The very first prerequisite to being a surgeon was, in quite the clichéd fashion, confidence.
Well, confidence and trust, really. In God's graces. In yourself. Knowledge and experience were but a part of it; in the same way that the complex machine of your flesh and sinew and muscle is held up by a single string of bone, all the learning in the world couldn't hold itself together without the basic concrete of self-assurance.
The day your scalpel trembles as it approaches your patient is the day you stepped down and handed it to another.
Sometimes, though, when the night is long and weary and the suffering of his latest patient haunts him during the dark hours, he wonders if perhaps it isn't indifference instead. A cold detachedness that allows for efficiency in movement, despite the whisper in your head that breathes malicious words like it's useless, you're prolonging his misery, he welcomes death-
He is not a drinker by nature, but on those nights, a half-empty bottle of brandy is often in evidence on his table the morning after.
He wonders if one day, maybe, he'll set his scalpel down.
One day, maybe.
He wonders whether it will be with relief, or regret.
Authoress : I shall very likely regret posting this without letting it ferment the usual one week in my harddrive, but ah well. I don't really know where I pulled this from. It was -supposed- to lead up to something about Kiriko and stuffies, but it just wouldn't go that way. /huffs/ So we have a pointless little ficlet. Maybe I'll try the Kiriko fic again...
Disclaimer : Black Jack and all its characters/sequels/spinoffs are not mine.
PS : Reviews are -much- loved. Please? -wags tail-