in crisis; everything was in short supply, travel was erratic, tricky and chaotic, and deals were… liquid driven, if you understand.”
“That must have been fascinating,” Manika said.
He laughed softly. “It was. And hazardous. You could slip on ice, fall through rotten steps, be blocked by “Soviet” bureaucracy or trapped with vodka in a sauna.
Manika smiled at the image. “So, what brings you here today?”
“Well, doctor, I have been hearing strange alien voices in my head, telling me that I should wear pink.”
There was a short pause, while he fixed Manika with a stare, and then he laughed out loudly.
“No, doctor, sorry, I am messing around.”
Manika was slightly flustered and then quite amused. Peter then switched to the matter at hand, still with a wide grin on his tanned face.
“Stubbed my toe. Played it heavily into the door frame between the lounge and the kitchen, still unfamiliar territory, the new appartment, was just wearing my socks. The door frame won the duel. It’s been a week, and it’s still sore, still swollen. I can’t get my shoe on comfortably. So I wanted to know what’s the issue.”
“All right,” she said, rolling her chair back. “Let’s have a look. If you don’t mind, take off both shoes and socks so I can compare and just sit up on the edge of the examination table.”
He obliged, chatting lightly, as he did so. “I put on clean socks an hour ago, washed my feet, too. Thought it was the decent thing to do before inflicting them on you.”
“That’s very considerate of you, Mr Podmore. Not everyone does that.”
He grinned again as he casually hung his jacket on his, sat on the examination bed, swung his legs across onto it and extended them. The left toe was swollen, the skin stretched, a bit bit purple on the tip and shiny.
He carried on talking as she came over to the table, as though they had known each other for more than three minutes.
“Funnily enough, once, many years ago in Novosibirsk, I was in a Russian sauna, they call it a banya and, I slipped on a wet floor and cracked my thumb trying to break my fall. Same thing as now, really. Bruised, swollen, wouldn’t heal for weeks. Not the safest environment, a slippy Russian sauna.”
Manika leaned forward to examine his toe.
She ran through the check in her list in her head. There was local swelling, reddish-blue bruising around the joint. No fracture tenderness, no deformity. The skin was warm, suggesting inflammation but no infection. He reported a dull ache, worse in shoes, better barefoot. She noticed mild puffiness in both feet, perhaps circulation, perhaps the weather, but nothing alarming.
“It’s a soft-tissue injury,” she said. “You’ve given it quite a knock. There’s some deep bruising under the joint capsule, and that can take a surprisingly long time to settle. The bone’s fine, I can move the joint freely, and you can bear weight, so it’s just patience. Keep it elevated in the evenings, wear roomier shoes, and if it hasn’t improved in ten days, come back, and we’ll review.”
He nodded. “Good to know. I was worried I’d done something worse.”
“No, you’ll be fine.”
As he reached for his socks, he added with an amused glint, “You know, Doctor, in Russia they’d have told me to soak the toe in vodka for two hours and then stand in the snow for twenty minutes.”
Manika laughed despite herself. “I think we’ll stick with rest and elevation here, Mr Podmore.”
He slipped on his shoes, straightened his jacket.
”It’s a cultural thing, the banya, very Slav.
He hesitated at the door. “Just before I go, a quick anecdote. Once there were three top-flying American businessmen sitting in a sauna in New York. One of them had a brilliant idea. The other two said, ‘That’s amazing! Let’s go to the office, put it into structure, and work on it.’
“Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Moscow, three Russians were in an office. One said, ‘I’ve got a really good business idea.’ The others agreed, and they all went straight to the sauna to work it out. That’s how the different cultures work.”
He laughed, the easy, confident laugh, of someone who’d lived between those two worlds and maybe still wasn’t sure to which one he felt more naturally belonging.
Manika replied. “That was fun, Mr Podmore, thanks, all the best to you, let me know how it goes.”
He inclined his head. “Goodnight, Doctor. Thank you again.”
When he’d gone, she sat for a moment longer than usual before writing her note:
Soft-tissue injury, right great toe. No fracture. Review in ten days.
Then she closed the file. A pleasant patient, charming, articulate. Nothing unusual.
Except that faint, uninvited thought again – only twelve months, way too early. Maybe it’s an accident, beyond his control, but then why do I see it?
(to be continued………)