After driving from St. Francis Memorial, my workplace, I went directly home to sleep. In my apartment, to be precise, Aaliyah had a class later in the day, so I gave her my car, as my shift would start exactly at eight at night. It was actually at nine, but I preferred being early in order for the doctor to give me a handover of every patient and everything that happened throughout the day.
I loved my work, of course; if I didn't, then this meant risk for many families and people who would be assigned to me to aid them through their various cardio issues.
Anyway, currently I was wearing my white shirt and black well-slimmed and straightened trousers. Well, not that slimmed, but professional, as I took my car keys. Aaliyah had some party with friends she needed to attend, so she just left right after bringing in my car.
I did not know, or better off, I had not really dug deep into my feelings towards Aaliyah. I did not know. I really did not know. She made me nervous though, made me question my actions, made me get out of my comfort zone of not being more on the phone texting someone or calling anyone. She made me do it to her. Call her, text her back, want to make her forgive me, want to prove my peace or prove my actions, want to talk to her more often. This was what she honestly made me do. I did not think about it, but I, I indeed felt the ache when we would be speaking, and then our speeches turned bitter. I would feel her absence when she was not around. As now, I already feel alone as if a part of me is missing. I already feel like calling her and asking her how the party is going, when she will head home, if I can call an Uber to pick her up, or if she is really okay at the party. I just felt like caring for her in any way I could. I don't know if this was an emotional development, but I know I lost touch with my emotions a long time ago, a really long time ago. Maybe it was just a feeling that every human being has, but the truth is, I knew this was different, but I don't think I was ready to really interrogate it, so I just left it at that. As I scraped off the need and urge my mind had of calling her, I told myself, 'She is with her friends,' as I closed the apartment door and just sent her a text, 'Left my keys on the window pane. Enjoy the party.' with no emoji, despite wanting to put a laughing emoji or some love emoji. I don't know, anything, but I just stopped myself. I opened the car door as I reached the ground-floor parking lot, placed my backpack in the back, and started the car, as I tossed my phone on the passenger seat.
Despite all these thoughts, I knew there was an urgent thought that I was tossing around right when it popped into my mind.
Firstly, the fact that Zain, as they called him, my son, damn, my son, was having a cardio problem, one which I actually never knew of and still have little to no idea about. I was ignoring this because it brought the thought of him not having or rather carrying my last name. I know I was indeed missing out on his physical life, but actually, the reason why I did that was because her parents obtained a court order against me, not to ever reach out to their daughter, and then I barely even had the money to even quest for justice on my side. Well, I don't really like remembering that, but I just, she always called me though wanting money for the child and everything, and I did that just fine. Even when the cent I had in my mobile bank would be my traveling fee or my electricity bill, I would just send her money and just accept the darkness for the night as I loaned Luke, or would just look for a way to sneak money out of my mum's wallet, the only people who made me survive my dread. Anyway, I know everyone has ways of coping with these kinds of things, so I just let it be and keep pushing the situation aside.
As I thought, I reached the entrance of the memorial hospital. The highway was clear; at least at night, it was not that busy, not like mornings and evenings, you know, rush hours and going home hours to meet your family after lengthy hours of work. I did not even know if I wanted a family really. I just, of course, it would be great to have one, but after everything, processing and going through the same thing would really tear me apart. So I really did not think about that. Maybe that's why I took the dreadful decision of just cooling my head off with diverse women, but now that I look back, being proud is one thing I would never say. I wish I chose another path other than that, but I was really annoyed with the world, myself, the people. I was just annoyed, and I guess I needed mental gratification or something, but that period of my life is one I would shake off. If there were a chance to just erase memories, I would just shake it off.
After steadily parking my car, I went out with my bag and a water bottle, although the hospital provided anything one needed for the night. I entered through the officials' area; it was still busy. The hospital is always busy, of course—different conditions, different patients, different emergencies. I knew this, and it was something I was used to, and something I really felt proud of, especially when the patient relies on you in fighting for their life, and they literally come back from death, if not near death, to a coma, and then to speaking, laughing, eating, and later on thanking you. That's the pride. Especially those who come back from death, like the heart literally stopping and having to stimulate it with machines—crazy, but anyway...
"Doctor Levin," one of the nurse practitioners called me, and I immediately came in to listen to her. "There is a patient, five years of age, with ventricular septal defect (VSD). His pulse rate is a little bit irregular, minutes of high, minutes of low, and he seems to have difficulty in responding too," she finished.
