Apathy
Consent.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall, ignoring the watch on my right wrist. The second hand’s incessant ticking drowns out my thoughts—not that my thoughts are centered on what I’m about to do; quite the opposite really. I resumed my pacing, an old habit I picked up years ago, after my first patient’s death. I know twelve paces to my left takes me to my bookshelf full of medical tomes, the odd self-helpers and the occasional bit of literature. Six paces to my right takes me to my desk, a corner piece; I like to look out at my surroundings from one stationary position. Directly behind me was the view into the city, however, on days like today my curtains remained drawn shut, another habit picked up years ago.
A knock on the door breaks me of my reverie and I mutter a feeble ‘enter.’ The door opens to reveal the left shoulder, neck and head of one of the nurses. Ellie is her name if I remember correctly. She bites her lip and I know in an instant it’s time.
“The family’s gone, well all except for the brother.”
I nodded and waved her off. The soft click of the door causes me to glance back up at the clock, five minutes. I turn to my right and head towards my desk. I reach out for the blindingly white lab coat draped across the back of my chair and shrug it on, not bothering to smooth out the odd wrinkle or two. I learned a long time ago that no matter how proper I looked, why I was in the room outweighed how professional I looked.
I flipped open the manila folder in the center of my desk; Allen Hamilton, room 361. I’ve been in that room seventeen times now, all different patients of course. I’m not their Oncology specialist. I’m merely the doctor who cares too much; or so that’s how the families perceive me, the one who bares such a harsh weight on his shoulders—if they only knew. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, leaving the folder behind. He’d have on in his room for me to check over.
My shoes barely made a sound on the shiny, linoleum floors as I made my way down the hall to the elevators. The sterile smell of antiseptic overwhelmed my nostrils and calmed my barely existent nerves. I could do this, I’ve done it plenty of times before—too many to count.
“Good morning Doctor Jameson, how are you today?”
I should know her name. The pretty young thing she is; desperate to prove to the rest of the staff that she deserves one of the four Emergency Room openings come March. I glanced down at her nametag, ignoring its location—A. Warren. I smiled at her.
“Morning Ms. Warren, I’m well, yourself?”
She flushed; I hated when they did that. She began telling me about her morning, something or other about traffic—it’s always traffic—and I tuned her out as I pressed the button to call the elevator to my floor. Once the doors opened I made sure to enter first; if she was anything like the other nurses they tended to sway their hips far too much when walking in front of me. She followed me in and stood a bit too close for my own liking.
“What floor?” She asked.
“Down to three.”
Her shoulders tensed and I saw anguish flash through her eyes as she took a definite step away from me. She hastily reached out and pressed the small round three. I hated that I couldn’t have an office on the third floor, it would make moments like this more tolerable, or nonexistent actually. I noticed she didn’t press a floor for herself; I inwardly chuckled to myself. My hands were magnificent, perhaps that’s why I was located on the seventh floor where all the tricky surgeries were performed, but this, what I was about to do, of all the willing Doctors, I was the best. The number slowly counted down from seven to three and when the doors pinged open I smirked.
“Have a wonderful day Ms. Warren.”
I couldn’t help but grin when she let out a small gasp. Oh well, one less nurse to bombard me with fluttering lashes and overly wide smiles. I glanced up at the sign—Oncology Ward. I preferred to call it, ‘Welcome to a slow and painful death.’ I made my way towards the large double doors and swiped my badge over the small scanner and waited the two seconds before they clicked open on their own accord. I knew my way, straight through to the third hallway on the right then take the first left and it was the twelfth room on the right side of the hall.
A knock on the door breaks me of my reverie and I mutter a feeble ‘enter.’ The door opens to reveal the left shoulder, neck and head of one of the nurses. Ellie is her name if I remember correctly. She bites her lip and I know in an instant it’s time.
“The family’s gone, well all except for the brother.”
I nodded and waved her off. The soft click of the door causes me to glance back up at the clock, five minutes. I turn to my right and head towards my desk. I reach out for the blindingly white lab coat draped across the back of my chair and shrug it on, not bothering to smooth out the odd wrinkle or two. I learned a long time ago that no matter how proper I looked, why I was in the room outweighed how professional I looked.
I flipped open the manila folder in the center of my desk; Allen Hamilton, room 361. I’ve been in that room seventeen times now, all different patients of course. I’m not their Oncology specialist. I’m merely the doctor who cares too much; or so that’s how the families perceive me, the one who bares such a harsh weight on his shoulders—if they only knew. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, leaving the folder behind. He’d have on in his room for me to check over.
My shoes barely made a sound on the shiny, linoleum floors as I made my way down the hall to the elevators. The sterile smell of antiseptic overwhelmed my nostrils and calmed my barely existent nerves. I could do this, I’ve done it plenty of times before—too many to count.
“Good morning Doctor Jameson, how are you today?”
I should know her name. The pretty young thing she is; desperate to prove to the rest of the staff that she deserves one of the four Emergency Room openings come March. I glanced down at her nametag, ignoring its location—A. Warren. I smiled at her.
“Morning Ms. Warren, I’m well, yourself?”
She flushed; I hated when they did that. She began telling me about her morning, something or other about traffic—it’s always traffic—and I tuned her out as I pressed the button to call the elevator to my floor. Once the doors opened I made sure to enter first; if she was anything like the other nurses they tended to sway their hips far too much when walking in front of me. She followed me in and stood a bit too close for my own liking.
“What floor?” She asked.
“Down to three.”
Her shoulders tensed and I saw anguish flash through her eyes as she took a definite step away from me. She hastily reached out and pressed the small round three. I hated that I couldn’t have an office on the third floor, it would make moments like this more tolerable, or nonexistent actually. I noticed she didn’t press a floor for herself; I inwardly chuckled to myself. My hands were magnificent, perhaps that’s why I was located on the seventh floor where all the tricky surgeries were performed, but this, what I was about to do, of all the willing Doctors, I was the best. The number slowly counted down from seven to three and when the doors pinged open I smirked.
“Have a wonderful day Ms. Warren.”
I couldn’t help but grin when she let out a small gasp. Oh well, one less nurse to bombard me with fluttering lashes and overly wide smiles. I glanced up at the sign—Oncology Ward. I preferred to call it, ‘Welcome to a slow and painful death.’ I made my way towards the large double doors and swiped my badge over the small scanner and waited the two seconds before they clicked open on their own accord. I knew my way, straight through to the third hallway on the right then take the first left and it was the twelfth room on the right side of the hall.