Another Day, Another Death

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

OOC: This thread is mainly for Sturmfelder, but others may join in after Sturmfelder comes in.

The salty air hung heavy as it moved slowly about the hospital building. Doktor Vlakte slowly sewed up the incision on the man’s chest that lay beneath him. Private Friedhold stood across from the doctor sweating heavily under his white cotton mask. Finally, Doktor Vlakte finished the last stitch and walked away. He went through the doors out of the OR and went into the ‘laundry room.’ He took off the latex gloves and threw them into the rubbish bin before turning to the sink with his talc covered hands and began washing. After thoroughly cleaning his hands, the doctor removed the white surgical gown he was wearing and through it in the laundry bin. Private Friedhold walked in as Doktor Vlakte was going to the door to the Post-operative ward and spoke to the doctor in his high voice, “Das gesind gut, Doktor. Der Patient gesind durchweg trafähig." The doctor looked back at the man and smiled, “Danke, Konrad.”

It was an unusual kindness in the Waffen-SS, calling one by their first name, but the doctor had worked with Friedhold long enough that he was comfortable with calling him by his first name. The doctor smiled the young man and turned back to the door and went into the post-operative ward. Schütze van Schoonhovel was making the beds in the ward since there were few patients in the ward. Doktor Vlakte was glad to find that there was another Dutchman in the unit when he arrived. The doctor held a special liking for the young man, though he didn’t show it. He spoke to the man in Dutch, “van Schoonhovel, nadat u met dat wordt gedaan, zou u naar het hoofdkwartier gaan en zou terug sommige behoeftevormen brengen. Ik moet tot één ander sulfanilamide opdracht geven.” Van Schoonhovel looked back to the doctor and smiled, glad to speak his native language, “Ja, dokter. Lets anders?” Doktor Vlakte smiled back. He understood that having good terms between his men made a much more efficient hospital. “Nee, dankt u,” the doctor said to the man before he walked back into his small office that lay at the end of the ward.

He walked behind the puny desk and sat in the creaking chair and took a deep breath. He looked at the reports on his desk; all but two of his previous patients had been either sent home or sent back to the front. He hated war, he had to operate almost daily on some poor boy had been wounded by the allies. Whenever he thought of the war and the patients he lost, he had to think back to his days in university. It brought back books he had read in English, especially the Far Side of the World, the doctor in the book told that captain of the ship, ‘Every time someone dies under my knife; I tell myself it was the enemy that killed them and not me.’ Doktor Vlakte had the same thought. The damage was the fault of the allies. He leaned back into the chair and loud creaking noise cracked the air. Dieedrik made a mental note to get a new chair sometime as he grabbed up the next report for casualty figures.

Translations:
“Das gesind gut, Doktor. Der Patient gesind durchweg trafähig."
~That was good, Doctor. The patient was stable throughout.

“Danke, Konrad.”
~Thank you, Konrad

“van Schoonhovel, nadat u met dat wordt gedaan, zou u naar het hoofdkwartier gaan en zou terug sommige behoeftevormen brengen. Ik moet tot één ander sulfanilamide opdracht geven.”
~Van Schoonhovel, when you're done with that, you need to go to the headquarters and get some requisition forms. I need to make an order for sulphanilamide.

“Ja, dokter. Lets anders?”
~Yes, doctor. Anything else?

“Nee, dankt u,”
~No, thank you.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The sunset was a beautiful one, the orange sphere of the sun slowly sinking behind the horizon. But Erhard could not enjoy it. He was tired, after a day trip to Berlin, and many purchases for his fiancé, including a large collection of roses that cost him an arm and a leg. But worse was to come. He was on his first night shift, and had only just realised it less than an hour ago. All considering, Erhard didn’t think he looked too bad. He’d thrown his uniform on, which had yet to be ironed, and wiped his boots over with a wet cloth, creating the illusion that they were polished. Bloody hell, did he despise army life!

He splashed some water over his face, and left his quarters. Thirty seconds later he returned and threw on his hat which had lay abandoned on his bed. Erhard checked his watch. He had a minute and a half to reach the medical area. He picked up his pace to a light jog, not wanting to scuff or dry his boots. Why hadn’t he just become a normal doctor? There was little chance he’d end up shot, though he wouldn’t put it past a few farmers in Hafnerbach. And he wouldn’t have to answer to anybody else. But this was the life he’d chosen. Maybe when this Goddamn war ended he could be a civil doctor.

