In January 1945 Anna stood beside Professor Scherer and a circle of doctors. Stan didn’t like the expression on her face one bit. This morning she’d come to change his bandages, and the stench of rotting flesh combined with the dark green pus seeping from the wound had put a frown on her otherwise beautiful face. This woman simply couldn’t hide her emotions.
“Herr Zdanek,” one of the doctors said with a grave voice, “your leg is gangrenous.”
Gangrenous? Surely there was something they could do about it.
Gangrenous“We have run out of treatments to try. And at this point there’s nothing else we can do. The miraculous d**g penicillin might have helped, but despite all our efforts we haven’t been able to secure a supply.”
Stan wondered at the truth of the words or whether they wouldn’t bot
