The Prejudice Paralysis.(indi) Martha had been working along side Dr. Morris for some months by this time and she found it truly remarkable how stubbornly he clung to his fallacies in spite of clear and incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. He barley spoke to her save to confer on certain medical matters and at all other times, he avoided her, his clear lack of professional trust and respect obvious from the day he met her. Martha could not say with certainty that she cared all that much about what her colleague thought of her as a person or as a doctor but by now, it was starting to become ridiculous. One positively bleak morning, Martha had risen early in order to attend a conference with her chief medical officer Mark. He'd had informed her that his friend would function perfectly well on his own for the morning since both of them had canceled all of their appointments and for once Mark had seen fit to hire a receptionist for the clinic to attend to the administrative side of things.

“Excellent! Truly remarkable don’t you think Doctor?” Mark was lost in his usual reverie thinking over the presentation they had both attended and to which Martha herself had contributed to. The lecture had been on some new data gathered by a team in Germany which if replicated would prove conclusively that hypoxia caused Mrs. Rose’s unconsciousness and not merely emotional exultation. Martha honestly did not see this finding as remarkable as much as the medical community’s complete disregard of the physiological facts as they are in favor of an explanation that places women at the mercy of a double edge sword. She shot a sideways look at Mark and returned to her gazing out of the coach window as they rocked and swayed on the way back to their workplace.

“Martha, you must have the credit. How was it you knew of such a phenomenon? For years the medical community has been prepared to believe the fallacy of female hysteria as a treatable diagnosis in spite of the facts. It astounds me so.” Mark continued through his friends fading interest.
Martha chuckled and her attention turned to Mark, she smiled. I had first encountered it when I began wearing the corset as a young woman. My mother had begun to tighten it gradually at first and I coped well. I never cared for such a contraption. Impractical and dangerous as I recognized them to be from the start. My sisters were unconcerned as was my mother and despite my protests she continued to insist. That was until one morning she had tightened it just a little too tight for the day’s activities. The whole family had been invited to my aunt’s engagement party. Whilst there, it was hot and still. The room was stuffy and filled with people when I began to feel the oppression and it quickly overwhelmed me. My mother informed me that I had succumbed to the heat of the day and must rest in quiet to regain composure. There was a doctor friend of the family present and he was taking my pulse at the wrist looking at his watch. I thought mother was right until it started again and I began to panic. I remember feeling suffocated and I couldn’t remember anything until sometime later when I awoke in my bed, free of the corset and once again able to breath. The doctor had removed it after it was apparent that emotional exultation was not the problem. As it happened, this doctor explained it to me that morning as I rose. We then engaged in a truly scintillating conversation on the matter and I began to gather more data as I was training in medicine. Had he not been present I may have died in the face of the ignorance of the community.” Martha finished, rather more tersely than she intended. Mark listened intently, his arms crossed and his body learning forward slightly. There was silence for a few seconds.

“You have harbored this fascination since?”
“I have not warned so tighter dress since that evening. Not even to please others. To save my own life and hopefully, our research today will help brake down some long held false beliefs about the body and how it responds to oppression of many kinds.” Martha looked back out of her window at the passing shoppers and bustling cityscape. They were nearly back at their residence.
"So, when you came by for your appraisal on the day of your appointment, and you defied convention and niceties to save somebodies life you really were careless of the social consequences. Prey, may I ask, talk me through again the pieces of data lead you to conclude asphyxiation instead of overexcitement?” Mark asked. Martha gave up her cold facade.

“I do believe I have gone over this several times. Since however it clearly brings you joy, her blued lips and finger nails indicated not only exposure to the cold, but also an inability to take in enough air to sustain consciousness. Her efforts to inhale against her garment were indicated by the tugging I observed above her sternal notch and the slight gasping I saw in her jaw. Her eyes were slightly rolled back and closed but not flickering and she had fallen against the railing of the pavement indicating she had grabbed onto it for support. She was aware of her collapse before it happened but panic set in and worsened her condition.”

My goodness Martha you appear to have assimilated the whole Conan Doyle cannon. Your powers of observation are comparable to Holmes himself.” Mark sat back in his chair.