Erhard sped through the double doors into the medical area. He checked his watch. Ten seconds to spare, if it was set correctly. Not bad. Next, he needed to find his new commanding officer. He hoped the man was reasonable, and had some character and charm about him. His previous CO, a Hauptstrumfuher Drautspielen, had been nothing more than a gormless shell, who seemed impossible to make small talk with. How he ever became a Captain, was beyond Erhard.

Four two minutes he madly rushed around the corridors, in search of that one office. But it was a rabbit warren, which made it like finding a needle in a haystack. What made the situation ten times worse though, was the complete lack of maps. He had no idea where he was going. Finally, he bumped into a medical orderly, who seemed more Dutch than German. From his sources, every Dutchmen despised the Nazis, and it was odd for one of them not be in a resistance group. Because of this very fact, Erhard had a slight mistrust of them...

The orderly directed him to a small office towards the operating area. The name plaque on the door read ‘Doktor Dieedrik van de Vlakte’. Very German. Erhard straightened his hat, brushed himself down, gulped, rapped on the door, and stepped in before waiting for a reply. “Herr Doktor. Ich bin die neue Ordonanz für Sie. Ich glaube, dass Sie haben meine Schreibarbeit?”



Translations:

Herr Doktor. Ich bin die neue Ordonanz für Sie. Ich glaube, dass Sie haben meine Schreibarbeit?

Herr Doktor. I am the new Orderly for you. I believe you have my paperwork?

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

OOC: Sorry it so short, but there wasn't much else to write.

After a few minutes of reading the reports on his desk, Doktor Vlakte finally reached the paper on the bottom; it was a transfer report for a 3rd Class Medical Technician. No sooner had Dieedrik picked up the paper than someone had interrupted him. It seemed that every time he went to his office and began to read or write, he was interrupted by someone for whatever reason. This time, it wasn’t Friedhold or van Schoonhovel, but a new face. Dieedrik got out of his chair as the man declared himself as the new orderly. “Sie müssen sich Erhard Strumfelder. Ja?” he said politely with his light Dutch accent. The doctor walked around his small desk to look the man face-to-face without the desk between the two. “Wilkommen zu die zweite Panzer division. Wo sind Sie vom?” the doctor said. He was glad he had another man to help out.

He went back to his desk and picked up the transfer report; the man had a MD, why wasn’t he an officer? Doktor Vlakte looked at the report again; the aide had attended University of Cambridge after the Great War. He could be a non-commissioned doctor. That was it. Doktor Vlakte went back to the man that stood in his doorway and held out his hand, “Doktor Strumfelder, ich bin Doktor van de Vlakte, der ärtzlich Kommandeur von der zweite SS Panzer division.”

Translations:
“Sie müssen sich Erhard Strumfelder. Ja?”
~You must be Erhard Strumfelder, yes?

“Wilkommen zu die zweite Panzer division. Wo sind Sie vom?”
~Welcome to the 2nd Panzer Division. Where are you from?

“Doktor Strumfelder, ich bin Doktor van de Vlakte, der ärtzlich Kommandeur von der zweite SS Panzer division.”
~Doctor Strumfelder, I am Doctor van de Vlakte, the medical commander of the 2nd SS Panzer Division.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: It’s nice to see that the applications are looked at. And maybe this thread will be lots of short posts.

Vlakte was slightly older than Erhard had imagined. He’d thought that his superior would be younger than himself, a man who had reached an officer rank after two minutes in the forces. But this man must have been five or six years older than him, if his looks were truthful. Hardly anything in Strumfelder’s opinion. The man was warm enough for Erhard’s liking too. Having a good relationship between your superiors was what he had based his career on. He had no feeling for ranks, or anything that elevated one above another. He only took promotions when they were forced upon him, and even then he took them grudgingly. So, with no aims, and little chance of being reposted, it made sense to get on with every one.

Erhard took the hard and shook it happily. Neither wet fish nor bone crusher. His uniform was neat too, but if anything, he did look a little over worked. What did they have him doing over here? It was a warm evening though, and humid air had drained Erhard’s energy more than once before. Another thing he didn’t need tonight. Did this place have that terrible acorn coffee, or could they afford the real stuff?

