The World Is An Imperfect Place The funny thing about this place is that no matter how happy things seem, there's always something going wrong. Someone may be signing their discharge papers just as someone else is signing in. Someone is resigning themselves to death just as someone else is being told that they are going to live. The cancer's gone, the cancer's back, he's waking up, he's never going to wake up... It's just the way life goes in a hospital.
-Jordi-
It's not just the drugs that reply on equilibrium to work; the hospital runs entirely on the balance between bad and good, between life and death, between happy and sad. Things have a tendency to run in the direction of entropy too; hospitals seem to thrive on disorder. It just so happens that today, order isn't even a tangible concept.
The paediatric ward is filled with a quiet lull which seems to diffuse through entire corridor. 'The Swamp' doesn't erupt with merging voices; only Jordi's voice-nonchalant and futile- seems to emerge through Leo's silence. Down the hall there's some new kid screaming, muffled through the glass of his barren room. Parents are whimpering in the waiting room, their bubbled tears hidden in attempts to suppress them. Even the nurse's station is plagued by the chaotic sense of quiet; Kenji is surrounded with paperwork and works diligently and Nurse Jackson doesn't say a word.
Dr McAndrew appears at the end of the hall, his usual confident gait reduced to a more reserved saunter. He looks dishevelled; his hair astray, his beard unshaven, dark circles finding their way to the skin beneath his eyes. Nurse Jackson looks up, taking a deep breath and not being at all surprised by the fading stench of a hangover and his lack of deodorant.
"Late night?" she flashes a little smirk.
"We only went out for a few drinks," his face softens into a smile.
"Adam here is just a lightweight," Kenji looks up momentarily from his stack of paperwork. "Boy can't hold his liquour. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to get puked on by the lovely little 12 year old in 12A; wish me luck."
"Good luck."
"Is everything in order for Jordi's surgery?" Nurse Jackson meets Dr McAndrew's eyes.
"Tomorrow," he exhales a sigh. "We're short on staff today; I'm needed. I wish we'd managed to get it done last week."
"Stupid power cut. It messed up everything. Good thing your head is in the right place huh? Long day ahead of us."
He turns on his heel and smiles back at her before continuing his way down the murky hall to do his rounds, forcing courteous smiles at everyone he passes by. The hospital is nothing more than a blur today; a mottled mix of colour swirling and blending and constantly reminding him that perhaps he had a bit too much to drink last night. If only he'd been sensible then he wouldn't feel so tired this morning and things wouldn't be so awkward.
Things are unbelievably awkward this morning. He performs another surreptitious glance down the hall, breathing a sigh of relief when he realises Nurse Brittany isn't around. He can't face that level of awkward just yet.
"Dr McAndrew," Jordi appears by the door to his room just as he's about to stop and enter. "When should I start getting ready for surgery?"
"There's been a change of plan," he sighs, pulling a chair over to sit in the space between the two beds in the room as Jordi perches on the edge of his bed. "Surgery's tomorrow."
"But I thought-"
"There's a slot in theatre but I'm not going to be able to operate today."
Jordi exhales in disappointment, breathing out the frustration that keeps piling up inside of him. The surgery had already been put on hold; he was all set to go, about to undergo anaesthesia and then everything went dark; a power cut had severed his chances of getting this over and done with. He wants these tumours out of his body already; he can feel their poison digging deeper and deeper into his bones, each movement feeling like he's triggering its growth. He can't wait any longer. What if waiting is the difference between life and death? What if waiting gives him the chance to change his mind.
"Jordi I know you're disappointed..." Dr McAndrew begins. "But today's a busy day. Coming in to talk to you and Leo is basically counting as my break; I'm running myself to the ground today. We've got loads of new admissions, some of them are critical care... Dr Park is off sick. I wish we could just get it over and done with and trust me, if I could I would. It's just not an option today Jordi."
"But it was scheduled. It was scheduled for last week and it didn't happen and now you're delaying it even further?"
"Life doesn't run on a schedule. It's all been sorted for tomorrow. We can't get anyone in to cover for Dr Park today but there'll be someone tomorrow. You'll be my priority."
"I'm..." Jordi pulls himself up from his bed and limps towards the door. "I'm going to go eat. Leo, you want anything?"
"No thanks," is the mumbled reply.
Dr McAndrew shifts his chair to face Leo. The boy gives a feeble upturn of his lips before he makes the effort to sit up, curling his hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he does so. He hasn't been doing too well recently; he hasn't taken the news very well at all. In a week he'll be starting chemotherapy again, along with some other trial drug that they're hoping will target the tumours in his lungs. He's not sure which one he's scared of most; the side-effects are just as bad with both.
"Are you not going to get something to eat?" Dr McAndrew tries his best to sound cheerful; negativity is not what Leo needs right now.
"Not hungry," he shrugs.
"Leo. I'm not having this. I know... I know you're not happy but you need to eat; you need your strength for chemo next week."
"I don't feel well."
