My time at the hospital is a busy one, although nothing special. I wasn't supposed to start working today itself but there's not much to see around. It's a small hospital, lacking most of the equipments. So, I suggested beginning working from today itself as I still need a way to get to the telephone. The cases coming in are mostly sprains, stress fratures, torn ligaments, GSWs( Gun Shot Wounds) and often wound infection. No wonder, there's a training camp nearby.

All other injuries are still acceptable but seeing fifteen years old rushing to the hospital with a bleeding leg and bullet embedded in that body is appalling. It's a known fact that Humein -Fatah like terrorist groups take in young, innocent minds and gradually morph them into sinister beings spewing hatred against all other religions.

This kids you treat, will one day grow up kill another of your own. My mind warns.

But they are just kids! I protest.

Last I heard while I was in India, Abdul Ghaffar became the leader of Humein-Fatah terrorist organisation, after their previous leader was killed. Their camps are primarily held in Pakistan, Iraq and Afghanistan. No doubt these kids are from those camps.
The fact that he might be somewhere here or might perhaps come into the hospital makes me a tad bit more conscious of my surroundings. But I have never seen him. No one has ever seen him. If he comes near me I will kill him and die myself. Better just me than a hundred others. But certainly, he won't be roaming here saying "Hey you! I am Abdul Gaffar. Listed by FBI as the 'Most Wanted terrorist!' "

Certainly not!

I sigh. Obviously not. So even if he comes, I wouldn't know who he is really. A sudden voice jolts me back to the present, "Doctor Sahiba!"

Sahiba? Basheer calls me by that word.
And strangely I miss him right now.

I turn to face a woman probably in the mid-30s, her pleading eyes immediately capture my attention.

"How can I help you?" I ask, as my eyes shift to the scrawny looking boy sitting beside her on a chair.

He must the patient then.

Another gunshot wound case?

I don't see blood though.

Why is he sweating so much? The fans are all on. Even I am not sweating in this heavy dress.

The mother speaks up," Madamji, he hasn't been recovering from his wound. Its already been a few weeks!"

Pointing at nowhere, in particular, she says, "They told he will be fine after 6 days. And that it was not a deep wound as the bullet just grazed his leg."

"Okay, let me take a look at the wound."I say couching down to his level to get a better look at it. He pulls up his pants up, showing me the wound on his calf.

Definitely a gunshot wound. But it should have been okay by now.

Is it just a wound infection?

Standing up I probe further, "Any other peculiarities? Something he has been doing just recently?"

The mother thinks for a while before she speaks up, "He seems to eat more than usual. We are already poor, most times we can't afford that."

"Is it...is it because we can't get him to eat what he wants?" she asks teary-eyed.

Show empathy not sympathy. My mind whispers as my heart lurches at her condition.

"No," I reply checking his file.

Hmmm

Muhammad Ali

Father's name...Does it matter?

17 years old! Okay, progress from 15-year-olds!

Weight: 60kg.He doesn't look like 60kg 17-year old now. He too skinny to be 60 kg.

"When was this weight taken?"

"3 weeks back..." she replies.

Not much is written here except the medicines he took for his wound.
He hasn't been going to the camps with his injury.

Rapid weight loss?

Let's check his weight.

" Faizan Bhai! Please take him and get his weight done."

Turning back to the mother I ask, " Has he been working after that wound?"

Working?! My ass! I can't say training camps. Now, can I?

"No Madam. He has been home all day long..."

Weight loss.

Too much sweating.

Delay in wound healing.

Polyphagia.

Polyuria?

"Has he been frequenting the toilet?"

"Madam, I don't stay at home most of the time. I am not sure of it..."

I nod as they make their way back to me.

" Have you been frequenting the toilet?" This time I ask Ali.

Before he even speaks, I know it!

Diabetes Mellitus!

That fruity smell as soon as he opens his mouth to answer.

Why didn't I talk to him before?

That's why you should talk to the patient, not his mother.

"Uhh..yes?" he replies not understanding the significance of my question.

"Okay,....Faizan?" I call out, louder this time.

" Yes? Doctor Sahiba?"

"Do a GTT for him tomorrow and report back to me and let him know how long he needs to fast before the test."

Turning to the mother I say, "I suspect, it's a case of Diabetes Mellitus. This test will confirm it. If confirmed, we have to start his insulin therapy else, if delayed it can be dangerous."

"Shukriya Behen," she nods once more before following them.

Behen

Feels good to hear that.

My brows pucker as I wonder what special thing have I done. I am supposed to do this. Am I not?

I had done this before, no body appeared so grateful.

Bahen sounds good for the first time, although I prefer people referring me as Doctor Singh. Keeps the relation professional.

"She had been coming here since the last week and the doctors here have been telling her to give it more time. The wound would heal. When she heard a new doctor will be coming in today she immediately came along with her son." A voice speaks up beside me, bringing me out of my musings.

I turn to face a man with a full beard mostly white with streaks of black. His eyes are steely black as he stares ahead. He is a little bent over, his crooked fingers enclosing a cane supporting his weight on it. He is dressed in a long white thobe and the Hazrat topi completing his look.

"Persistent little woman," I agree, still looking at him.

"She is." He comments looking back at me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

50 maybe? His beard mostly hides his facial feature.

"How can I help you?"

"Oh, young lady I will see myself. Nice to meet you." He says, before he makes his way unsteadily to God knows where.

I look once more at his retreating figure as suddenly a weird comparison comes up.

Satan in a white thobe.

Huh! He is just a scrawny looking old man.

I bet he has 20 grandchildren.

I still need a way to access the landline. I land down the stairs stopping near the reception still hidden from view where the man is busy reading a newspaper. While I am still thinking of a way the same mother and son duo appears before me again.

"Sahiba, do you know where I can get the appointment for tomorrow?"

"They said it will be given. . . . ."

"Oh, okay. . . . I am new here why don't you ask the receptionist?"

She looks doubtful as she glances towards the man whose brows are furrowed in concentration, reading something from an Urdu newspaper.
But anyway, she makes her way up to him.

From my position, I see the man looking up at her with a disturbed look.

As if he is paid to sit there to read newspapers!

I do not like his attitude.

He nods then stands up probably to show them the way.

Thank you, Shivji, thank you so much!

I mutter as I make my way to the landline.

Lucky me, not many people are here!

The crowd usually clears by noon.
I take up the landline and dial my mother's number and wait anxiously for it to connect. My anxiety is doing nothing good at the moment. My stomach flips as the ring continues.

Tring! Tring!Tring

Pick up! Pick up! pick up!

The ring finally stops as a reluctant voice comes from the other side of the receiver, "Hello?"

Author's Note: Thank you for reading my chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to vote. What do you think will happen now? Will, she finally speaks to her mother or something else altogether will happen? Let me know in the comments below. Stay safe my lovely readers!

GTT-Glucose Tolerance Test. Done to diagnose Diabetes Mellitus.

Shivji- Also known as Mahadeva( the great God'), is one of the principal deities of Hinduism.

Bahen - Sister.