“Ja Herr Doktor. Selbst? Ich komme ursprünglich aus Mittelösterreich, aber bin gerade vom Amt-V Büro in Berlin gebracht worden. Es war alle langweilige Schreibarbeit; Ich selten kam sogar jedem Illinois nahe.” Erhard smiled at the man, wondering what he would find himself doing this evening.

Translations:

“Ja Herr Doktor. Selbst? Ich komme ursprünglich aus Mittelösterreich, aber bin gerade vom Amt-V Büro in Berlin gebracht worden. Es war alle langweilige Schreibarbeit; Ich selten kam sogar jedem Illinois nahe.”
~Yes, Herr Doktor. Myself? I am originally from central Austria, but have just been transferred from the Amt-V office in Berlin. It was all boring paperwork; I rarely even got close to anybody ill.

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Strumfelder seemed reasonable enough. He shook Doktor Vlakte’s hand firmly as any trustworthy man would. Doctor Vlakte smiled to him, “Österreich, huh? Es ist ein schön Land. Ich habe Linz besucht in Universitie. Meine Freunden und ich gefahren da in 1916.” The man was Austrian, another minority in this mixed-up division. Everywhere the doctor looked he saw Italians, Dutchmen, and Austrians running around. In fact, the man he had just operated on was a member of the Nord division, a Norwegian. Though, everyone was Germanic. Doktor Vlakte headed out the office door past the young doctor and into the post- operative ward and yelled down to Schütze van Schoonhovel, in Dutch of course, “Private von Schoonhovel, horloge over de afdeling voor een ander half uur. De nieuwe oppasser en ik heb een vergadering. Privé Scherbaum zal binnen in ongeveer dertig minuten moeten overnemen.” Van Schoonhovel looked up to the doctor as he came back with a basket of sheets. He answered, “Ja dakter, hier heb ik de behoeftevormen.” Doktor Vlakte answered him kindly, “Dankt u. Goede nacht, Lodewijk.“ After instructing van Schoonhovel, Doktor Vlakte turned back to Strumfelder, “kommen mit mich, Herr Strumfelder. Wir werde Kaffee haben.”

Translations:
“Österreich, huh? Es ist ein schön Land. Ich habe Linz besucht in Universitie. Meine Freunden und ich gefahren da in 1916.”
~Austria, huh? It is a beautiful country. I visited Linz when I was in university. My friends and I went there in 1916

"Private von Schoonhovel, horloge over de afdeling voor een ander half uur. De nieuwe oppasser en ik heb een vergadering. Privé Scherbaum zal binnen in ongeveer dertig minuten moeten overnemen.”
~Schütze van Schoonhovel, stay in the ward for another half-hour. the new orderly and I are getting aquainted. Schütze Scherbaum should be here in thirty minutes.

“Ja dakter, hier heb ik de behoeftevormen.”
~Yes doctor, I have the requisition forms you asked for.

“Dankt u. Goede nacht, Lodewijk.“
~ Thank you. Good night, Lodewijk.

“kommen mit mich, Herr Strumfelder. Wir werde Kaffee haben.”
~come with me, Herr Strumfelder. We'll get some coffee.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Speaking in Dutch? That was seriously informal, especially for the Waffen SS. Not that Erhard opposed. The forces were always very strict; too strict in his opinion. ‘Yes sir. No sir. Three bags full, sir.’ That’s what they were like, the SS more so than anywhere else. The informality seemed to draw out a greater sense of comradeship from the men, not the discipline. “Wieviele Sprachen können Sie sprechen, Herr Dokotor?” Erhard questioned, trying to break the inevitable ice. “Ich kann gerade über vier sprechen. Deutscher offensichtlich Österreicher, Englisch und Italiener. Ich musste drei von ihnen Junge und I noch can' sehr erlernen; durchaus Reichweite Italiener.”

Erhard smiled at the man, trying to appear warm and friendly. Bloody hell, did he want a drink right now. Just a beer would be enough loosen him up, but it would probably knock him out in his present state of tiredness. Never mind, there were far worst problems in the world right now. Like his trial by fire, that Vlakte would probably soon set him. His very first assignment had been to amputate both legs on one man who had been unlucky enough to step on one mine, then collapse onto another. Lovely.

