Story and characters written and created by JustSomeNumbers
As the small oil of the morning sun crested an early morning in the Empire of Sitannia, a fairly eloquent three story northern house was being lit by the glow of the day. A house that was fairly respectable- made of stained wood with a pitched roof and a center garden that separated a small semi-circled driveway into the residence. The flag of Sittania begrudgingly standing by the frame of the doorway, a star emphasized with the stripes of the empire, its blue and white majesty made to be prominent and commanding- yet subdued and respectable. Many descriptions of nobility or rich families would come to mind, but this was merely the home of a single- lonely physician.
“....Sigh….”
Yeah I don’t know if I want to even wake up today… I wasn’t particularly gifted or extreme. As a United Sitannian medical provider, I was fairly content with my life. I mean, multiple successful surgeries came with the feeling of a small accomplishment- but my parents never gave me really anything more than that. A simple “wow” or “Nice job” was all I ever really received, at least from them. I’m not really the type of person to really want attention- I guess… I just never thought I’d be so… depressed with how things turned out.
I never really socialize, which isn’t the worst thing in the world y’know? I’d certainly assume that a practitioner would be praised for all the work I try to do- but that isn’t really the case- I… I mean for patients of course they always thank me for helping fix or solve any problems- but it feels… Null and void due to the fact I operate on them before that praise happens. I don’t know. My expertise in general surgery is in my opinion just another piece of information to strap onto myself. Sure, I try my best- but when I help someone, and I mean really help someone I feel happy. Because helping people out of pain or extending their livelihoods is what I want to pride myself on. Personally I find it strange that the Sitannian view on healthcare is more privatized than comparable countries- the fact my colleagues and I are charging a metaphorical arm and a leg just doesn’t… it doesn’t sit right with me.
Thinking from a patient's perspective, having empathetic values and adhering to the hippocratic oath should mean I provide care and save peoples lives- not stack them with the stress of medical bills like some connman.
“Yawwwwnnnnn…. I’m… tired…”
Not only does the small amount of dopamine I get from the positive interactions from my patients get completely negated from the debt I have to put these working people in, but on top of that the working conditions in this country just… flat out suck. I’m working over seventy hours a week without any overtime… Just because some fat politician said our political rivals over in the eastern continents are growing their GDP more than us. It's… stressful. Not to mention I feel like it's a bit inhumane, but what can I do as a medical practitioner? The best I can do is try to mail my local representative or senator, but everyone kinda knows they only listen if you have enough money. What would I even say in the first place? “Hey, please stop overworking me and let me focus on providing care?”
Richard shifted in his chair, the light of the new ‘PC’ setup providing the only light-source in the darkened room. Looking at the mirror he could see just how sleep deprived he was- dark bags hung to his eye sockets, like a grim reminder that he only had a couple hours to distract himself before getting back to work.
…
Psh. I don’t think that’d even get to the politician. The fact I only have so many hours of my own time makes it so easy to waste the few hours I have off. I feel like I would be able to “reset” myself if I could at the very least maybe blow off some steam, or play a game, or re-connect with some of my medical school friends.
…
Richard shifted again, looking up at the dim light in his bedroom. The elegant house betrayed the amount of time he actually spent there. It was more like a pit stop than a home. You could only really have a home if you belonged there, and to do that you needed more than a couple hours a week.
I felt saddened that with all the money I made as a general surgeon- most of it went to paying off my loans and debt from my studies- what was even the point of getting to this amount of wealth if I couldn’t spend what money I had to better my own life? Was I being selfish? Did I even… did I even deserve to have this much?
“Ah… if I’m thinking about this it’ll probably be time for some anti-depressants. Dopamine levels are probably a bit out of whack anyways haha-”
A gloomy smile appeared on Richard's face, but it was uneasy and quickly faded back to the tired and reserved expression he was sporting before. Walking past the large bed-frame, he went down stairs to his foyer. Upon the dark green wall, sitting beside the smell of leather and semi-warm coffee was his overcoat and briefcase. A small sticky-note appended to the skinny pole stretching to the coatrack contained a vital piece of his daily routine, the day’s reminder of what was coming.
