BRYN FORTEY

 

OPTIONS  

Prof poured himself a shot of rotgut from the bottle he kept hidden in the one desk drawer he was able to lock, drinking it quickly in a single throat burning gulp.

     Why was he here?

     Why had he specialised in Nephrology?

     All he’d wanted to do, really, was write poetry. Page after page of free form rage, from heart and guts; but he’d had the hopes and ambitions of his parents to live up to, and the prompting of educationists who wanted the credit for another successful pupil. At first the two extremes had coexisted together well, earning him something of a Small Press reputation while not interfering with his studies, but he found himself devoting less and less time to poetry as his career progressed, until now: a secret drinker with creative writing a long lost memory.  

     The next patient was coming in.

     “Ah, Mr Fortey, good to see you again, have a seat. Are you still passing water okay? No problems? Good! There has been a small further reduction in your kidney function and though it hasn’t yet reached a critical stage, I do think it’s time to consider your options...”

That would be the Beat version. For a horror anthology, it could be more like...

The Professor had a long East European sounding surname that most people had difficulty pronouncing, so they just used his academic title. Before Mr Fortey had come in he had taken a drink from the bottle of AB+ he kept locked in his desk drawer. It was nowhere near as good as a stream pulsing from a pierced vein, but had to suffice until circumstances allowed him another kill.

     The patient was a gentleman in his eighties, but his blood would still be as fresh as ever. He forced himself to stop looking hungrily at the old man’s neck.

     “Your options are unfortunately limited, Mr Fortey. Some people go the dialysis route while others prefer to let nature take its course. There are pros and cons for both.”

     Was that a little throbbing he could see, imagining his teeth tearing through the man’s throat, slicing the flesh and puncturing the vein, gorging on the life-giving liquid that spurted in scarlet glory.

     “Dialysis would give you longer but with a reduced quality of life...”

Or, in a science fiction magazine...

MaraQ, the medical exchange practitioner from Altare 1V, rested on his/her memory air bubble, while conducting an interview with the Earthling who had come up from the planetary surface to join him/her in the orbiting consulting station.

     How did they manage with such short life spans? he/her wondered. MaraQ’s species had an expectancy of at least three hundred Earth years. This patient, in his eighties, would still be young on Altare1V, but not by his own Earth standards

     “If you decide against dialysis, Mr Fortey, your quality of life can continue unchanged, but you will not gain the extra time the procedure can offer. We would of course continue to monitor you and offer what help we can. The decision is yours and I suggest you take your time making it. Maybe talk it over with your family...”

Maybe a personal memoir might be more suitable...  

When the hospital called me in for an earlier appointment than had been originally set, it was obvious that my most recent blood tests had given cause for concern, and so it proved to be.

     “There has been only small fluctuations during the time we have been monitoring you,” said Professor -----, showing me a graph on his computer screen, “but as you can see, your kidney function is gradually moving towards critical levels. I think it’s time to start considering your options.”

     Having correctly guessed what this appointment would be about, I had already spent a lot of time doing just that. Dialysis would enable me to live a little longer, but at a reduced quality of life, and seemed to me best suited to younger people who still had hopes of a lifetime ahead of them. In my eighties now, I have lived a life of many extremes. I have experienced both great and little tragedies, offset by moments of satisfaction and happiness. My choice is to continue as I am, being monitored and helped by all means; trying to make the best out of life that I can until chronic failure catches up with me, which hopefully won’t be for a whole yet.

     Professor ----- was not surprised by my decision, and even my family are reluctantly accepting my point of view.     

   

****************copyright Bryn Fortey 

   

BRYN FORTEY is based in Newport, South Wales. His poetry has been published widely. As a short story writer in a number of genres, which are sometimes audaciously combined in one story, he is the author of Merry-Go-Round and Compromising The Truth, both on Alchemy Press. Bryn is also acknowledged -- at Bard Towers if nowhere else -- as the editor of Target and Outlaw, small-press magazines of exceptional quality. He has recently begun assembling a selection of his works in a series on Outlaw Chapbooks Press.