“In fact, Dr. Bell is the man you speak of, Holmes is merely an echo. I took it upon myself to learn his methods since I recognized their usefulness in my future practice. It was this who saved that woman’s life, not me.” Martha told her boss outright, holding his gaze. The coach stopped and they disembarked outside their home.
“Mark, thank you sincerely for your interest, I am glad you’ve found this small bit of research so interesting. I also apologies for my distance on the matter, I find myself preoccupied today.” Martha bowed her head politely and let him lead the way through their door.

Their rooms were stifling after the biting cold of the streets. Mark let out an exclamation of discomfort before going to put the fire out in the sitting room. Martha stood in the doorway to their sitting room, allowing the subtle incongruity of their surroundings sink in. The room filled with disgruntled patients, Morris’s coat still on its peg indicating he was still there, the appointment book behind the desk which usually housed our lovely receptionist filled with appointments which had already passed by. Martha swept the room with her eyes.
“Morris! What in blazes is going on? This is most out of character.” Mark was ranting from his office, opening his window to let out some of the oppressive atmosphere. Martha’s ears snapped out of her own head as a loud thump came from upstairs. Mark appeared not to have heard it as he stomped out of his office back into the sitting rom to address the throng of patients.
“Please everyone remains calm, I am sure your doctor will see you shortly, meanwhile…” He said picking up the book from the desk. "Miss Dower, could you kindly step into my office.”
Martha darted upstairs before Mark was aware of her absence after the sound. Heart racing and a sinking feeling taking hold of her insides. She knocked on Morris’s door loudly.
“Morris! Are you there?” Martha yelled through the closed door. At that moment she became aware that she was standing on a thin film of water. Looking round she saw it was coming from, under the bathroom door. It was hot water. Martha changed tack, rapping on the door. It was shut tightly. She banged on it. She threw herself against it until it gave way. The sight that met her eyes was pathetic and frightening. The colleague who’d held so much contempt for her skills and character had passed out on the hard-tiled floor, the basin which had been sitting on the dresser had fallen on top of his pale frame, dressed in his under clothes and sick pooled around his face mingling with the spilled water.
Martha ran through the details quickly in her mind. The loud thump, his body hitting the floor, his unprotected head at risk of injury. The basin spilling over him indicating his having grabbed the dresser for support before falling. The mingled substances surrounding his head indicating many possibilities. The occupation of her boss downstairs with what could only be Morris’s abandoned patients. No assistance to be had for some time.

