A full week had passed since Yazmin's intake.
A full week with no signs of progress.
Every day, during lunch time, I'd find myself sitting by her bed in a stool, staring at her silently, expecting her to wake up out of the blue and spring back to life. The sedation had been suspended two days ago, but she remained unconscious, not responding to any stimulation; comatose, in other words.
If the patient's mental condition held me in anguish, though, her physical recovery was one hell of a silver lining. All bandages had been removed and replaced by gauze dressings, and the smaller superficial wounds healed at a surprising rate, before the fur could start properly growing back to cover the scars. Infection hadn't set in, thanks to the prophylactic antibiotics, but the mechanical ventilation had opened a window to potentially lethal respiratory infection.
Emotional involvement is a professional's ruin. Though I tried my best at fighting off my delusion, I still found myself dangerously attached to that damned Zoroark. Mark would eventually drag me back to work with a condescending pat to the back. "It's no use, man. She'll eventually come back around", he always said, falling into an awkward silence afterwards, until I gave in and followed him out of the room. The few times I lifted my gaze up to him, I could see worry in his eyes.
Not only my workmates, but my neighbors also noticed something was going terribly wrong with me, despite the little contact I had with them. Their usual positively indifferent stance was replaced by a respectful, almost funeral-esque demeanor. And, every day, the neighborhood and my house grew smaller and smaller, tightening around me.
Back at the hospital the morning after, I found myself in a rather peaceful shift. Even though the ER was rather troublesome to handle on Saturdays, due to all those trainers battling with their Pokémon in their free time, Lilycove's infamous weather decided to do us all at the hospital a favor and keep 'em all (Mark included, as he was taking the weekend off) indoors for the day.
It was already halfway through the day, most employees were checking out for lunch time, but I wouldn't leave my seat at the staff room. I had been all morning long sitting in that insufferably tidy room, gazing through the window at the stormy sky, breathing the hospital's cold, sterile air. I could hear people coming in and out of the room. I could feel them staring at me and pondering the idea of yet again asking "What's wrong?", "Something you want to talk about?", or other such comforting expressions.
Not much later, Ms. Snow busts through the door, snapping me away from my thoughts.
"You! Downstairs! NOW!" She said, before turning on her heels and running back down the hall. I promptly oblige, rushing down to the Emergency Room's addmitance section. By her tone, we had a serious problem on our hands.
Rushing inside through the double doors marked with a large red sign, I see a Zangoose on a stretcher, with a young girl by its side, holding its hand.
"What happened?" I ask, before she notices my presence, walking to the side of the stretcher opposite to hers.
"H-H-He took a M-Mach Punch to his s-side and now he c-can't breathe!" She whimpered, looking up at me with watery eyes, shivering with terror.
"Some people are just itching for a battle", I thought to myself, equipping my stethoscope.
Upon a brief inspection, I notice the Pokémon's sharp, short breath, and its painful expression. Listening in through the stethoscope, the diagnosis made itself clear. The right lung, the side the patient received the trauma, was completely silent under my instrument, as if there was no air flowing in and out.
"Pneumothorax. You know the drill, nurse." I say, walking away from the Pokémon to grab the necessary tools, while she approaches it in an effort to shave off as much fur as possible from his side in the smallest time frame possible. "Now this is gonna hurt a little…" I continue, walking back to the stretcher and positioning the patient's right arm behind its head. The Zangoose turns its gaze to me, opening its eyes wide at the needle I was about to stab him his armpit with.
Mere seconds later, it was all over. The Pokémon howled, more from the shock than from the pain, causing desperate tears to fall from its trainer's eyes, as Ms. Snow tried her best to soothe them both. Shortly after, I attach a valve device to the needle's rear end, and the patient's breathing slowly returns to a regular rate and amplitude.
"Will… Will he be okay?" The young girl asks.
"Yes, but only for now. We'll have to put him under surgery and take a closer look. You see… Air was escaping into his chest from his right lung, compressing it against itself, but he's out of any serious danger for now." I finish with a smile.
She wipes her tears and giggles back at me nervously. "T-Thanks, Doctor…"
Just as I am ready to excuse myself and leave to make arrangements for the surgery, the trainer calls me. "Um… C-Can I ask you something?"
"Um… Yes?"
"Do you… raise any Pokémon?"
"I…" And Yazmin comes back to my mind. "…Don't."
She nods, looking down, letting more tears fall from her eyes, leaning into the stretcher to pull her partner into a hug. "I'll never forget what you did for mine."
"It's… Okay." I reply, storming out of the room and up the stairs, to the nearest lavatory, as fast as I could, without looking back. I couldn't let anyone see me cry.