Romans & histoires The English Patient

"He'd been there for a while." The room was very quiet. Alexander stood beside the desk, beside the photograph of the two young men laughing in the summer light, and he told the rest of it. The flight to London. The hospital corridor. The machines and the doctors and the language of medicine that was designed to create distance but that couldn't create enough distance, that couldn't protect you from the thing that was happening. The moments that followed—the waiting, the hoping, the terrible dawning recognition that hope was not going to be enough.

Dr. Raphael Alderton is the city's most brilliant thoracic surgeon, known for his ice-cold precision and untouchable demeanor. But when the enigmatic Elias Wrenford arrives at St. Jude’s Medical Center with a gunshot wound and a past tied to the underworld, Raphael's professional walls begin to crumble. Elias is dangerous, arrogant, and undeniably magnetic. As their clandestine attraction explodes into a series of feverish encounters, Raphael finds himself entangled in a web of secrets that threaten his career and his life. In a world of sterile white halls and dark alleyways, can Raphael save the man who makes his heart race, or will they both bleed out?

I gave the people in front of us my best smile and then held out my hand. "Hi! I'm Ash and I am currently taking up Busin-" I said and was immediately cut off by an old woman whom I didn't know. "Are you repeating yourself? Jake already introduced you. We don't need to hear your voice dear," she smiled at me but it was obviously fake and sarcastic. I lowered my hand in shame and bowed my head. I even heard her companions say goodbye before leaving.

I had to arrive at seven in the morning, not a minute earlier, not a minute later, so I was a little stressed when I saw that the subway was full. And when I finally arrived at the hospital, all my expectations came true. It was the best hospital in London, everything was luxurious and the technology was quite impressive. As expected, the emergency room was full of sick flu patients, since the weather here is bitterly cold. From a distance, I can see a woman with dark circles under her eyes, who is working at her reception, so I immediately approach her. "Hello, I'm Victoria Jefferson." I leaned against the wooden bar at the reception, while the woman seemed to be dying of exhaustion. — I'm

“She gets it.” I paused by his bed. The ward stretched around the same curve that the building followed. Windows let light in and beds were set a few feet apart. Every single bed had a patient in. I let out a shaky breath. “What’s your name, Sir?” I asked, checking the chart at the foot of his bed. “Sir,” he laughed. “I like that. I’m Tom Barns. Pleasure.” He pretended to dip his cap to me, then coughed.

"No, you don't have to go out. It's none of your business." As he spoke, he swallowed the medicine without using any water. Stella looked at the package of the medicine bottle. It was written in English, and they were all professional words that he couldn't understand at all... Could this be what he meant by... going to England for treatment? "Why did you go to England half a year ago? And why did you go to the hospital? Can't you tell me what happened?" Stella asked anxiously. Suddenly, she felt that something must have happened to this man during this amount of time!

San Calvino, Carmoria First day at San Calvino Hospital, and Poppy, the nurse, burst out laughing at the station. "Dr. Accardi, you hit the freaking jackpot. VIP on day one." I looked up. "Lucky me?" "Fifty grand just to show up," she whispered, eyes glowing. "And guess who her husband is? Matteo freaking Lamberti—the Don." My chest locked up, but I kept my face still. "Wow. Must be a big deal."

The hospital, bright and efficient, the kind of efficiency that means they understand something is wrong. A doctor, young, serious. Words in Italian that Chiara translates in pieces. Polmonite. Lung infection. Advanced. Fever forty point two. And then, separately, said more quietly, after a blood test I only half-remember: A word in Italian that Chiara doesn't translate immediately. She looks at Ryan first. "Tell me," I say, or try to say. Chiara takes my hand. Ryan is standing at the foot of the bed and his face is—

he greeted as he walked up to the receptionist who couldn’t hide the lust on her face, who was this cute English man? “Hello sir” she tried to make voice as meek as possible, “how may I help you?” “I am here to see Bianca Baxter, which room is she in?” “Uhmm, we can not disclose our patients' information like that sir, I….” “I am her husband and i just flew into town” he said while raising an eyebrow at her, “can you tell me or should I find it myself?” “Oh sorry sir, she is in the private suite on the third floor, she…”

“Grandpa, did you see it? The rules you protected your entire life... I protected them for you.” I stood there for a moment, looking at his familiar face, then smiled. For the first time in five years, I felt at peace. A moment later, my apprentice hurried inside and respectfully handed me a medical file. “Dr. Cross, the first slot of the year belongs to a patient with severe myasthenia gravis. “His family has been waiting outside for three days.” I set down my teacup and glanced through the file. “Send him in.” I reached into my sleeve and withdrew the polished set of Ghost Gate Needles.