hey there, i'm posting the last four chapters! let me just say that the ending may be a little "weird" and over the top, but that's just the way i wrote it. i understand that many of you haven't acutally "enjoyed" my first story, what with my character not really behaving the way an experienced doctor should, and that everyone else seems to be overly-sensitive to her illness. i want to thank everyone who at least looked at it and thank the ones who reviewed it---although i did get one that really hated it! anyway...here's the final conclusion to this story.
-Part 7-
"Red Flag"
March 18
Inside Doc Magoo's—the small diner across the street from the hospital—Robin is joined by Carter, Abby, and Gallant. As Carter finishes a funny story about his days in med school, they all have a pretty good laugh; until Abby glances across the table to Robin—who's barely managing a smile and staring oddly at her cup of ice water. She becomes concerned and her smile disappears. "Are you alright?" she asks softly.
Robin looks up suddenly and starts rubbing her forehead, "Uh...I haven't been feelin' like myself."
Suddenly, the two men become concerned, also.
Abby asks, "Are you depressed?" She sees her nod reluctantly, then, she tells Robin, "You can grieve... There's nothing wrong with that."
"I know, but..." she takes a moment, "'depressed' and 'grieving' aren't the words I'd use... It's worse than that."
"How bad is it?" Abby asks, afraid to hear the answer.
Robin smiles and lets out a dry laugh as she looks out the window. "Let's just say that my doctors don't realize how easy they've made it for me to end things." This sends a chill down her friends' spines as they watch her; she looks at them, "I can get insulin...needles." She casually takes a drink of water.
Abby sits and stares at her—startled by the way Robin is talking: apathetic and numb. She sees her frailty and knows that she's vulnerable as she searches her dark eyes. Carter and Gallant also watch her careless behavior—not caring what happens to herself at this point.
Robin notices their stares, and grins, "Don't worry... I won't do anything." She takes another drink, and then, looks out the window again—leaving her three friends speechless, wondering what to say to her.
Gallant opens his mouth to say something but hesitates. He says finally, "You'll get through this."
Robin wears a look on her face, as if to say, "I don't know about that." She begins: "Y'know, it-it's so..." and takes a deep breath, letting it out sharply as she starts again, "hard...to deal with every little thing. The testing, the needles, the insulin; watchin' the clock all day; watchin' how much I eat and how many carbs I take in... The pain... Just havin' it's bad enough...now, I have to put up with all this other crap," she says and takes a drink. She puts the cup down softly; then, starts shaking her head, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Robin looks as if she's in pain, which she is—she hurts inside. "God... I'm sorry," she tells them, glancing up.
"Don't worry," Abby softly says. "We're here."
Robin grins at her, and then looks at Carter and Gallant—their eyes tell her that she's not alone. She lets out a silent laugh and shakes her head, "You guys are great."
Carter grins, "You're not half bad, yourself."
They all start chuckling, and Robin nods, "Thank you."
You see the four friends sitting in the booth from outside through the icy window. You begin to pull away until you see the light traffic passing by, making tire tracks in the thin mist of snow that covers the
asphalt.
What will become of the young doctor? Everyone close to her is wondering in silence.
-Part 8-
"Wounded"
March 19
In this early evening hour, Robin stands in her small kitchen—leaning against the counter, getting ready to eat. She reaches for a clean needle and her insulin vial; she takes the top off the syringe, holding it in her teeth, and draws up her dose of medication as she holds it up to the light. Putting the vial down, Robin sighs as she pulls up her shirt slightly. She drives the sharp needle into her stomach and pushes the insulin into her body—pain radiates through her abdomen, and she stomps her foot on the floor. "God!" she says loudly through her clinched teeth, nauseated. Taking the needle out, blood rushes out right behind it. Robin grabs a tissue from the box on the window sill and stands pushing on her stomach for a moment. She tosses the tissue onto the counter, along with her needle and the orange top—fed up with all of it—and walks into the living room, where her dinner and some prime-time TV shows wait for her.
I live in the weak and the wounded.