Translations:

“Wieviele Sprachen können Sie sprechen, Herr Dokotor?”~ “How many languages can you speak, Herr Doktor?”

“Ich kann gerade über vier sprechen. Deutscher offensichtlich Österreicher, Englisch und Italiener. Ich musste drei von ihnen Junge und I noch can' sehr erlernen; t-durchaus Reichweite Italiener.”~ I can just about speak four. German, obviously, Austrian, English and Italian. I had to learn three of them very young, and I still can't quite grasp Italian.

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

OOC: Just so you know, they speak German in Austria. There is no such thing as Austrian language. Just like in America, you don’t speak American, you speak English. It’s same idea there. Perhaps you mean the Austrian dialect? Also, I had to god-mode just a bit so we can go to the mess tent for the coffee. Sorry.

When the doctor turned back to Strumfelder, the man posed an interesting question, obviously hoping he could ‘break the ice’ as it were. As the two began walking down the ward to the exit into the compound, the doctor felt obliged to answer the man’s question, “Ich spreche sechs Sprachen: Deutsch, Holländisch, Französisch, Englisch, Latein, Griechisch, und ich lesen altertümlich Griechisch. Es ist die Anforderung in die Niederlande.” Doktor Vlakte didn’t like to talk about how much more he knew than others; it almost seemed rude. So, he often didn’t speak of his education. He just went on about his work.

As the two walked out the door, Doktor Vlakte looked the man over; he wore a ruffled uniform, and his boots weren’t in the best of shape. He was obviously not a man for impressions. Doktor Vlakte didn’t mind his look, but he also didn’t want his men to look shabby. He decided he would make a comment to the new orderly when the man went on duty in about twenty minutes.

Translations:
“Ich spreche sechs Sprachen: Deutsch, Holländisch, Französisch, Englisch, Latein, Griechisch, und ich lesen altertümlich Griechisch. Es ist die Anforderung in die Niederlande.”
~ I speak six languages: German, Dutch, French, English, Latin, Greek, and I can read Ancient Greek.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: In my books, Austrian is a mix of the four languages spoken in Austria. There probably is a dialect, as you say. Personally, I am not sure. I leaving visiting Austria to my golden years! About the God –modding, I don’t mind if it means moving us from place to place. Otherwise we’d only be moving a few steps at a time and get no where.

Strumfelder struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. Six languages! He could barley make four, yet this looked as if he belonged in an embassy, or museum, not getting shot to pieces out here. German and Dutch were obvious, Latin he could see a use for being a doctor, but ancient Greek? Oh well, languages were never a hindrance, always an asset. But Erhard couldn’t stop feeling a little subdued.

The pair stepped out into the fading summer light, and made their way towards a tent which seemed to serve as a mini cafeteria. Erhard didn’t have a clue were he was going; as far as he was concerned, it was like follow the leader. He would simply have to learn his way around here at some point. He didn’t want to appear another new idiot who didn’t have a clue where he was headed. On the contrary, he wanted to make a good first impression, even if his uniform was against him.

“Sechs Sprachen? Sie müssen der Linguist durchaus sein. ” Erhard said, trying to
the conversation ball up in the air. There were certain do’s, and certain don’ts when it came to making an impression with your superior. Erhard knew the don’ts, but didn’t care much for the do’s. His superiors could like him or loathe him, he didn’t mind. He wasn’t into buttering them up. Just being himself. Of course, it was nice if they did like him; it saved numerous problems in the future, but on the whole life was life, and in Strumfelder’s opinion, being something you wasn’t was wasting your life.

Translations:

“Sechs Sprachen? Sie müssen der Linguist durchaus sein. ”
~Six languages? You must be quite the linguist.

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Doktor Strumfelder looked almost dumbfound when Doktor Vlakte listed his languages. Most people did this when they found Dieedrik’s linguistic ability. Doktor Strumfelder quickly transferred his thoughts to words and commented on the languages. Dieedrik smiled slightly, “Es ist nichts,” he said, hoping to keep modest as was his nature, “Ich ein Kind gesind in Amsterdam und ich ein holländisch Gymnasium besucht. Jedder holländisch ehrenmann sprechen sechs Sprachen, oder sie würde zu Universität gehen nicht. Einer Zufall von Geburt es lediglich gesind.” As he spoke, the two men reached the mess-tent door. Doktor Vlakte slipped in and headed directly to the aluminium coffee pot that stood at the end of the table.