Ah, I remember. As I picked up the sticky note I put there last night to remind myself, today was that surgery with that billionaire. I forget his name specifically, but he was pretty influential If I recall. Exol? Elost? I don’t remember- but it was a big operation. It gave me a bit of pause to accept this out of the blue. It felt… suspicious- I’m not too into any political talks or anything like that. If I recall correctly this person had a bit of a bad reputation didn’t he? Would this person put my staff on edge? After crumpling the note and putting it in my pant pocket, I donned my comfortable leather overcoat and picked up my briefcase. Today was going to be a big day regardless of the surrounding circumstances. Erh…hopefully that is- haha.
After getting into my office, I noticed the coffee from yesterday was gone- probably from the receptionist or one of the medical scribes. I always tried to get them something for breakfast if I came in early enough, usually these were kids who aspired to follow in my footsteps. Maybe not specifically general surgery- but within the medical sector definitely. As I began to put my things where they belonged, and undress from my overcoat I overheard a bit of unusual sounds coming from the waiting area. Was that…
“Is that… yelling?”
Distant small chunks of conversation boomed from beyond the doorway leading out of the staff-room. An elderly gentleman's voice.
God I hope its not another one of ‘these’ types of patients… just let me try to provide care in peace…
After entering the door, quite an… odd scene was before me. I was looking at my client- who was just here for a routine wide excision for a melanoma, screaming at my nurse. What was strange about it was he was completely belligerent in a way descriptions can’t really formulate- almost too stunned to speak I didn’t really have the courage to step in and stop it. It was… one of my weaker points as a person, I admit it- I’m a coward…
“Do you even KNOW who the fuck I am? Get your damn boss here so I can fix this NOW! Why do I even bother wasting time with you people if you’ll just fuck it up in the first place???”
The man, wearing one of the more expensive overcoats and a weird and rather large spot of cyanosis (discoloration of the skin) in the right subpectoral region, or as I can clearly see, because he removed his undershirt to reveal his right pectoral muscle and is pointing at a stain underneath the… ah. I understand what happened. Meekly, I tried my best to interject- but was pre-interjection interjected by the nurses rebuttal.
“S-sir, I’m really, really sorry- I can try to get Dr. Ri-”
The man threw his phone at the nurse, and based on what I was seeing the rebuttal only worsened his already… soured mood.
“The FUCK DO YOU MEAN your ‘soooorrrrrryyyyy’. I’m not asking for you to do anything woman, I want you to go get the DOCTOR. D-O-C-T-O-R DUMBASS.”
At that moment the nurse tried to speak, but realized I was standing in the door- probably a bit perplexed at the nervous look on my face. But, as usual- she and the medical scribe behind the desk both gave me a.. Bad… very bad look… as if they were calling out what a coward I was.
“S-Sir! Look at that, the Doctor was just looking at you while this happened. Please let me go clean this up and I’ll let Ms. may direct you and.. Cough… him to the room.”
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As the nurse collected the remnants of the spilled coffee glass from the floor she shot me a look that made me feel a bit guilty. It wasn’t a mean look per say- but enough for me to get the message. As she passed me in the hallway she whispered in my ear,
“Listen doctor, I know you can’t stand up for yourself but I’m really disappointed in the fact you couldn’t even say a word to help your staff…”
My heart… sank a little. I knew the statement was truthful- but what could I… Nevermind. My attention was re-directed towards the patient. It was an unfortunate thing to start the day off of- but I want to be a person remembered for his care of patients. Not pre-disposition to any particular person.
“Sir, would you follow me to the exam ro-”
The man, already sweating from the argument, had shifted his gaze towards me, and seemed to momentarily compose himself. It annoyed me that he was that rude towards my staff- but I can’t really kick him out like I usually would, because of his influence…
“Oh thank the lord you're here Dr. Tompson, That bitch was one of the rudest nurses I’ve ever seen.”