"Simon" (an evil "spirit") in the movie Session 9
Time has passed, and Robin stands up from her couch with her plate and glass. She moves into the kitchen and puts her dirty dishes in the sink, turning on the faucet for a moment.
"Hello...Robin..."
The voice she hears seems to come from inside her, but she looks over her shoulders anyway— making sure no one's behind her, whispering in her ear. She stares at the water coming out of the faucet, her face blank and her eyes unsure. The voice is warbled, as if it were resinating from an old, distorted cassette tape. It frightens her, but yet, it possesses her at the same time.
Something catches her eye off to the side: she forgot about the mess she made. She turns the water off and starts cleaning up—putting the used alcohol swabs in the trash and placing the used sharps in a puncture-proof container that she stole from work.
She stares at the box of unused needles in front of her—thinking about something. A secret nervousness, that no one else close to her knows of, begins to take hold of her—staring at the potential weapons in her line of sight. She wants some kind of vengeance for the disease that has taken over her life, and a dark madness has begun to set within Robin's mind. Her grieving takes a violent turn.
"Do it, Robin."
Her arm suddenly lashes out and fumbles around in the box, pulling out a syringe and holding it in her teeth as she hops up onto the counter—placing one of her feet in the empty side of the sink. She places her forearm on her knee, pulls the orange top off of the needle and spits it out. She starts dragging the sharp edge across the top of her arm; she can hear the needle scrape her skin as it cuts into her. She starts going over the cut several times, making it deeper and watching more blood come to the surface—which drives her even more. "C'mon...c'mon...c'mon," she mutters under her breath over and over again; her anger grows and you can see it in her eyes. She kills some of the pain inside by bringing about pain on her body—she feels as though that's the only thing that will help her feel alive again. Robin stops cutting and squeezes the skin around the wound, trying to get more blood out. As it runs down her arm slowly, she feels relieved in a way.
She gets down from the counter; now, she seems to have an almost "fidgety" quality to her, as she puts the bloody needle in the red container. Robin stands in the dim kitchen, staring at the damage she's done to herself. Her brows sink and her eyes fill with tears as she watches the blood inch toward her hand. She begins ambling around the kitchen slowly, running the hand of her good arm through her hair and sighing—almost laughing in disbelief, with tears streaming down her face. Robin grabs the glass she had been drinking out of earlier, and slings it against the wall as she begins to unravel—sobbing and sniffing loudly as the glass shatters into a million pieces. She takes the coffee pot, filled halfway with old coffee, and smashes it near the stove as she screams, "SHIT!"
Then, Robin covers her face with her hands and cries. Her strength fades slowly and her knees give way; her back slides down against the cabinets; she sits listless on the hard floor, dull-eyed and exhausted.
Now, as night falls, Robin sits in her dark kitchen, cluttered with glass; coffee spilled on the wall, counter, and floor. Her arm and hand are covered with blood, which has begun to dry. All she can bring herself to do is just sit; her breathing slows a little; her mind is a haze. The clock moves on. What to do? The airless space suffocates her as she feels everything closing in on her—slowly, but surely, losing her sanity.
To sacrifice what you are and to live without belief is a fate more terrible than dying.
Joan of Arc
-Part 9-
"An Idle Mind"
March 21
Looking a little better then the last time we and the staff saw her, Robin strolls into the ER, glancing at the patients as she walks by. She walks up to the admit desk and asks, "Jerry, have you got my paychecks?"
Jerry turns around and smiles, "Hey, Rob! Yeah, they're right where we always keep 'em."
She grins and makes her way behind the desk, taking off her coat. She hangs it over the back of a chair, and then, looks for her checks under the counter. She finds them and starts to open them, pushing up her long sleeves.
Jerry's face freezes when he sees four large cuts on Robin's arms. He's speechless.
Deciding to open the other two checks later, Robin puts on her red padded jacket—not realizing that her cuts were in full view. Looking up at him, she asks, "What is it, Jerry?"
"Nothing," he tells her, smiling awkwardly.
She grins, confused, "Okay... Tell everybody I said 'hi'."
"Uh-huh," he mumbles as she makes her way to the exit. He watches her walk out the doors and into the cold air; then, he leaves the desk quickly.
