Chapter 1

                                                  Journal Of Seraphina Doran
                                       
                                                                                                  Friday July 6th 1888



The light dimmed gold to grey and my heart knew an uneasy peace. I am at last a real physician,
although as yet inexperienced. As a female I am not the most desirable prospect, viewed at worst
 as second rate or at best as a curiosity. Today at the recommendation of my celebrated father's
{ Dr. Joseph Patrick Doran} esteemed colleague, Dr. Henry Saunders,
 I had entrusted to my care a most unusual invalid.
 One Thomas David Griffiths, himself a physician, now confined to his bed by a rare and terrifying
malady. A very 'long' fellow as my father would say, at least 6'2 and emaciated. His etiolated
body presents very little by way of healthy flesh. What remains presents signs of atrophy.
 He wore a serene, listless expression upon his waxen, pallid face. His cadaverous countenance
was enlivened by penetrating, blue eyes, which looked even more outstanding, as the inner membranes were clearly inflamed and encircled by deep black rings. His head was crowned by a thatching of over-long limp blonde hair. Throughout the course of our conversation he used his tapered white hands to punctuate his erudite speech. As elegant as some of these dramatic flourishes were, I was transfixed by the lattice work of swollen, blue veins which protruded from their backs. He spoke of his travels in Europe, of his time in the Low Countries and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Of how he had been studying in Amsterdam when he became ill for a second time. He has a wonderful, melodious Welsh accent which transforms speech into song.
 So he began: " You see Miss Seraphina, I went out to Holland with the intention of discovering the root of my discomfort. In the hope of eliminating most, if not all of my symptoms.
 I am as you find me, as a consequence of undiscriminating heredity."
 At which point he gave a hollow throaty laugh, which soon turned into a full blown
coughing fit. Doubtless attributable to irritation of the mucous membranes. When sufficiently
recovered he continued: My illness is cruel and progressively debilitating. It is characterised
by periods of activity and remission, I am at present in the latter stages of an attack. I insist upon
the curtains being drawn at all times, on no account do I wish to be exposed to natural
daylight. All I require is an oil lamp to read by. This because the sun causes my skin to blister
and scar. During the more violent phases you can expect to see me writhing in agony, owing
to extreme abdominal discomfort. My guts tend to bloat and harden, at first my bowels are
congested, which gives way to bloody diarrhoea. My pulse becomes very rapid and causes my
blood pressure to rise. During these phases the urine in my chamber pot turns purplish on
exposure to sunlight."
  After he had finished delivering a truly horrifying litany of symptoms, he turned, looked
me straight in the eye and addressed a very direct question to me.
 " Miss Seraphina, what I have told you so far is only one half of the story. I have, thus far only
presented to you the physical manifestations of my disorder. Far more distressing to me than
any malfunctioning of the body, are the mental, in modern parlance, psychological disturbances
concomitant with my condition. I am subject to disturbances of perception and occasional
hallucinations.I am also prone to bouts of somnambulism and night terrors. While it is very distressing for me, it may be a traumatic experience for any doctor attending me. I have
been entirely candid as to the pathology of my condition, now you are possessed of all the facts
do you still wish to attend me?"
I answered an unhesitating yes. With which he was satisfied. I was eager to hear more about
the initial onset of the disease, as well as his travels on the continent. I asked him about his first
ever episode, he seemed momentarily upset, before collecting himself, I assured him it would
 keep for another time, but he insisted he was alright to continue.
  " I refer to this disease as 'the family curse'. Having administered treatment to my own
father I understand all too well the progress of the disease. Several male antecedents in my
Paternal line have fallen prey to curse, many more succumbed than escaped it.
  Shortly after completing my studies and starting up in general practice, I nursed my father
through the final stages of the disease. Not long after he died, I began accruing all the information