Dieedrik lightly picked up one of the off-white ceramic mugs and began pouring himself a large cup of black coffee. Breathing in the air, he could smell the beautiful scent of the genuine coffee. He was lucky to be an officer, and a German for that matter. Otherwise, he would be stuck back in Utrecht, dealing with the occupying army he was now a part of. After getting his cup of coffee, Doktor Vlakte turned around to the rest of the tent. There were a few officers sitting at the tables, obviously off duty, as were a number of enlisted men.

The tent was well lit with portable electric lights, a large difference from the darkness the enveloped the camp outside. Doktor Vlakte loved the night time. It was a time of relative peace; it allowed him room to think after his hours in the hospital. He sipped his coffee, breathing out in a sort of sigh of relief as he looked up again and turned to his side to see Strumfelder. It was a long night, but he was glad to have the company of a new doctor. His life would certainly be easier with another pair of hands ready to work in the OR.

Translations:
“Es ist nichts,” -- “Ich ein Kind gesind in Amsterdam und ich ein holländisch Gymnasium besucht. Jedder holländisch ehrenmann sprechen sechs Sprachen, oder sie würde zu Universität gehen nicht. Einer Zufall von Geburt es lediglich gesind.”
~ It's nothing, I was a child in Amsterdam and I attended a Dutch grammar school. All dutch gentlemen speak six languages. Or, they wouldn't get into university. It was simply an accident of birth.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Erhard smiled at the doctor’s modesty. It told a lot a man’s character if he would comfortably forgo praise. The tent was deceiving, appearing smaller on the outside than on the inside. Most of the men around looked like they had come from the hospital. Several sported bandages, one even a sling. Some had a thick layer of stubble over their chins, betraying they were waiting on a patient or news. Vlakte poured himself some of the real coffee, then sat down and relaxed. Strumfelder followed and did the same. The usual brown acorn liquid was repulsive, and with no sugar or milk, the taste couldn’t be dulled. It filled a deep hole and kept one awake just as much as normal coffee, but Erhard hadn't seen real coffe in ages. JUst the taste was luxuary.

As Erhard pored from the large jug, he could over hear two officers talking. Upon closer inspection, one was asking how he should pop the question, and the other giving limited advice. Erhard gave a smile. He remembered he’d done it. That was an odd event. Before fore the war, a decade ago when he was just twenty five, he’d taken his girl friend to Paris over the Valentines week. One night he forked out an arm and a leg, and taken her to the George Cinq. Erhard had asked the waiter for Champaign, and to place the ring her glass. But she didn’t notice it, until t was half way down her throat. Erhard quickly had to do abdominal thrusts to dislodge it. The ring flew up into the air, and landed perfectly in the remaining alcohol in her glass. She excepted, just for the excitement. They were wed on 29th June 1934, and already had one on the way.

The medic sat himself down opposite the Doctor and smiled. “Unfall? Viele Leute wurden ein Unfall sind ein unpleasable Ereignis. Ich denke, sechs Sprachen, kein Unfall dass erlernend ist!”



Translations:

“Unfall? Viele Leute wurden ein Unfall sind ein unpleasable Ereignis. Ich denke, sechs Sprachen, kein Unfall dass erlernend ist!”
~ Accident? Many people would an accident is an unpleasable event. I think learning six languages is no accident!

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

OOC: Actually, the coffee is real. You’ll notice in my previous post, that I’m drinking ‘genuine’ coffee, not the acorn stuff.

As Doktor Vlakte sat down at one of the long tables in the mess tent, Strumfelder came and sat across from him. The new man looked as if he was more at home already. He was certainly sociable, a good attribute for a doctor. Doctors had to have a certain sense of kindness about them, a welcome change for wounded SS men who usually had their brains yelled out of their skull. The doctor looked down at his mug and listened to the conversation going on next to him. Turning to the two officers nearby, he spoke in an almost mocking tone, “Oberleutnant, Sie sprechen zu der unrecht Mann. Leutnant Heilstim gehabt drei Ehefrauen. Er ist auf seine vierte Ehefrau jetzt.” Doktor Vlakte smiled as he turned back to Strumfelder, hearing the two men laugh behind him.

