The Prison Doctor by Dr Amanda Brown

Author:Dr Amanda Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

‘Doctor Brown, would you have a moment?’ It was more of a command than a question. There was only one person in Wormwood Scrubs who addressed me in that way.

I slipped the keys I was about to use on the Healthcare gates back into my pouch, took a deep breath, and turned around to look directly at the deputy governor.

He cleared his throat. ‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.’

It was hard to disguise my surprise.

‘You were right to insist that the young man was taken to hospital. It was indeed a case of peritonitis.’

I’d already heard a report from the hospital stating as much, and that the prisoner had been so unwell he had remained in hospital for two weeks. I hadn’t expected an apology from the governor himself though.

‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘I appreciate you telling me that.’

The silence settled between us again, both of us unsure what to say next. I was rescued by Sylvie, who was dashing past.

‘You’re needed in B Wing,’ she said, breathlessly.

I turned back to Shiny Shoes. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

‘Doctor Brown.’

He nodded in polite, old-fashioned recognition, and I chased after Sylvie into the adjacent wing.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked.

‘It’s the prisoner with diabetes, that’s all I know.’

*

Azar’s diabetes had been difficult to control as the food in the Scrubs was often high in carbohydrates. Although the prison tried to provide a suitable diet for diabetic patients, it wasn’t always available, and on many occasions his glucose level was so high the reading was ‘Unrecordable’ on the glucometer. This indicated that he was at risk of hyperglycaemic coma. Sometimes, too, due to the erratic diet and timing of his insulin, his sugar levels dropped too low, which could also lead to a hypoglycaemic coma.

But I’d never had to visit him in his cell before. It had to be serious if he was too unwell to make it to the nurses’ room. One of the prison officers was waiting outside, ready to unlock the door for me.

‘How bad is he?’ I asked. I’d become quite attached to Azar.

‘See for yourself, Doc.’ The officer turned the key and opened the door.

Azar was perched on the edge of his bed, his body tense, his face dripping in sweat, his breathing fast and shallow.

A look of relief seemed to wash over him as he saw me enter his cell.

His big brown eyes were staring up at me, pleading for help.

Somehow, though, I did not feel this was diabetes related. I pulled out my stethoscope and listened to his heart and chest, while Sylvie checked his glucose level, which was normal.

His heart was pounding at speed, but at least the rhythm was regular. Coupled with his sweating, hyperventilating and the way he was behaving, it was more likely that he was having a panic attack.

I sat next to him on his bed.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said. ‘It will pass, and you’ll feel back to normal again soon.’ I was trying to reassure him; people can fear they’re going to die during a panic attack.

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