“Morris!? Martha bent down, her hem soaking up the water as she stooped to check his pulse at the neck. Rapid and slightly erratic. She could feel the heat radiating from him like the fire recently doused downstairs. The pieces of this puzzle falling together in her mind. Martha grabbed the basin and washed it out with the some of the water from the jug and filled it with what cool water remained. She then tried harder to rouse her collegue.
“Hey! Morris, can you hear me?” There was no response. He was burning up. Martha side stepped the sick and hauling him over onto his back and she hooked his arms around her own, and dragged him slowly out of the room onto the landing leaving a watery trail in his wake. Opening the door to his room, she continued to drag him and placing a pillow on the floor she placed him on his left side, head on the pillow. Running to fetch her medical bag from her own room and the basin and a cloth from the bathroom, she rushed back to Morris. He had begun to stir. Martha looked him over to gather more data.
Pallid, papery complexion, retired to bed early last night. Fever, vomiting. Martha lifted his shirt against his numbed protests.
“Morris, I’ts Martha, you collapsed in the bathroom moments ago. You’re running a very high temperature. I must examine you. Do you have any pain?” Martha fought against herself to keep her voice level. She was not sure yet why she felt she cared more for Morris than she might have liked. He was guarding his abdomen and had curled himself into the fetal position.
“Dr. Hiddleston, where’s Mark?” Morris asked, looking blurrily up at Martha.
“He’s downstairs sorting the mess you left in the sitting room, what happened? You said you could make your appointments until we returned. Why did you not tell either of us you were unwell?” Martha asked incredulously as she took her thermometer from her bag.
“I thought it would pass with sleep.” Morris groaned and winced. Martha put the thermometer into Morris’s mouth and began wrapping the damp cloth around his neck. As the thermometer did its job, Martha set to work, taking the data she needed. His blood pressure was low. Linking this mentally to his sudden collapse. His pulse stronger and slightly slower backing up his return to consciousness. Morris’s temperature was enough to make Martha gasp.
“Thirty-nine point nine. My goodness doctor you’ve done yourself in.” Martha said. "I need you on your back Morris, I need to examine your abdomen.” Martha said authoritatively beginning to assist him to roll over.
“I can’t, it hurts god help me it hurts! Don’t tough it! Please!” Morris pleaded. His reduction to a child by his mystery illness was frightening. Martha felt real sympathy for her contemporary.
“I must Morris you know this as well as I do. You’re guarding the area, you’re fevered and pallid, having vomited at least once and your hypotensive and tachycardic. What does all that tell you, hhmm?”
“Antibiotics.” Morris answered as he whimpered. “Oh, just mark the pain stop!” He yelled as he wrenched his ridged shivering body over to his back, keeping his legs bent. Martha lifted his shirt. His abdomen was slightly distended. To Martha’s tough it was ridged and as hot as his face.
“I have to palpate Morris, this is probably going to hurt, if your diagnosis is concurrent with mine.” Martha geared him up for the painful test. She began palpating his abdomen starting at the top and working her way down. When she reached the right lower quadrant, Morris let out a yelp of pain as she released the pressure. This was telltale. Morris winced and then vomited again all over Martha’s dress. She helped him role back over so he wouldn’t choke and noticing he was lapsing back into unconsciousness she reflated the cuff and saw that his pressure had dropped slightly.
“Morris! You need to stay awake!” Martha urged him, standing to fetch her other collegue. She paused on the landing and rethinking her decision, decided on phoning St Bartholomew’s Hospital for an ambulance. When she returned, Morris was not moving. Retaking all of her data again, temperature, blood pressure and pulse she was alarmed at the now dire situation. She ran back downstairs again, unsure of how long she had been tending Morris and seeing the much fewer number of patients waiting for Marks attention, Martha rapped sharply on Marks door. Opening it without waiting for a response she apologized quickly for the interruption.
“Dr. Wearington, I’ve phoned an ambulance for Morris, he’s been taken ill. I hope you can manage here as I will be accompanying him. He may need surgery.” Martha finished and closed the door before running back up the flight if stairs two at a time. She knew he would not neglect his patients if he knew the situation was in hand. Rummaging in her bag for her pharmaceuticals pouch, she looked for something to give her patient for the pain.
“Morris, I’m going to give you something for the pain now, its going to help bring your temperature down too, you must try to sit up.” Said Martha taking two little white aspirin from a dark bottle. Morris with a yell of pain propped himself up on his elbow and took the two pills.
“It’s aspirin old boy.” Martha assured him handing him the glass of water from his night table. Morris took the pills and swallowed them. Martha helped Morris to lie back down and covered him with a blanket from his bed. Morris was shivering. She retook his temperature. forty two point three degrees. She watched as the vital signs of her colleague continued to worsen slowly. Martha continued to reassure him even though he was unconscious once more. Holding his shoulder so he wouldn’t role back onto his back, she heard the bells ringing down the street outside, telling of the arrival of the ambulance she’d called for.