"Any diagnosis given?" I asked as she walked me to the boy's ward room. Right outside were Kate and Funky. I almost paralyzed from seeing them, God, but I knew I needed to be strong for them. Sometimes we parents need to be strong, I told myself, as I gave them a little look and then chose to just look straight ahead as the curtains opened and closed on them. No patient was allowed to be seen by their family when discussions and evaluations were being made, but I was family to this one, and it was a little disorienting. I did not even know what to do, so I just listened to the pediatrician who started reading me the notes of his previous diagnosis and then finished with, "I am afraid that this boy needs surgery fast, if we are to follow his previous doctor's diagnosis. Or, we can scan him and see the severity of the condition. However, in his state, I am not sure if he can handle..."
"The scan," I stated, nodding as if understanding what she was saying. I really do not know how doctors who end up treating their own parents or family members cope with this kind of situation, but I was trying my hardest not to look at the various machines placed on the boy's fragile body. It was even hard for me to call him son; I felt I had failed him. But I needed not to fail him in this. "When can be the next surgery? We have one tomorrow morning, so when can we schedule it for him?"
"Your statement, doctor," she said, making a little smile, as if reminding me that cardiologists were the final authorities on a surgery schedule and what to do with the patients. Even if I said let's get it done now, they would just wrap things up and get down to business. But I did not have the medical records of the boy. I did not know what had caused him to be brought here, if it was a fainting episode or something. Luke told me he was asthmatic. I needed to know the diagnosis given. I needed...
"What does the patient say... I mean, the patient's parent?" I asked, already speaking confused.
"They are a little confused, surprised, so it is hard to get any information from them," she stated, nodding, as I nodded back. I was offered all the medical records of the boy. "Doctor Heung prefers it being done tomorrow night, after we have figured out his condition, not solely relying on the previous doctor's work but using our own check. He thinks we should give him a scan. So I request if we can call for the CT scan." She was speaking a lot. Normally, I would just say, of course, I'll be checking the medical records of the patient. But now, I don't know, I was becoming reluctant, something that is never within me. It was like the fear of losing him in a scan when we could easily use the previous doctor's diagnosis and avoid putting him through the whole process. He was five, grown big there, buddy... but we have to risk things sometimes. We cannot operate on something we have no plan for. So, Doctor Heung was right, and he was experienced after all.
"Okay," I stated, as I took in the medical report, while the pediatrician called for the CT scan. I opened the curtains to leave when Kate called out to me right away. I had not even put on my coat, and I still had my bag since my shift had not yet started, but I knew now it had already begun.
"Zen..." she called out, and it took all my courage to look at her.
"Kate, I..." I started, but stopped myself, not sure why. "He will be alright, I assure you."
"He is your son," she stated, "our son," she added, as Funky came over to where we stood. I saw the CT scanners enter the room, and I thought, 'It must be so hard for a parent seeing their child going through pain.'
"How is he, Hayzen?" Funky asked.
"He is holding up. He will be fine," I stated. I did not know how he was really doing, but from his pulse rate and blood pressure, I could tell his situation was a little questionable. His pulse seemed to be affected by something I wasn't sure of. I knew I needed to be inside the room as they scanned his body. That's where I needed to be, I told myself over and over. Once I saw the pediatrician outside, I knew she was looking for me, so I said, "Excuse me, I will be back in a bit," and headed inside the curtains.
"How's he holding up?" I asked.
"We need you, doctor, to take a look," one of the practitioners stated.
"It seems it's not that big. I think we can cover it," another stated. But as I thoroughly checked the scan, I knew exactly what needed to be done. My worry was it becoming bigger. The problem was, it was more on the left ventricle, meaning any more day wasted would lead to it growing bigger, and it would put the boy at risk. So it meant, truthfully, he needed surgery as soon as possible, or else...
"Okay," was what I stated as I left the curtains. There were also other patients I was responsible for: one with a deoxygenated blood issue and another who was scheduled for surgery in the morning. Of course, I needed to prepare him adequately and check to see if he was truly ready or needed another day.
"Hayzen," Kate called out to me again, and I gently took her hand, not really noticing Funky, and led them to my office. I let them sit on the two chairs that faced each other.
I placed my bag on the couch, took out my stethoscope, put on my doctor coat, and then went to my seat opposite theirs, separated by a small desk.
"Have you had anything to eat?" I started, as I felt a range of emotions overwhelming me. I wanted to ask why they never texted me, called me, or told me, about the child's issue, but I knew I needed to be really calm. I needed to be calm, for them.