“Sir I really don’t-” I tried to respond, but was pretty much immediately interrupted…
“Nonono, I want to be in that operating room NOW. I have a shareholders meeting later this week and I want to be in recovery as soon as possible”
“I understand that sir, but seeing as the melanoma is active, I don’t recommend going through anything too stressful for about two to three we-”
“You don’t GET to tell me what to do, that's what you poor’s don’t understand. Sigh… the only reason you can afford to even own a clinic like this is because your parents probably paid for you to be here.”
Richard reflected on this subject. While his parents weren’t really around- they never gave him any financial assistance and pretty much abandoned him after he was able to get into medschool, he couldn’t retort his comment purely out of apathy to approach the subject. He was just too nervous to say anything about it and sheepishly moved on.
“I-I again, understand that sir, but as your physician I strongly recommend keeping activity to a minimum while in recovery, if you mov-”
“Just… Hurry up and let's get this over with please? This place stinks of liberal and I don’t wanna be here any more than I have to.”
I noticed he was looking me over when he emphasized the word “liberal”, but to be honest that flew over my head. I have no idea as to how political thoughts and medical care were connected- the fact he pushed his money around to speed up the date of surgery was already scary enough, I didn’t wanna get on his bad side and tell him “No. You cannot do this and I will not allow you to get hurt!” (even though in my head I really really wanted to be brave enough to do that…)
None-the-less, I reluctantly moved forward (against my wishes and under duress from the medical board pushing for me to show a billionaire the best we have to offer in terms of general surgery) with the wide excision. This was typically just removing the melanoma and surrounding tissue- but because it was barely eight AM and my coffee was spilt over my patient, who again, is a billionaire putting pressure on the people who are in charge of my practitioners license, was going to be… weird.
The surgery went fairly smoothly, there was a minor complication with the tissue underneath the affected area, but I managed to avoid any real damage… I think. If I had more time to sleep or even a little extra caffeine I could probably be a lot more focused but the constant pushing was too much. The law did say I have to act in a timely manner… I could be fined for taking too long on any singular patient. After removing the melanoma and checking for any metastasized aspects, I try my best not to leave any bruising during stitching but ended up making a massive one… and that won’t really… be gone- seeing as it was most likely going to develop into scar tissue. It should be fine medically speaking, but it’s unfortunate I couldn’t help this patient recover without any noticeable changes to his body (even if he was a bit of a meanie…). After wrapping up and explaining everything, I went home for my five hours of sleep and thought that would be the end of the longest day in Sittania.
I was wrong.
I woke up to emails, un-answered phone calls, texts- I had no idea what the hell was happening! I slammed my head trying to get up out of my desk quick enough to answer the door that woke me up from this weird morning. But what greeted my eyes were… people in suits? Or something? The man in front of them spoke aloud to me.
“Mr Tompson? We’re lawyers from the patient you butchered. If you could come out to sign some paperwork that would be fantastic.”
Butchered? Patient? The last appendectomy I did wasn’t the smoothest- and the surgery yesterday was followed by a strange growth I removed… As I opened the door I expected to be met by some sort of paper and pen- but my vision turned white and I felt my body go flying backwards.
AaCK.
“Hey you fucking quack. That was for killing my dad.”
A familiar voice, but what was more concerning was the amount of people behind the small trio of people after opening my eyes. A plethora of news reporters and policemen apparently surrounded my front yard- What?
“What?”
Star-struck by the fact the man in front of him, seemingly about in his late twenties or so- with a rough mustache and patchy beard, physically struck Richard hard enough to knock him on his back- was too confused to realize a pen was thrown on his lap.
“Mr. Tompson, your license is being revoked and suspended due to investigation of murder. Mr. Elos was found dead in his car this morning. You're also being sued for malpractice, and won’t be participating in any surgeries for… emmm.. A while I’d say. Please sign here to accept the suspension, and then sign the paper on the back to allow investigators into the premises.”
A bystander from behind the police line asked a question that struck Richard particularly deep. Something he hadn’t thought about in… quite a while actually.
“Fucking murderer, go KILL YOURSELF YOU QUACK.”
“MURDERER!” screamed another.