Strumfelder posed a question of Dieedrik’s so called – accident-of-birth. Doktor Vlakte considered himself to be a philosophical man; he almost had to be since he had seen so much death. Using his philosophical theory he answered Strumfelder in his usual kind tone, “Herr Strumfelder, die Welt ist ein angeordnet Ort. Mein Vater gesind ein Holländisch Geschäftsmann, und meine Mutter gesind eine deutsche Aristokrat. Es gesind bloß Wahrscheinlichkeit daß ich hause in Amsterdam und gelernt die Sprachen. Es ist daselbe für jeder.” The doctor looked around the tent after he spoke. He finished his coffee in one fell gulp and set the white ceramic mug down on the table with little force. He heard the sound of an ambulance coming into the camp compound. Someone else was coming to get patched up. Doctor Vlakte hoped to see Strumfelder in action.

Translations:
“Oberleutnant, Sie sprechen zu der unrecht Mann. Leutnant Heilstim gehabt drei Ehefrauen. Er ist auf seine vierte Ehefrau jetzt.”
~First Lieutenant, you’re speaking to the wrong man. Lieutenant Heilstim has had three wives. He’s on his fourth one, now.

“Herr Strumfelder, die Welt ist ein angeordnet Ort. Mein Vater gesind ein Holländisch Geschäftsmann, und meine Mutter gesind eine deutsche Aristokrat. Es gesind bloß Wahrscheinlichkeit daß ich hause in Amsterdam und gelernt die Sprachen. Es ist daselbe für jeder.”
~Herr Strumfelder, the world is an ordered place. My father was a Dutch businessman, and my mother was a German aristocrat. It was simply by chance that I lived in Amsterdam and learnt the languages. It’s the same for everyone.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: My attention to detail has disappeared. I’ll edit it. Thanks for pointing it out.

Erhard looked at the man in front of him, listening to the answer. He seemed, tired. Tired of life with its constant repletion. Being a Doctor can have a large metal strain attached to it, more so being a combat medic. You see far more dying men, who will never again view their loved one’s eyes, on the battlefield than in a small village clinic. Over a long period of time, it can have a profound effect on oneself. Warfare must truly be mankind’s worst creation, Erhard thought. Maybe he could try and cheer than man up if his shift would ever end. Go down to the local pub, and let the Doc drink some of his fears away.

The man finished his drink in seconds, something Erhard could never manage. Most of the time he just drunk coffee for its effects, not taste. That would always make it taste that little worse, and make him gag slightly. But this was real stuff. The type Erhard hadn’t seen in months, let alone drink. Seeing Vlakte just slug it down casually annoyed Erhard; this man was used to it. He hoped he hadn’t stumbled upon one of those stuck officers. They were near impossible to please.

Erhard turned and peered out of the tent as a truck pulled up. More ill people needing medical assistance. But they could wait for a while. He needed this coffee. “Schicksal ist eine eigenartige Sache. Aber es ist, was Gebrauch anordnet, lässt so die Hoffnung, die innen eine gute Stimmung heute Abend seine ist.” He smiled. Erhard had tried thinking philosophically many times before, but each time he did it scared and worried him. He just found it easier to take each day as it came. Nature could have its way with him.

“So wie lang haben Sie hier und im medizinischen Beruf gearbeitet? Sie scheinen eher, wenn Sie don' experianced; t kümmern sich um mich Sprechen.”


Translations:

“Schicksal ist eine eigenartige Sache. Aber es ist, was Gebrauch anordnet, lässt so die Hoffnung, die innen eine gute Stimmung heute Abend seine ist.”
~ Destiny is a queer thing. But it is what rules use, so let’s hope it’s in a good mood tonight.

“So wie lang haben Sie hier und im medizinischen Beruf gearbeitet? Sie scheinen eher, wenn Sie don' experianced; t kümmern sich um mich Sprechen.”
~ So how long have you been working here, and in the medical profession? You seem rather experienced, if you don't mind me saying.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Very well written thread, the following CP has been issued;

Erhard Strumfelder: 17CP
~ Very well written.

Doctor Vlakte: 17CP
~ Again, very well written.

~Danny[/color]