The Fevered Hive [Secure eReader]
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eBook by Dennis Lewis
eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: A collection of short stories reflecting the harshness and beauty, pain and joy of the lives of a variety of colourful characters who are both indigineous inhabitants and immigrants to the city of Cardiff.
eBook Publisher: Accent Press/Accent
Fictionwise Release Date: September 2006
Lewis was in the Outpatient Department at the
University Hospital, having another cosy chat
with Dr Rosen. She gave him a prickly feeling
all down his spine, did Dr Rosen, and it was
nothing to do with him being ill. This particular
tingle was to do with being a man. Dr Rosen
was a train-stopping beauty.
It seemed Lewis had only just made it to
middle-age. He had entered his forties with a
casualty ward of medical problems, the biggest
worry being his liver. (How do the French say,
a crise de foie?) According to the medics, it
was an hepatic Sword of Damocles. (Lewis
called it a Sword of DoasIplease.)
Lets just convert that into units, Mr Lewis,
Doctor Rosen was saying. She scribbled
unhappily on her pad, her lips pursed in the
effort of calculation. He knew it wouldnt be
good news. It seemed strange to be calling her
Doctor when she looked as though shed only
just qualified from being a teenager into womanhood. The lovely Dr Rosen looked
eighteen but had to be in her late twenties.
Thats still too much, Mr Lewis. Way too
much. Youre still doing damage to yourself.
Apparently (according to the ultra-sound
scanner whose insides started life trying to
detect lurking submarines and now sat
triumphantly in the corner, harbouring its allseeing
eye) Lewiss liver was too big. It was
also too bright and, to his utter dismay, too
echogenic. It was starting to feel like
something as big as a ship reposed beneath his
ribs, deplorably nudging aside other organs as
if they were miniature icebergs. This was not
good. This, in fact, combined with the results
of the blood tests, was potentially disastrous.
During a quiet moment, when the doctor
scribbled in her notes, Lewis struggled to listen
to his liver, its teeming alleyways groaning and
creaking, crying out for relief. FOR GODS
SAKE STOP DRINKING! screamed and
echoed around its throbbing, life-giving
Itll have to stop, Mr Lewis. Completely. I
dont mean cut down. I mean no more. Or it
will certainly KILL YOU. If you carry on
drinking like this youll be lucky if you live
another two years.
This was the medical equivalent of a drive-by
shooting. Something deep in Lewiss chest was
fluttering; some gawky heart-valve or
scrabbled bronchus was thoroughly shocked.