Mercy

When he came to us, he was still so full of life. There was much more than just a spark within him, for that spark had ignited a full-fledged wildfire in his soul decades ago. At some point in time, he was probably one of the wildest, freest spirits of his generation, inspiring many to live more like he did and an equal number to abstain from a life of unpredictability and instability. From what I witnessed, his only reaction to those who turned up their noses to his frivolous lifestyle would certainly be met with a heartfelt “Fuck you!” followed by the ever-charming one-finger salute.

He was once a spitfire alright…but when I first encountered Billie Joe Armstrong, he was just a miserable, raving old cunt who didn’t have much more than a few months to live. Hell, I would have gone so far as to say that the old bastard was fucking senile. I’m ashamed to admit that I loathed Billie Joe in those first moments and relished the fact that, in no time at all, his corpse would be rotting six feet under, providing some ravenous maggots nourishment until he was nothing but a pile of pathetic dust. Miserable, old, senile, pathetic dust.

Would it be difficult to assume that I was a terrible cynic before I met Billie?

The day he was rolled into the oncology ward on a stretcher, he wouldn’t stop hollering about how unnecessary the whole production was. He went on and on about how the hospital should have more important things to worry about, like the poor little cancer-kids who had a better shot at making it anyways, and for God’s sake, son, stop tearing holes in my face and do your damn job! You look like a fucking moron! Naturally, I was the fucking moron who had been staring at the crazy old bat, but could you honestly blame me? It wasn’t everyday that I dealt with patients who adamantly refused seeking treatment. At the time, I passed it off as selfishness and arrogance, but it was much more than that. In fact, he thought so little of himself that he was begging us to ignore him.

“Just leave me alone and save the damned kids!”

But we didn’t leave him alone. His sons insisted upon continuing with the treatment until their father’s lungs refused to draw breath any longer. They were desperate to keep their father alive as long as possible, and I distinctly remember chuckling at how these two men wanted to prolong their father’s suffering. I thought they wanted to punish him for being such an insufferable asshole…but I didn’t know Billie then. All I saw was a man who thought I was a fucking moron for staring at his melodramatic scene…and I failed to notice the fragile, loving creature within. The fire within.

The second remark he had for me was considerably more embarrassing, further pushing my assumption that I despised him. He began demanding things of me that only a doctor would know, and I soon realized he assumed I was his doctor. I had been, after all, the only man attending to him so far.

“Sir, I’m not your doctor.”

Oh, the look in his eyes was something I surely couldn’t forget. It was a cross between bewilderment and child-like curiosity…and perhaps playful malice? Either way, I knew I was in for an earful the moment his green eyes sparkled with impending condescendence. I recall holding my breath, waiting for the questions I was sick to death of constantly hearing.

“Then who the fuck are you? Some nut off the street who likes to dress up and play doctor with unsuspecting patients or what?”

He was riled by that point, and I knew it could only get worse. This old bat wasn’t going to let the subject drop until he knew every damn thing about it and which sexual position made it feel like the fucking Duke of Earl. I held my breath and shook my head as I adjusted the contents flooding into his veins through the IV. His eyes narrowed, but that devious glimmer never left those eyes.

“Oh, this is rich! You’re a fucking nurse, aren’t you? Here I was, thinking my sons brought me to one of the finest institutions on the West Coast, and get this! They give me a male fucking nurse. You probably prefer to take it up the ass too, right?”

I half-snorted, half-choked on my own saliva at the blatant bluntness of his last question. It’s not that I haven’t heard such degrading accusations before, but never had anyone been so downright colorful about it, as if Billie believed my sexual orientation and gender actually made a difference in how well I was able to do my job. Of course neither changed my performance, but that moment of scrutiny forced me to unintentionally second-guess myself. As if to solidify that exact thing, I tripped as I darted towards the end of his bed and damn near knocked the machines over that were currently pumping temporary life back into his veins. I was under Billie Joe’s microscope, a stumbling, helpless ant of a male nurse waiting for the heat of the sun to burn me alive. Being the merciful old bastard he was, Billie merely chuckled at me and lowered his tone, simultaneously reducing his magnified death-ray to a simple scorching mark on my back.

“Relax, Fairy. I’m just not used to this topsy-turvy world where men are nurses, women are soldiers, and everyone fucks whoever they damn well please regardless of gender. Every damn one of us are going to hell these days.”

So badly I wanted to snap back at him. To come up with something clever to prove that this day and age was simply more accepting than his, but my brilliance was interrupted by Billie’s doctor. The sudden irony of the situation was so thick I nearly choked again.

“Who’s the bitch, Fairy? Another nurse?” he’d whispered to me as the doctor rolled her eyes in a way that suggested she wasn’t interested in this old man’s bullshit.

“No, Mr. Armstrong, I’m Dr. Shaw. I’ll be the primary physician overlooking your condition for the next few months, so you better get used to it.”

Billie Joe took one look at Dr. Shaw and laughed. It was deep and guttural, and Jesus Christ, did he laugh until tears were pouring from the wrinkled corners of his emerald eyes. He cackled long and hard right up until he couldn’t do so any longer as his gasps turned into painful hacking noises. I suppose the malignant tumors in his lungs didn’t appreciate being mauled by the simple act of laughter. During his spasm, Dr. Shaw and I were left to observe in stupor until the old man had composed himself enough to explain…though I had a damn good guess as to what was coming.

“Good God, a male nurse and a lady doctor? What’s next, Jack the Ripper as head of surgery?”

Dr. Shaw’s eyes widened in disgust, and she opened her mouth to assert to the old bastard exactly what she thought of his sexist statement. I put my hand up quickly to stop her as I whispered quietly in her ear, “Don’t mind him, he’s a bit eccentric.”

“Ha! Eccentric…I was going to say he was a jackass, but your word works as well,” she hissed back, fully aware that Billie could hear her but didn’t care in the least. She then snatched his chart, muttered something about being stable, dammit, and dashed from the room as quickly as she could.

“Charming little peach, that one. You don’t think she’s gonna kill me, do ya, Fairy?”

I considered not even dignifying his question with a response, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d held my tongue long enough, and that scorching mark on my back was beginning to smart. It was about time I said something and took his damn magnifying glass away.

“That’s impossible because by the time you drive her to do it, I would have already killed you myself,” I snapped, swelling with pride as I noticed the twinkling in his eye had dulled. Seeing as I already had the upper hand in this conversation, I added for good measure, “And I’d get away with it, too. There’s just so many possibilities to kill a terminal patient in a place like this…”

Turning abruptly around and grinning like a psychopath, I left Billie Joe Armstrong to mull over the threat he had received. What I couldn’t see was the thoughtful way in which he gazed after me, wondering why it had been so long since anyone had stood up to him like that.