"Abby," Jerry says, walking into the drug lock-up and stopping in his tracks.
"Yeah?" she asks, drawing up medication in a syringe.
"I need to talk to you."
The world is gradually becoming a place where I do not care to be anymore.
John Berryman
The El train picks up speed and all you see is a blur of glass windows and metal. The last car goes by and you see Dr. Shepherd sitting on a bench on the El platform—a chilly breeze blowing through her hair. Her demeanor has changed—she had been faking her feelings of happiness minutes ago; she doesn't want anyone to know the internal struggle she's dealing with.
"You can hear me..."
Abby suddenly appears, walking to the top of the stairs and over by Robin's side, just standing by the bench. "You look tired."
Robin doesn't even have to see who it is; she knows. After a moment, she sighs, "No rest for the weary," as she stares out to the tracks; her brows are sunken.
Abby waits to sit down for a few seconds; then, when she does, she tells her, "I talked to Jerry just now...and he said he saw something..." Robin says nothing, so she continues on. "He told me that he saw four cuts on your arms..." she says with an unthreatening voice.
They found out her tragic secret, and all she can do is sit quietly and stare at the snow on the tracks.
Abby watches her friend: she's never seen her like this. She starts to say something, "Rob..."
"Y'know what I see when I look out there?" Robin asks, still keeping her eyes drawn to one spot. "Myself...standin' there." Her eyes are hollow, and Abby becomes frightened. "I'm standin' there...and I'm happy... Everything feels right." The sounds of another train come out of nowhere. "I look down the tracks, and I see the yellow lights on the front...gettin' closer...and closer. Then, suddenly, I turn back and smile at myself." After a moment, she carries on. "Then, I turn to face the train head-on. I can see the conductor's face as he blows the horn at me and tries to put on the brakes to stop... But, it's too late."
Just then, Robin closes her eyes with a grimace—imagining herself being hit by the train that's coming in.
Abby wants to say something, but she's too scared.
"I loved my life...up until three weeks ago," she says sullenly. "I guess it's true what they say...all good things must come to an end." She looks up to the train as it screeches to a stop.
Slowly, Abby watches her stand up.
"This must be the end of me," Robin says, "because I'm just not strong enough anymore... Feels like I'm already dead."
And with that, Robin makes her way onto the train. The doors shut behind her.
Abby is left horrified to her very core by her best friend's words. It seems Robin has lost all hope, and Abby knows that she has to do something, or else her dark thoughts may become a reality.
-Part 10-
"Life Amongst the Ruins"
Later that evening
Standing at the top of a staircase, you hear heavy footsteps. Abby comes into view as she climbs, floor by floor. She finally reaches the top with a sigh and looks down the hallway to her left; then, she begins the long walk to the end.
On the outside, she seems calm; inside, she's frightened and nervous—almost making herself sick. She doesn't know what else to do, but she has to do something.
Abby reaches the door at the end of the hall: 30. She stands, looking at the brass numbers drilled onto it. She sighs and knocks on the door; after a moment, it opens. "Hey," she says with a grin—hiding her nervousness.
Robin stands on the other side. "Hey," she grins back, "what are you doin' here?"
Abby's smile shrinks, "I need to talk to you."
She knows why, but agrees and lets her come inside anyway. A single lamp is on, and the television—this is the only light shining in the whole apartment, everything else is dark. Robin picks up the remote and turns the TV off.
"What were you watching? It looked like a cartoon," Abby grins.
"Speed Racer... Me and my cousin used to watch it," Robin smiles and sits down.
Abby laughs and sits beside her.
"So...you wanted to talk to me..."
"Yeah," Abby begins, but stops for a moment to find her words. She tells her softly, "Rob, you need help."
Robin nods her head slowly and closes her eyes—angry that she's bringing this up; in her mind, she's convinced that she's fine. She opens her eyes and lets out a scoff.
"Let me help you," Abby whispers, looking into her friend's wounded soul.
"I don't need to be helped, okay?" Robin says sullenly, her voice flat.
