It's been a busy day at the hospital, and the fact that I'm still in recovery after another round of radiation isn't helping anything. I've had two patients crash, and one of them didn't pull through. That's the thing about hospitals, some people come in just to die. It's sad, but it's the truth.
"Bambi, stay on top of things," Carla scolded me, handing me a few more charts. I guess I had zoned out a little. Apparently cancer can do that to a guy. "Whatever problems you're having at home, lave them there. When you come into the hospital, have a clear head. You're a good doctor Bambi, stay that way."
I watched Carla walk off and had to bite my lip to keep in a bray of laughter. See, the quietness, the feebleness, the nervousness, the missing of days- all those things were caused by my C word. But Carla, Turk, hell, even Dr. Cox all were under the impression that my abnormal attitude was caused by a new relationship with some sort of mystery girl.
It's funny how wrong they are.
(xxx)
"Time of death, 9:43 pm," I announce, feeling pretty down. It was my third death that day, and my head was pounding and dizzy. Thankfully my shift ended in less than twenty minutes.
I'm on my way to the bathroom to- hopefully- puke when Dr. Cox stops me with that officious little whistle of his. Not now, not now. If I don't make it to the bathroom, my lunch is going all over the hallway floor. That'll make Janitor love me.
"Listen up here Carol," he starts, fully prepared to knock me down a peg with another one of his infamous rants. "You had three patients die under your watch today, way to go. I don't know what's going on in your tiny little brain right now, and normally I wouldn't care, but when you come in here and kill off three people I do care."
Ugh, I am so not feeling up for this. I close my eyes and try to block out the sound of his rant, but it's hard. That's the trouble with radiation- the after effects. My whole body is aching all over, and I'm pretty sure that if I open my eyes I'll hurl all over Perry's shoes. This sucks, cancer sucks.
"...not to mention you've missed so much work recently, it's hard to believe you still even work here."
"Perry," I finally manage to squeak out, opening my eyes and trying to steady out the world. "I have to go now." I brush past him, at this point not even caring that he's following me right on my ass. I burst into the bathroom and start vomiting into the nearest toilet. I can feel Per standing behind me, watching me, hopefully concerned. I try to focus on that, but it's a little hard when burning hot vile is shooting out of your throat.
Finally I finish and collapse weakly next to the toilet. I probably look like I'm dead right now.
"You okay there, Newbie?" Dr. Cox finally asks me, his voice void of any emotion. Typical Perry, hiding the fact that he cares about me. I offer a weak smile.
"I'm fine." It's weird how that's rapidly become the biggest lie I'm ever told. Everyday I tell it. Where was I yesterday, was I sick? Nope, fine. Bambi, you look a little peaky, is everything alright? I'm fine. It's easy to tell, too. I use to suck at lying. But apparently having cancer makes you a better liar.
"You don't look fine," to my surprise he's feeling my forehead, which apparently he decides is too warm because he tells me to go home, get some rest, and perform better tomorrow or it'll be his foot up my ass.