“The door’s open gentlemen, come up!” Martha yelled; eyes still trained on Morris. He was breathing rapidly and shallowly. Heavy foot falls ascended the stairs and into the room came two stocky men dressed in navy blue and between them baring a military style cot stretcher. Martha began to spout detailed information about the patient.
“Male, age 37 years, vomiting, abdominal pain, rigidity and tenderness on release of palpation. Tachycardic, breathing hard and fast, hypotensive and temperature above 40 degrees Celsius on last recording. He collapsed earlier so there may be a head injury and he’s been given two aspirin. Currently, he’s unconscious. I suspect a complaint of the appendix. He’s going septic and needs immediate surgery.” Martha took a breath as she helped one of the men load Morris onto the cot.
“Hey slow down woman you’re going too fast!” the other man said loudly.
“Are you a relative Miss?” Asked her helper.
“No, we work here together. I suppose for the time being, I am his doctor.” Martha answered.
“Please repeat what you said a moment ago madame.” Asked the man holding a notebook and pen nib. Martha looked from one to the other, incredulous.
“I will tell you on the way, we need to get moving or he’s going to die.” Martha got back to work, setting the sphygmomanometer beside Morris on the cot and taking up the thermometer. She packed up her bag and lead the way down stairs.
“Careful gentlemen don’t slip in the water!” Martha warned as the two men carried the still shivering Morris down the stairs. Martha took a slip of paper from the notepad by the telephone and scribbled on it, a quick note to Mark and went with the party into the ambulance which trundled off. The man sitting at Morris’s head looked at Martha and eyed her vomit-soaked hem. Martha retook Morris’s pulse and reflated the cuff.
“You sure you should be doin’ that ma’am?” He asked, suspiciously. Martha shot him a glance, niceties far from her main concern, she continued to take cake of Morris in the swaying ambulance which it occurred to Martha was going far too slow.
“Can’t we speed up?” Martha asked, frustrated. “Please, this man will die, hurry up!” She snapped. She was momentarily surprised by her outburst. The man rapped on the screen and told the driver to hurry it up. Martha, eyes still on Morris, acted instinctively as it dawned on her that he was heaving again.
“Get out the way!” she ordered, stepping too and hauling Morris onto his side so he could vomit. The ambulance attendant averted his eyes in disgust. She rubbed his back and holding his forehead, spoking soothingly to him.
“There, there old boy, get it up.”
Realizing that they were slowing up to the front doors of the hospital. The bells stopped and the driver had gotten out, yelling for assistance. At least one of these men had his priorities. Martha thought to herself. The back doors opened and the two men unloaded the stretcher. Martha hurried alongside, carrying her bag and keeping a finger on Morris’s pulse at his wrist.
A tall thin man in a typical hospital white coat hurried up to them as they sped down the hall past the waiting room.
“What happened here?” He asked, eying the patient critically. Martha spoke without thinking.
“Patient is a 37-year-old male, suffering acute abdominal pain, nausea and fever, I suspect appendicitis. I found him on my return from todays medical conference unconscious. I’ve given him two aspirin to bring down his temperature and control his pain. It would appear to have done some good, but his fading doctor. I suspect septicemia may set in. My examination of his abdomen confirms this. He needs immediate surgery.” Martha took a sharp breath. The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder and she stopped and looked at him properly.
“You and that other doctor, I forget his name, spoke at that conference. You say this is your patient. He’s not a relative, is he?” He asked. Martha was taken aback and a little impatient.
“No, we work together in west London.”
“You’re his doctor then it would seem. My name is McKenna. They had been talking as they walked into a room lined with beds and placed Morris onto one of them. Martha retook his blood pressure as McKenna watched.
“Thank you, gentlemen, Nurse!” He yelled. And a nurse followed them into the room carrying a basin of water.
“My goodness. I fear you’re right.” He said gravely examining his abdomen and watching Morris heave in pain. “Better get him to theater. Strip him, we must cool his body, you may stay and assist, I may need a hand.” McKenna said as Martha helped him strip Morris down to his boxers. The nurse covered him with a sheet and began draping wet cloths over his forehead and wrapping them around his ankles and wrists.
“Has he consumed anything?” He asked.
“Yes, but I rather think we need not worry, he’s been vomiting.” Martha answered quickly as she retook Morris temperature.
At that moment, Morris began to fit, clenching down his jaw the thermometer fell out of his mouth and his back arched. The nurse and McKenna exchanged a look and he took an ampule from a draw of a cabinet and began drawing up a syringe.
“What’s that, what are you giving him?” Martha asked.
“A sedative, stop the seizure so we can operate, if you’re right Miss, then we don’t have much time. He’s fitting because of the temperature; I fear it may even be too late.”
“The stupid man never looks after his own health.” Martha snapped.
“What was your name again, I must have forgotten it.”
“Doctor Hiddleston.” Martha replied.
“Right Doctor, you can assist if you like, since you’re here and have a history. I should like a hand. Nurse you too. Quick, let’s get him prepped.”
“I will assist, is there a phone around, I have to let Mark know I won’t return for some time.” Martha rolled up her long sleeves.
“Down the hall on the wall. Make it quick Dr. Hiddleston!” McKenna said forebodingly as he and the nurse began wheeling the bed out of the room.
Martha rang her clinic and Mark answered.
“Martha, I got your note, what in blazes happened?” He snapped at her.
“Dr. Morris has to have his appendix removed. He is very acutely unwell and perhaps even septic. I think he began to feel unwell last night. Found him collapsed upstairs. I didn’t think you should be disturbed. He is extremely fevered, convulsed enrout and has been sick a few times. I am to assist in his operation.”
“Very well doctor, if you’re right there isn’t time to chat. Get to it. I shall be there when the day is out. Mark hung up.
Martha hurried down the hall, finding the correct theater and set to work. Morris lay, prepped, his breathing assisted by a masked anesthetist. McKenna was already draping his body.