"Oh, really?" Abby asks, nodding. She glances over to the coffee table and snatches a tissue out of a Kleenex box; she offers it to Robin.
"What?" she asks sleepily.
Abby sighs, "Your arm's bleeding." Her tone is soft and low.
Robin sees blood running slowly down the side of her arm, ready to drip onto the couch cushion. She takes the tissue and wipes it off; then, presses down on a fresh new cut. She seems embarrassed and nervous, being caught in a lie.
"Did you just do that?" she asks.
Robin says nothing, but she glances at Abby for a moment with a guilty look.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"I'm angry..." she says bluntly. "That's all that I am anymore... I'm not the way I used to be."
Abby shows concern, "You're still in the adjustment phase of your diabetes. You'll get through this... It can be managed—"
"Managed?" Robin interrupts; her voice is low. "You can't really manage diabetes." She pauses. "Would it be considered 'managed' if I forgot to eat during a shift and passed out—or even worse, had a seizure because of it? Because of my...neglect to stay on track? No...I don't think so. Not in my head anyway."
Staring at her, Abby hesitates. "Rob...you're thinking about this way too hard."
"Am I?" she asks. "Maybe I'm just bein' real."
"Things'll get back to normal, you just need to give it time..."
Robin pauses. "I can't go back to normal... It doesn't exist anymore..."
A strange silence falls in the apartment. Abby is determined to leave here with Robin by her side, to get her some help; she's not leaving until she does, and Robin knows that. "I can't sit here and watch you kill yourself..." she tells her. "If I did...I know I wouldn't be much of a friend."
Robin glances over quickly at her words, knowing that could never be true. "Okay," she says suddenly, "...fine. You win." Her slight grin eases Abby's mind—for now, at least.
Abby says softly, "Okay," and stands, "c'mon."
"What?"
"Let's go, c'mon."
Robin looks shocked, "What, tonight?"
"Yes, you're coming with me, whether you like it or not," she says, then, walks over near the door and grabs Robin's coat from a hook on the wall. She holds it in her hands for a few seconds, looking at her friend. "Dr. DeRadd said that he would see you if I brought you in..."
Robin starts to whine, "Abby, c'mon...I'm tired, I don't feel like goin'!"
Realizing that her friend is dangerously vulnerable right now, Abby moves over to her and helps her to stand. She's stricken by Robin's shaky voice as she slips the coat up her arms and slowly onto her shoulders.
"Abby...please," she says painfully, "don't make me go, Abby."
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie;
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
'Here she lies where she long'd to be;'
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson – "Requiem"
Now in her car, Abby drives through the night. Streetlights shine down over the car as it passes them, one after the other—almost endless. She glances over next to her, then, back to the road.
The shot becomes wider, and you see Robin sitting in the passenger seat—her eyes heavy and dark, staring out the window at the sidewalk and the parked cars. She feels guilty somehow, because she feels as though she doesn't deserve Abby's help; she feels that she's making Abby think about her mother and her brother and the problems they've gone through. She feels guilt for making Abby worry.
All Abby is thinking about is if Robin will get worse from here on. She wonders how she'll react in therapy: anger, denial? Deciding to focus on this moment, Abby lets her fears slip away, looking at Robin again and putting on a sympathetic grin.
Robin doesn't feel Abby's eyes on her—she's too numb; her mind is like the snow on your television screen. She sits silently—almost too silent.
"You know who I am..."
Then, you watch the car drive down the wet road; the taillights glow a bright red; piles of snow lay around the cars parked along the curb. There's a sense of loneliness hanging in the air.
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy.
Johann von Goethe
Now at the hospital, Abby walks beside Robin with one hand on her back and the other on her arm. Robin walks slowly, dragging herself every step of the way—tired, mentally and physically.
The two friends come up to the main desk, and Abby speaks to the clerk, "Diane," and the woman looks up, "hi."
"Hi, what can I do for you guys?" she asks with a smile.
"Dr. DeRadd said he would be here when we stopped by, we need to speak with him."
"Okay," Diane says. "Who's the patient?"