“Who do you think you are????” a younger teenager said, which was particularly heartbreaking- as Richard had a softer spot in his heart for children.
Richard hearing this and too sleep deprived to really be thinking clearly was stunned. A sense of anxiety came behind his frontal lobes decision making process. He picked up the pen and started to speak, hoping to at least gain a small amount of control in this strange… dream?
“I-I uhm.. Si-r? Could you tell me why I shoul-”
One of the officers rushed passed and pointed at the antidepressants on the counter. After smashing the bottle open with the but of his baton he picked up a couple and took a picture.
“We have drugs here! We don’t need him to sign anything, go bring him to the judge for possession of illicit substances.”
As he said this, Richard's heart sank, tears began to form.
“W-WAIT, sir those are my anti-”
Unable to continue the sentence, a pair of officers hoisted Richard up in a rather violent manner. The young man, the same one that gave Richard a rather decent bloody nose, smiled at him. After wiping his hand on Richard's shirt he leaned in and said something dire.
“I own these cops, idiot. Everything thats coming to you is because your a fuck-up of a doctor you quack. This is for murdering my dad.”
Rushing towards the patrol car, Richard's life began to flash before his eyes, assuming this was some sort of stress induced hallucination, he was content to see the conclusion of his day. Fast forwarding about a week later, Richard was returned to his home with a few minor bruises and in a disheveled manner. In the span of only a week, he had been placed in a cell, cross examined, sleep deprived and had had his license suspended.
Richard knelt down on the hard-wood floor and took a deep inhale. The splendor in living just… wasn’t enough to combat whatever hellhole he was in. He fell asleep on the couch, only to awake to the news story accusing him of heinous blah blah, and heinous this and that. It was too much. The audience of hate that chewed at the fiber of what he thought he was doing, what he thought he could help. He was already tired enough as is…
Did I really manage to help anybody in the end?
The thoughts were spinning around. He couldn’t ever go back to the medical field again. His life was over both economically due to the litigation fees, and socially due to constant media slander. But it wasn’t his fault… right?
…
…
“I just need some rest… I… need to sleep… for awhile…”
Standing up from his position, his tired body made his way to the bathroom. He grabbed some shaving cream and razors and quickly showered. He was tired. What was the point in moving forward with a broken life? I… I killed… a man…
Richard was coming to terms with the fact he, even if indirectly-, was responsible for the death of a patient. What was worse was the looks. The feelings that were portrayed without ever saying anything…
You're a monster.
You're a murderer.
You're a waste.
…
“I think this is where I am going to… sleep now… I’m… too tired…”
…
…
Richard had an interaction on his way home from the courtroom… A child gave him some…rope. He didn’t know if the child was aware of what they were essentially telling him to do or if an adult was behind it- but why would it matter? A kid? A kid was telling him to kill himself… It was just- too much. It was time to sleep. A bit of rest for the selfish murderer.
As he kicked the chair out from beneath him. A couple of last struggles for air escaped his body. The flailing motions his body made were a desperate attempt to reclaim oxygen and continue the struggle of living any longer. After his strength faded, his vision narrowed: He was finally peacefully sleeping, he didn’t need to worry about wanting to wake up anymore. The struggle of trying to feel confident, the feeling of his throat tightening from the tears he was creating- choking on the dejected misery wanting to be let out, the burning of his eyes when he couldn’t cry anymore, and the pain of waking up to do it over and over again. He was at his final moments on earth, regretful and sorrowful- but overwhelmed by a sense of catharsis from the notion of finality. Even if he wanted to stop and go back, he was already hanging and unable to think. Richard Burgundy Thompson, the spineless coward who murdered a patient yet strived to provide care- was resting suspended above a cold hardwood floor.
…
…
However, as his life ended, a strange slowing of time happened. A misty portal appeared before a still Richard. And a man in dark robes, without a lower half appeared before him. Materializing outside of the black void that seemed to contain whatever was in the portal, time came to a freeze. Interventus examined the body, a red glowing hue slowly started to leave it and formulate into an opaque glossy mist.
“I see… so I’ve found the origin of health. This one will do nicely indeed.”