I could on the subject of this horrible affliction. The trail led me to Berlin and the work of
Felix Hoppe-Seyler, whom I understand identified the biological agents of the malady
'hematoporphyrins in 1871. I visited in 1873 at the age of 30, and listened intently to his
lectures on blood and its properties. Later I studied under Schultz and in 1874 I heard him
give a name to my condition 'Porphyria'. From the Greek meaning 'purple pigment', a rather
pretty name for such an awful disease. I spent the last  14 years travelling on the continent,
to Prague, Vienna and latterly to Amsterdam. Where I was engaged in studying the latest
findings of Barend Joseph Stokvis, a Dutch professor of physiology and pharmacology
who noticed a correlation between violent reactions in certain patients to a new hypnotic drug
called Sulfonal {Sulfonmethane} and changes in body chemistry. He described the drug
as being 'porphyrogenic'. I was abroad when I was seized once again by the
porphyry sphinx, just as I was about to solve her riddle.
  When I was well enough I sailed home. When I say 'home' I refer to Great Britain. I have been
staying here at the house of Dr.Saunders for the past fortnight."
  I was perplexed, as to how he'd managed to continue his travels and conduct his research,
all the while at the mercy of this terrible disease. He continued:
  "when I was 28, just after my father died and before I began my quest, I had a day of respite.
It was a hot glorious day, the sort I adored as a child, though Da never accompanied us.
He Inhabited the same tenebrous, twilight world I myself am doomed to wander. I had decided
to work in the garden of my family home just outside St.Asaph in Denbighshire. I rather naively
assumed having reached my late 20's without experiencing an attack, that I was unlikely to
develop the disease. Da's episodes had begun in his early teens and the disease had made similar
progress in the case of most of my other relatives. I digress. I loved the bright shades of the
coleus plants {flame nettles} with their vivid two tone leaves. Also the succulent ornamental
brassicas, the gorgeous cousin of the humble table cabbage, which can compete with any rose
for sheer aesthetic charm. I spent an entire afternoon grafting in the baking heat. At around
3 o'clock I decided to have a break and drink a bottle of beer I'd been cooling in the stream
which ran through the bottom of the garden. Almost as soon as I'd drained the bottle, I
began to feel queasy. I assured myself it was probably heatstroke. I had after all been without
my hat for half of the afternoon. I promptly retired to bed and thought as little of it as possible.
what ensued was a full blown attack which lasted six weeks. The first fortnight was very intense,
followed by four weeks of intermittent, abating symptoms.
  During the first phase of the illness, I became delirious and fancied I saw my late father at the
foot of my bed. He looked stern and told me to beware, that I was in grave moral and physical
danger. That I was to resist the purple devil's promptings and be patient in my illness.
I was of course completely insane at this juncture. My Mother and Aunt had to nurse me
through my convalescence. When I was well enough I wrote to Dr.Saunders who came at
once and examined me. He confirmed my worst imaginings.
   When I was sufficiently recovered, I resolved to follow a few simple rules for a sane existence.
1. Travel by night and attend only evening lectures.
2. Eat only simple foods and avoid alcohol as my digestion is very delicate.
3. Do not over work.
I was as a consequence, forced to give up my practice and earn a living by providing private
medical care. Often, to some of the more unsavoury elements in society.  When I had sufficient funds I decided to travel, as extensively as I could on a quest for life.
  While it is true, the purple devil and I have had several subsequent bouts, they were neither as
severe or as long lasting as the initial episode. Nor have they been as frequent as I feared.
I have been lucky thus far, though I know what awaits me and how my health will only
deteriorate in the years to come. If indeed, I have years.
   So, there you have it, Miss Seraphina, the pitiful case history of a porphyriac doctor!"
I didn't wish to press him any further, as he was now deeply distressed. I proceeded to offer
him an injection of morphia, which he gladly accepted. I left him quietly reposing, beneath an
enormous cream eiderdown. He looked as if he were drowning in a bath of milk. It is now half
past two in the morning and I am very tired.

                                                          S. Doran