"Yeah I don't believe that," Dr McAndrew softens his expression. "You're going to have to get used to eating regardless of how you feel starting next week, you know."
"Why should I care? I'm going to die regardless. All of this bullshit right now is pointless. All it changes is that I'm going to feel like shit for my last few months on earth."
"Stop it Leo, I mean it. We'll get you through this."
"You can't save everyone, McAndrew," Leo spreads his lips into a smirk, but the expression doesn't at all resemble a smile. "You can't save me."
"I can sure as hell try," he rises from his chair. "Now go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat or else I'll get Nurse Jackson on your back."
"Okay, okay," he sighs, fumbling for his wheelchair.
Dr McAndrew reaches for the wheelchair before Leo can even make an attempt to grab for it, swirling it around so all Leo has to do is lift himself into it. He waits until the teenager is out of the door to follow suit, diving into his exhausting day of difficult new patients and staffing issues. Today is going to be a very long day.
Leo hasn't left his room for much since he was first told about the new tumours. In the first day or so, Brittany would take his lunch to him on a tray with the knowledge that he wouldn't touch it. He complied after then for the most part but on days like today, complying just isn't in his capacity. He doesn't want to have to entertain any of this; he just wants to be sad. Or not so much that he wants to be sad; he just doesn't want any pressure to be happy. To be okay.
He's not fucking okay.
"Look what the cat dragged in," Dash flashes a wide grin, skateboarding over to roll by Leo's side as they make their way over to the serving queue.
Dash flicks up his skateboard with his food, catching it with his hand. He grabs a tray and within seconds, it's filled with food.
"The only thing that even resembles a perk with CF is how much food I can eat, man," he smiles again, almost as if to try and force a smile from Leo. "I love food."
"Hm," Leo's own tray of pasta looks miniscule in comparison.
"So your chemo starts next week."
"Yeah," he exhales the word in one long slow breath.
They find their way back to the table where Jordi resides, his head held within his hands. He sighs as if just to make a point.
"What's with McAndrew today?" he looks up.
"I don't know," Dash shrugs sarcastically. "Maybe it's the plethora of newbies and critical care patients and staff playing hooky."
"And the hangover," Leo's smirk is all that he can manage. "You could smell it a mile off."
"Their work night out has interfered with my surgery."
"One day isn't going to do anything so stop complaining."
"Coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Leo's face turns in an instant.
"I thought you were over all this 'poor me' crap," Jordi tries his best to seem calm. "Look, I get that things aren't going your way but you need to stop this. You need to try."
"Dude," Dash leans forward to address both boys. "Let the boy wallow in his self pity. He's preparing for his month of hell."
"Whatever," Leo pulls his tray onto his lap. "I'm eating in my room."
He rolls out of the cafeteria, breathing heavily through his nose to try and stem his frustration. He's grown far too accustomed to these hospital walls. Out there in the real world is the fuss over SAT scores and college options and job applications; in here that is all on hold. And for him, none of that even matters. Life will have loosened its grip on his shoulders by the time it does. He'll be dead or he won't be far from it or he'll be half of himself; a ravaged shadow of a body that's been cut open, plucked at, sewn back together again. He can feels his seams ripping apart with every exertion of energy it takes to propel the wheelchair forward.
"Leo?" Emma's voice pulls him from his own mind as she appears at her room door.
"H-hey?" he manages a smile. "Mind if I eat in here?"
"Yeah," she reciprocates the gesture. "Yeah, sure."
Her own lunch is on the bed in front of her and much to Leo's disbelief, she makes her way through it albeit slowly. Each mouthful of food is brought to her mouth with trepid shaking hands, but she's eating. Leo slows down his own eating to allow her to keep up with him. They play this game in silence apart from the clink of cutlery, the crunch of food, the sound of swallowing.
"How are you?" Leo tugs at his t-shirt, feeling like he's in a job interview with how awkward it is.
"Okay," she smiles through a tiny mouthful of food. "Although considering you're the one who hasn't left his room for a week, I should probably be asking you that."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, and I could totally go a massive chocolate cake right now. You're allowed to not be okay, Leo."
"Not according to Dr McAndrew. Not according to Jordi."
"Dr McAndrew's just worried about you. What did Jordi say?"
"He's just pissed because Dr McHangover is delaying his surgery until tomorrow."
"He's just scared himself. He needs you to keep him positive about it."
"I guess it's just..." he shrugs as he finishes his last piece of pasta. "Everyone wants me to be okay but it's not... It's not for me. People want me to be okay for them. So I can make them feel better; it's not that when I'm the one who needs help."
"You don't have to be okay," she extends her hand slowly; he takes it with delicacy. "You're sick, Leo. You're allowed to be sick."
"B-but I'm not sick right now though am I? I feel fine, it's not as if there's chemo churning through my body-"
"I mean... I mean you're depressed or whatever. And you every right to be with all the stuff being thrown at you."
"I'm stronger than this-"
"There's still a limit to the burden you can hold though, Leo. You can't save everyone."
"I can't even save yourself."
"You haven't tried."