Abby stops and looks at her for a brief moment; then, she looks down at the desk and over at Robin—who seems confused as she stares at a small vase of red flowers on the desk near her; her brows are scrunched together; she wonders how something so beautiful could have such a short life before it dies. Abby looks back to Diane, who realizes who the patient is.
"I see," she says softly and picks up the phone. "Dr. DeRadd, Abby Lockhart is here with Dr. Shepherd." She nods silently, then, hangs up. "He's waiting for you."
"Thanks," Abby grins, and she turns to Robin—still staring at the flowers—and puts her hand on her back again. "C'mon, Rob," she whispers gently. Robin snaps out of her daze and starts dragging down the hall once again.
Diane watches the two friends stroll toward DeRadd's office, noticing how dark Robin's behavior is. She's always been so strong, but now, she's become a hollow shell of a person. Diane is amazed by Abby and how compassionate she is in this time of urgency. Her heart is with them both.
Inside his office, DeRadd sits at his desk writing on a chart. He looks up when he hears a knock on the door. "Dr. Shepherd, Ms. Lockhart," he says, "come on in, have a seat."
Abby closes the door behind them, and the two women sit down in front of him.
"So," he begins, "Abby talked to me earlier... She told me about the cuts and the conversation you had earlier today...about the train."
Robin nods her head slowly, but says nothing.
"Are you thinking about things like that a lot lately?"
It takes her a few seconds, but she finally admits, "Yeah... The thoughts are in my head...but, in a way, I don't wanna act on 'em."
"But in another way, you do?"
Abby watches her intently.
Robin rubs her forehead with her fingers, and then, closes her tired eyes. "Yeah," she whispers.
"A lot of people would say that's the path of least resistance—"
"Well, a lot of people don't have to live with an incurable disease that runs their lives every hour of the fuckin' day, do they?" Her voice is dull and unchanging.
After a moment, DeRadd asks, "Ms. Lockhart, can I have a word with you outside, please?"
"Sure," Abby tells him; then, she says to Robin, "We'll be back in a minute, okay?"
Robin says in a dead tone, "Go have fun talkin' about me behind my back."
Abby rises and leaves the room with DeRadd. They walk past his secretary and into the hall. "I'm gonna have to put her on a seventy-two hour hold," he tells her.
"Wait, I thought you were just gonna talk to her," Abby says, stunned. "I can watch her for a few days—"
"She's clearly a danger to herself and others," he interrupts, "I have no choice."
"To herself, maybe," Abby argues, "but to others, I don't think so—"
"We can't take any chances."
Abby thinks for a moment and realizes that he's right.
"I need your help to get her to stay," DeRadd says. "Can you do that for me?"
She says nothing and just stares at his office door.
Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul.
Henry Van Dyke
The door to a small white room opens, and Abby and Robin stand at the doorway—Robin is almost in tears. In the room is only a barred window and a twin bed sitting in the corner.
"C'mon," Abby whispers and leads her inside.
As tears well up in her eyes, Robin sits down slowly on the bed—Abby stands next to her, trying to calm her by rubbing her back.
"Don't let 'em do this to me," Robin sobs, wiping a tear from her cheek. She leans over a little until her head rests on Abby's stomach, and she hugs her waist as she cries in vain, "Don't leave me here."
Abby can barely hold herself together as she holds her best friend close. After a few moments, she has to pry Robin's arms from around her waist and say goodbye for now. She keeps one arm around Robin's shoulders as she bends down slightly, kissing the top of her head gently. "You'll be okay," she whispers, making Robin cry even harder.
As Abby begins to leave, she cries out, "Abby, please!"
She looks back at her as she reaches the doorway and says, "You'll be alright, Rob," reassuring her.
"Abby..." Robin cries loudly as the door shuts. She breaks suddenly, sobbing and balling like a scared little child.
Abby walks down the hall away from the room, her footsteps echoing around her. She can barely keep her composure; it's been painful to watch her friend go through this hell. Tears stream down her face, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle her own sobs. She's going to tell the rest of the staff about what's happening; little does anyone know, this is just the beginning of a long, dark journey for one doctor and the entire ER.