Noel Holmes Hospital sits almost on the edge of a cliff. Strong sea winds whip around tree branches, hairstyles, the odd piece of gravel. As you approach the edge the gust steals your voice, dulls your hearing.
The hospital is a little thing, boutique in size if not style. There is nothing cute or trendy about it. Type C is the first hospital grade, a step up from the Type 5 health centre. There is a general ward, a maternity ward and a space for overnight observation. Staff is limited and patients are relatively few; cases are simple. The days are short, the workers friendly. Time passes in the island way.
Historically, Fort Charlotte (where the building rests) defended Hanover from seafaring enemies. This bastion now turns inward, defends against a sinister more pervasive threat. Primary caregivers work hard to prevent the spread of illness, and control chronic disease.
Our success or failure depends on the whim of patients and the dictates of a disinterested administration. Noel Holmes is a boat adrift, but does the tide drag it toward or away from the safer shore?