The operation was stressful and complicated. Many hours had passed before McKenna was satisfied of its completion. Martha stepped out for some air while McKenna closed the wound. Morris was returned to the room on the ward with a drip feed of saline solution running and orders for nurses to administer antibiotics hourly. Martha still remained unsure why she felt the need to sick with Morris, but she followed it and remained at his bedside until she heard someone at the door.
“Well this is a first.” A familiar deep voice smirked.
“I knew I should have insisted on my examination last night. He is still febrile and septic. We may have been too late. He has a fight on his hands now the fool.” Martha spilled her thoughts to the one colleague she trusted. Mark walked to stand by her.
“You were correct then?”
“Afraid so.”
“Might I enquire as to what exactly happened, you’d disappeared before I’d realized what was happening, by that time, I was engaged.”
Martha explained to him the course of events omitting no detail.
“Yes, he had complained of a pain in the belly to me some days ago. I urged him to let me take a look, but he was adamant he would see to it himself. Bit too private for his own good this one. Look where it’s got him. Tut tut.” Mark mused, sweeping his friends body with his eyes.
“I diagnosed him upon examining his abdomen, despite his protests. Even mild pressure was enough to make him cast up his breakfast. He convulsed on the way here due to the fever.”
“Martha, you may well have saved Morris’s life today. You know as well as I do the swiftness of septicemia.” Mark said, pulling up another chair and seating himself opposite the bed.
Morris’s eyes fluttered and opened. He stared blankly around the room and roved over the faces of his two comrades.
“Still with us old boy.” Mark said, standing up. Morris’s eyes found and focused on Martha. He smiled.
“You scared me to death Morris I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” She snapped at him. Relaxing considerably now that she was sure the operation had been a success.
“What was it? Doctor.” He asked, sardonically smirking through the pain.
“Appendicitis. Very acute, you might have died today. Pray tell, why didn’t you tell either of us? You must have figured it out you’re a smart man. For god’s sake Morris!” Martha found herself succumbing to the relief.
“You’re right Dr. Hiddleston. By the time I had, I was too overcome, that’s when I fainted. Afraid from there its all a bit of a blur.” Morris said, wincing.
Martha did save your life Morris, perhaps you may be open to a working relationship once you’re back with us.” Mark said as he strolled out of the room.
“He’s right too.” Morris groaned. “I have to admit; I had not thought the best of your skills. I must apologies for my prejudices my dear. You continue to assure us you of your considerable prowess.”
Morris was averting his eyes as he spoke, tears welling up in them.
Oh, come on old boy, I knew of this bee in your bonnet from the moment we first met. I also knew you were against hiring a woman. I can’t blame you your prejudices however unfounded. Anyhow, I knew it was Mark who would hurt for the loss of you. I can not have any lives lost for ignorance. Not even your own.” Martha caught the lump in her throat and shook the hand of her fellow doctor.
“Your fever's down considerably.” Martha stood. “Get some sleep old boy, you’ll be missed terribly at the clinic.” She smirked and turned to leave.
“I’m sorry about that dress Martha.” He tried to yell after her. Martha laughed as she and Mark left the hospital and boarded a cab. Mark wrinkled his nose and Martha smelled herself for the first time since that morning’s events. She and Mark giggled all the short way home.
Morris returned to work the week after his hospitalization. Mark had ordered him to take only light duty until his wounds healed, against Morris’s protests.
From then on, Morris and Hiddleston enjoyed some small semblance of a productive working relationship. Morris was indebted to Hiddleston and would live with this for the rest of his days. Martha secretly treasured the assurance that she not only averted the death of her now friend, but also had earned his trust and respect from then on. The stubborn Dr. Morris remained ignorant of the sad and baffling fact that it had nearly taken his life to prove the professional credibility of his friend Dr. Hiddleston to himself in spite of her sex.

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