2. Le patient
829 Words
***Dr. Monteil***
It was June 18, the crowd growing larger by the minute, everyone moving in the same direction. The hallways were as the same as every day, patients coming in and out, nurses, doctors, and every medical equipment known by many. Nowhere is the chronic underfunding more evident than these halls.
My office, across the hallway and a few steps away from the operating room, didn't work out much better than I imagined. Painful, I got accustomed to it. The aids knocking on doors for assistance, the sound of loud footsteps, the band of emotions resonating through the thin walls of the four cornered room.
The antique clock is the only thing that kept me sane, antiquated and regal, wondered how the management was able to procure such antiquity.
I can hear the clock when all else is still. It's the only kind of tick and tack that relaxes this heart. Tick, sounded the dial, tack, the minute went 8:30 in the evening. Twas time for my lunch, had I not looked at the time I would've drowned myself with all of the paperwork.
I grabbed my keys and head straight outside.
"Good morning, Doc, time for your lunch?"
A nurse greeted as I head out of my office.
I nodded, muttered a soft 'yeah' and smiled. I looked around for a moment to see what was happening around the hospital. The vibes were the same as I started my shift. I shrugged and thought that it will tone down when half of my shift will be over.
The nurse smiled and went on her way. Just as I was about to head over to the parking lot, I glanced over at the operation room. A young man, in his mid 20s, well dressed, was sitting there, crying.
I walked closer to get a better look. Something rang behind the back of my mind. A feeling, that I knew who he was.
It hit me. June 18th.
Avery. I knew both of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Auclair. His father died three months ago. Poor child, his mother was inside I presume.
They were the best parents that I ever saw, always dressing the emotional needs of their child before speaking about the situation with logic. They were reliable, expanding their perspective to the needs and views of others, they nurtured their son well.
I can't help myself but feel guilty. They requested to never tell anyone, even for their child. I had been their doctor for the long-run and already got close to the both of them.
They say sadness is behind anger; yet anger never comes unless in direct self-defense. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I can't guarantee that Mrs. Auclair will ever come back.
I clenched my fist, forcing myself to leave. Despite my scheduled lunch break, I decided to return to my office instead, continuing my unfinished work. I felt sorry for Avery, but I had to keep my mouth shut and let him know for himself.
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Last rounds of patients and reports, my shift was almost over. The hospital went slow right after twelve in the morning. The clock ticked three; it was quiet outside.
I tidied up my desk and readied myself to head out. Parched, I went out to grab something to drink.
Good thing that a vending machine was just across my office. I could return for my stuff after getting a drink. I went straight to the vending machine and got myself a bottle of cold water.
Grabbing the bottle, I glanced over the operating room and saw Avery. I see those heavy eyes, gravity-drawn shoulders - a heavy feeling - as if neither of any help would do any good for him.
He was there, waiting for hours. Did he eat?
I asked the receptionists if he ate something while he was waiting. They politely shook their heads and continued on what they were doing.
I felt sorry for him. I walked towards him and saw that he was dozing off. Water droplets depositing out of my water bottle, I tapped his clenched hands. The cold vapor slightly woke him up as he slowly opened his eyes. His skin pale - even his lips as if he'd been painted with white wash.
"Here, at least drink before you decide to starve yourself to death."
I spoke and gave a light smile as he slowly grabbed the bottle.
He muttered, "thank you," and placed the bottle on his lap.
"I'll get going then."
I replied and turned to head back to my office.
A few steps away from my office, I glanced back towards Avery to check if he drank the bottle.
He didn't.
I ran towards him, immediately grabbing his arms as he tumbled, lowering him to the ground gently, barely breathing at all; he was out cold.
Glancing over my shoulder, I shouted.
"We need to get him a room!"
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- Writer
