Long time, no see, my fabulous readers. It's been a long time since May 22, eh?
Anyway, thought I'd take this moment to thank y'all for reading, favoriting, and alerting.
If there's anyone out there who's looking for a dedication, I'm sorry to say that I've had some technical difficulties, and I lost track of who I'm supposed to be dedicating these to.
So let's do this.
This chapter is dedicated to everyone who reads it. There.
Now enough of my babble. Chapter 9.
Dr. Elliot Reid gnawed nervously on her lower lip, realizing that she'd forgotten lip gloss this morning. Her mind was consumed not only with JD's condition, but also with Louisa Dalton, her teenaged patient complaining of nausea and abdominal pain.
It seemed to Elliot that she was only right when she didn't want to be. She had just picked up Louisa's test results, and her suspicions were confirmed: Louisa was pregnant. This might not have been such a huge deal if Louisa weren't only sixteen years old, and if her parents weren't so fiercely conservative.
Elliot blew her bangs from her forehead and gave her clipboard one last tap before slowly opening the door to Louisa's room. "Hey there," she greeted, her voice shaky and forced.
The heavyset, curly-haired girl in the bed closed her book and set it carefully on the nightstand. The Bible, Elliot thought, noticing the worn black leather binding and it's embossed gold cross. What are this girl's parents doing to her?
"Hi, Dr. Reid." Louisa grinned. "This is my mom and dad." She gestured in the general direction of the two stiff, unsmiling people huddled in the corner of the room. If it weren't for the woman's breasts and her slightly softer jaw-line, they could have been clones of each other. Their clothes were neutral and pressed, their hair unembellished, their eyes surprisingly accusing.
Elliot took a cautious step toward them and extended a hand. "Elliot Reid. I've been, um, working on your daughter's case." This isn't Law & Order, Elliot. Rephrase! "I mean, I'm working on her diagnosis." Salvaged it. Now if no one shakes your hand in the next three seconds, fake a hair-smooth and move on.
Fortunately, Mr. Dalton took Elliot's hand and pumped firmly up and down before releasing her. "Kevin Dalton." He nodded in his wife's direction, who bent her head in acknowledgement. "My wife, Hannah." His voice was stern, but he was at least being courteous.
Elliot gave the pair of them a nervous smile and flipped her clipboard open, blowing her bangs from her forehead again. She had no need to refer to the results, but she found herself in desperate need of something to hide behind. "I got your results back, Louisa, and I have some, um, news for you." She glanced cautiously over her clipboard. "Louisa, you have the choice, if you, uh, want to be alone. Doctor-patient confidentiality, and all that," Elliot explained, bringing a finger to her teeth.
Mr. Dalton took a step forward. "Louisa's sixteen years old," he stated, oblivious to the fact that Elliot had this information right on the chart in her hand. "We're responsible for her. Doesn't that override confidentiality?"
Removing her fingernail from her mouth, Elliot slumped visibly. "Not in this case." Please let that be enough for them, she thought.
Before either of her parents could speak, Louisa held up her hands. "If it's okay," she started nervously, "I'd really prefer to talk to Doctor Reid first. Alone." Her hands moved to her lap, clenching into white-knuckled fists, as if preparing to be wrapped up for a boxing match.
Mrs. Dalton opened her mouth to speak, but her husband hushed her. "That's fine, Louisa," he assured her, though his tone indicated otherwise. "We'll go get some tea." He patted her shin beneath the blankets and hooked his arm through Mrs. Dalton's elbow, leading her past Elliot and through the threshold.
Louisa waved, then turned her attention to Elliot. "Sorry about that," she murmured, but Elliot knew from experience that she probably meant, "Sorry about them."
Elliot nodded in acknowledgement, closed her clipboard, and averted her eyes. "You're pregnant, Louisa." What the frick were you thinking? Way too soon, way too direct! Couldn't you have reassured her first? Prepared her a little? You know, before you dropped a ton of frickin' bricks on the poor girl? Elliot paused in her self-deprecating thoughts for a moment and glanced up.
Shaking ever-so-slightly, Louisa covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. "No," was all she said.
Elliot could feel a chasm ripping her chest apart. "Louisa, because of-"
"I've been with Tom for three years now," Louisa whispered, clasping her hands together in her lap. "My parents have no idea." She shook her head slowly, rhythmically, like a mother rocking a crying baby. "We were so careful."
God, I wish JD was here right now, Elliot thought, walking over to Louisa's side. She pulled her clipboard against her chest. "Because of doctor-patient confidentiality, you could abort the… embryo… and I wouldn't be legally obligated to tell your parents." Almost said "baby". Gotta be careful.
Louisa stared straight ahead of her with determined, tearful green eyes. "I can't," she said firmly. She didn't offer any further explanation, but her tone was unwavering. That was that.
"So what are you going to do?" Very professional, Elliot. Now go buy a copy of Seventeen with your leftover lunch money and refer to the "How To Deal When You're Like, Totally Pregnant" column. But this time, she didn't bother to rephrase.
