Ok, so you don't know who's point of view this is in . . . but I do!!
Chapter 26: August. 31, 2000, 5:30PM, Hospital Room
His eyes are closed as I enter the hospital room.
"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.
His eyes open and his expression changes from confusion, to anger . . . to surrender.
"I'm sorry," I repeat.
He looks like he can't think of what to say. He opens his mouth but stops. I want to run out of the room, crying. This could have all been avoided, but because of me this wonderful doctor had to go through all this pain. My thoughts are silenced as he speaks.
"Why," his voice cracks as he tried to make out the words, "Why are you here?" I can tell he's on the verge of crying. I wish we could just hug and cry together and that everything would go back to normal. But unfortunately life doesn't work like that . . . at least not our lives.
I finally respond to his question, "Just to tell you what I've already said. I didn't think this would happen. I didn't know how bad it was."
"Neither did I," is all he manages to say. He rolls his head to the side. That's about all he can do, being restrained. God he looks so pitiful. It's as if he's a criminal, shackled to his prison bed. No, it's worse than that. He is a criminal, and he's his own victim. I don't know if I should let him be or if I should stay and talk more. I decide on the latter.
I walk over to the side of his bed so that we are facing each other again. "Dr. Carter, if there was a way for me to change what happened, trust me, I would but—."
"Just stop it!" he suddenly yells at me. "You are only here because you feel guilty and you want me to forgive you. Well, fine, you're forgiven. Are you happy now?"
"No, that doesn't make me happy. I made a mistake and since you came in a few days ago I have been trying to convince myself that it wouldn't have made a difference if I had told anyone what I saw!"
"Abby—"
"No, listen!" I know I am yelling and I really don't care anymore. "And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I had told Dr. Greene or Dr. Weaver about it they would have found a way to stop you . . . and help you. But they didn't know until it was too late." I taste salt in the corner of my mouth but I don't care that I am crying.
"Nothing you could have done would have made any difference!" he shouts. He rolls his head back to the center of the pillow. "I did this to myself. I'm the only one to blame. Plus, another doctor knew. He confronted me and I ignored him. He told Mark and Kerry. They confronted me and I left. And I guess everyone knows now, huh?"
"I don't know about everyone, but a lot of people do know by now. There was no way to hide it."
Again it looks like Carter is about to start crying, but somehow he holds back. I don't know how he can be that strong at a time like this. I still feel hot tears running down my face as he repeats, "I did this to myself . . . ," It's as if he is trying to convince himself more than he is trying to convince me. ". . . and it's something I'll have to live with, not you. And I suggest that you don't let them know that you saw me injecting the fentynal in May. I don't want you to be punished for something I did."
He sounds so weak. Even though, or maybe because, I didn't help him before, I wish I could help him now. But I am not a psychiatrist. There is nothing for me to do for him.
I walk toward the door and say back to him, "I hope I see you around, Dr. Carter," but he has already fallen asleep. As I leave the room I think to myself, "Maybe now he will be able to get some temporary peace of mind."
Chapter 26: August. 31, 2000, 5:30PM, Hospital Room
His eyes are closed as I enter the hospital room.
"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.
His eyes open and his expression changes from confusion, to anger . . . to surrender.
"I'm sorry," I repeat.
He looks like he can't think of what to say. He opens his mouth but stops. I want to run out of the room, crying. This could have all been avoided, but because of me this wonderful doctor had to go through all this pain. My thoughts are silenced as he speaks.
"Why," his voice cracks as he tried to make out the words, "Why are you here?" I can tell he's on the verge of crying. I wish we could just hug and cry together and that everything would go back to normal. But unfortunately life doesn't work like that . . . at least not our lives.
I finally respond to his question, "Just to tell you what I've already said. I didn't think this would happen. I didn't know how bad it was."
"Neither did I," is all he manages to say. He rolls his head to the side. That's about all he can do, being restrained. God he looks so pitiful. It's as if he's a criminal, shackled to his prison bed. No, it's worse than that. He is a criminal, and he's his own victim. I don't know if I should let him be or if I should stay and talk more. I decide on the latter.
I walk over to the side of his bed so that we are facing each other again. "Dr. Carter, if there was a way for me to change what happened, trust me, I would but—."
"Just stop it!" he suddenly yells at me. "You are only here because you feel guilty and you want me to forgive you. Well, fine, you're forgiven. Are you happy now?"
"No, that doesn't make me happy. I made a mistake and since you came in a few days ago I have been trying to convince myself that it wouldn't have made a difference if I had told anyone what I saw!"
"Abby—"
"No, listen!" I know I am yelling and I really don't care anymore. "And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I had told Dr. Greene or Dr. Weaver about it they would have found a way to stop you . . . and help you. But they didn't know until it was too late." I taste salt in the corner of my mouth but I don't care that I am crying.
"Nothing you could have done would have made any difference!" he shouts. He rolls his head back to the center of the pillow. "I did this to myself. I'm the only one to blame. Plus, another doctor knew. He confronted me and I ignored him. He told Mark and Kerry. They confronted me and I left. And I guess everyone knows now, huh?"
"I don't know about everyone, but a lot of people do know by now. There was no way to hide it."
Again it looks like Carter is about to start crying, but somehow he holds back. I don't know how he can be that strong at a time like this. I still feel hot tears running down my face as he repeats, "I did this to myself . . . ," It's as if he is trying to convince himself more than he is trying to convince me. ". . . and it's something I'll have to live with, not you. And I suggest that you don't let them know that you saw me injecting the fentynal in May. I don't want you to be punished for something I did."
He sounds so weak. Even though, or maybe because, I didn't help him before, I wish I could help him now. But I am not a psychiatrist. There is nothing for me to do for him.
I walk toward the door and say back to him, "I hope I see you around, Dr. Carter," but he has already fallen asleep. As I leave the room I think to myself, "Maybe now he will be able to get some temporary peace of mind."