Helpless

A doctor learns the cost of his mistake.

 

 What good are all the facts in my head, if they can't heal you? All the history of my art, if it doesn’t save you? Your struggle has become my purpose. Everyday you become weaker, I become more humble. No answers come to me, and I know I have failed you. You are paying the ultimate price for my human shortcomings. As I watch you I wonder, do you hold me responsible, feel I failed you? You came to me with such simple complaints: a small cough, an intermittent fever, simple aches and pains. You were young, lived a life of good health and habits. How could I have known what was lurking just below the surface, eating you from the inside out?  I sent you on your way, reassured that you had nothing to fear. I was wrong. Now just mere months later you lie here, gasping for breath, dying in front of me. The time for heroic measures has passed, the evil has taken hold and for my mistake, you will pay the ultimate price.  How I wish we could go back, move through time, change both our destinies.


The cancer progressed quickly, weeks later in my office I barely recognized you. I ran tests, consulted experts, and used every treatment available to me. I did these things for both of us, to save you and to absolve myself. As your struggle ends mine begins. My vigil by your bedside is seen by your family as that of caring and concern. A young devoted doctor ensuring his patient is getting the best possible care. They do not know our secret, you did not tell them of my offense. I cannot meet their eyes, the pain is raw and there for everyone to see. I use your chart as a shield, masking my eyes by seeming to look up random results. I cannot tell them what they want to hear. We speak in hushed tones, afraid the sound of our voices will alert death that we are aware of its presence.


My life has become consumed by you. My drive home, time with my family, the seemingly endless hours of night, all I think about is you. I fear the day the truth comes out; the time when I am no longer the caring doctor, but your murderer. That day is approaching quickly.  I can feel it. It will happen after your death, of this much I am sure. After your funeral, the mourning and tears, someone will ask the questions. Why did he die so young? How could this have happened? Are you sure everything was done for him? Who was his doctor? Then my mistake will be made known and my own death will begin. I have broken my sworn oath, First Do No Harm. I have caused you the ultimate harm, and your death is the end result. I deserve nothing less than the same.

I caught you looking at me the other day, your eyes held mine. Lately you have been in and out of consciousness, unable to open them. I felt my breath catch, awaited your condemnation, but none came. Instead you mouthed “I forgive you.” I felt the tears run down my face, not from relief but rather guilt. I deserved no such forgiveness; I could not be let off that easily. I needed your reprisal; your forgiveness would not allow me to move on. As you closed your eyes I pleaded for your disgust of me, I needed your hatred to allow me to continue.


You died today, your family around you. Your mother held your face, your father your hand, brother and sister by your side. I stood silently at your feet awaiting my role in your final act on this earth. As you let out your last breath I watched your face, you showed no pain, or anger, just peace. I performed my art, confirmed your death, and made the final entry in your chart. As I turned to leave, your mother took me in her arms, and thanked me. Never realizing she was giving comfort rather than receiving it.


At your funeral a misty rain coated your casket. All the heavens were crying over such a loss. I stood in the back, afraid to venture too close. As they lowered you into the ground your mother’s strong silence broke. "Why" she wailed! I could not bear to hear anymore. My turn had come, sooner than I had expected, but here nevertheless.  I now await my own judgment day, and pray I meet mine with half as much dignity as you did yours and like your death, I was helpless to stop it.

 

Reviews

[Sammy]

You lack proper punctuation in a lot of this - you need colons and semi colons.

"My drive home, time with my family, the seemingly endless hours of night, all I think about is you."

You don't really handle the tragedy in a maner that befits the subject matter. "All the heavens were crying over such a loss." ""Why" she wailed!"

Choosing heavy subject matter doesn't automatically make for a great story. Simply put, this wasn't very imaginative, and didn't go anywhere interesting. Because of your decision to address each sentence to a "You", the action flowed poorly and we kept wanting it to come back into proper first person.

The main points I would say then: make sure a story has proper progression, based around a character's decision. Don't go for a cross between first and second person, because it will make the action feel strangely distanced, second-hand. Finally, watch the cliches in your writing such as the heavens crying: you can do better.

[Wunderlich]

I really liked this. I was just watching Scrubs a few minutes ago actually, thought it was kind of funny that I would stumble upon this so quickly. It is well written, and to me reads like a poetic story, if that makes sense. It's just really good. The only problem I found is that in the fourth paragraph, second line, I believe you meant to use the word "conscious" not "conciseness". This is a good read though. Awesome job.