Redirecting her gaze to her lap, Louisa habitually turned the thin silver band on her index finger. Purity ring, Elliot thought. "I have no idea." Her tone was no longer strong and self-assured.
Elliot remained silent for a moment, tapping the pads of her fingers noiselessly against her clipboard. "I'm not going to tell your parents anything, Louisa. That's up to you." You already said that. "But you can always page me." She paused for a beat. "If you need me."
Nodding solemnly, Louisa blinked the tears from her eyes. "I will."
And without another word, Elliot hooked the clipboard over the foot of Louisa's bed and stepped unceremoniously through the doorway, leaving her patient alone in every way but one.
"Nineteen seventy-five."
A few doors down the hallway, JD woke with a start. His mind's immediate response was, "Hey, that's the year I was born." But after a moment of rationalization, he realized that nineteen seventy-five could easily be the price of something or the last four digits of a phone number. JD opened his eyes and immediately, instinctively flinched.
The Janitor stood in the doorway, one hand clutching a manila file-folder, the other pulled close to his face. JD recognized the tiny round object between his fingers as a penny, watching the fluorescent light glint off its copper-colored surface.
JD pulled his blanket closer to him, like a frightened child reacting to a thunderclap. "What are you doing here?" he inquired, realizing his voice was thick with sleep and barely audible. He cleared his throat and repeated himself.
The Janitor directed his attention to JD. He slipped the penny into his breast pocket and took a couple of strides forward. "I found this in the lab," he reported solemnly, holding the folder out in front of him.
Sitting up, JD peered at the label. He gasped inwardly when he spotted his own name printed on the tab. "But Dr. Cox…" His voice trailed off. The older man had abandoned him after all.
"I already know," The Janitor said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He could have explained how he had found the folder's contents splayed across the floor, how he deciphered the sheet of test results, and how he was now fully, though not explicitly, aware of JD's ailment. But he didn't feel that elaboration was necessary.
JD remained stationary for a moment, paralyzed by indecision. He was frightened out of his mind. On the other hand, no matter who the messenger was, the news would still be the same. With a quivering hand, he reached out and took the folder.
The Janitor released it into JD's grasp, glad to have purged the information. He watched wordlessly as JD slowly and delicately opened the folder in his lap, as if he were dissecting a nuclear bomb.
Hepatitis B… Positive.
JD's mouth cracked open, his eyes widening.
Hepatitis B… Positive.
It all made sense now. The fever, the weight loss, the hematemesis. Everything snapped together in his brain.
Hepatitis B… Positive.
It had been the needle from his patient, over 4 months ago. False negative on the test results.
Hepatitis B... Positive.
JD closed the folder with a bit more force than he had opened it with. He wanted to exorcise it from his lap, but with the rolling nightstand on the other side of the room, his only alternatives would be throwing it to the floor or handing it back to the Janitor. Neither really seemed appropriate.
All but one of the Janitor's instincts told him to seize the opportunity and smack JD's forehead with something. His eyes darted around the room, halting on the IV rack, the folder in JD's lap, and then JD's crumpled face. His other instinct kicked in then: The instinct to help out another human being, which so rarely appeared. The Janitor removed the file-folder and turned around, placing it on the corner of the rolling nightstand.
JD looked up, slowly awaking from his daze. "Thanks," he said quietly.
The Janitor only nodded, examining the stark contrast between his black, scuffed work-boots and the immaculate white linoleum of the floor. Vaguely uncomfortable silence surrounded them for a few beats.
"I was born in 1975," JD told him, realizing only now that the Janitor had been reading the date on the penny aloud.
His hand drifting up to pat his breast pocket, the Janitor nodded in understanding. He let a small smile spread across his stubble. "Better get goin', Scooter," he said abruptly, turning slightly on his heel.
JD tried his best to mirror the Janitor's grin, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed. "Sure…" His voice trailed off once again, as if his vocal cords were unsatisfied with the lack of a name to produce.
Glancing over his shoulder, the Janitor took inhaled silently. "It's Glenn."
JD met his eyes. "Glenn," he echoed in disbelief.
"Yup." The Janitor was about to resume his journey into the corridor when he saw the abnormal tinge in the young doctor's eyes. He turned to face JD, bending slightly at the waist, peering unsettlingly at his face. "Hey," the Janitor began, his voice unsure. "Are your eyes supposed to be turning yellow like that?"
At this, JD had to take a moment to collect himself. "Yellow?"
The Janitor nodded. "Undeniably."
Yellow means jaundice. Jaundice means liver failure. Liver failure means…
JD clenched his jaw, blinking back the involuntary tears. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to dwell on it, didn't even want to acknowledge it: Liver failure meant one more day.
One more day to speak, one more day to eat.
One more day of Elliot. One more day of Turk and Carla.
One more day without Dr. Cox.
One more day in this bed.
And despite his greatest efforts, a single tear escaped JD's right eye and slipped down his cheek.
One more day to live.
Pretty bleak, eh?
I promise a cyberhug and a decadent virtual cookie, fresh out of my virtual oven, to cheer you up.
In return for a review, of course.
Heh heh heh.
~JD