Page 3 of Mercy
“Alright, fine,” I say. This is exactly what I need, a bunch of drunk kids at my house.
“Thanks, Dad!”
I yell, “Get a job, will you?” as he walks back upstairs to leave.
He shakes his head but doesn’t respond, he rarely does.
“Damn kids,” I say to myself. Sometimes I think he is this way because I give him too much. I know I should be tougher with him. I’ve always been gentler because he doesn’t have a mom. I wonder if she were still here if he’d have his shit together. Most days, it seems I’m lacking as a father. I love a little too hard when it comes to Nash.
Walking up to my home office, I sit at my large cherry wood desk. I’ve got a patient, a little girl, that has acute myeloid (AML), cancer of the bone and blood. I’ve been treating her since she was one. She’s had a rough life, going through chemotherapy at such a young age. I remember her ringing the bell when she went into remission. She is the cutest five-year-old I have ever seen. When you spend years treating the same patient, you can’t help but form an attachment. It’s inevitable. Last night, her sweet little face haunted my dreams. Her cancer is back, and the profound sadness in her eyes cut through me like a knife. The chemotherapy was so hard on her little body the first time, there were a few days when I thought we might lose her. Now, here we are again.
After finishing the treatment plan, I shower and prepare for the day. Today, I am not wearing my normal work clothes.
I pull on my princess scrubs, just for five-year-old Ivy. I am sure I look ridiculous, but it’ll make her smile. That’s the most important thing right now.
Walking through the door to the garage, I slide into my black Escalade. Opening the garage door, I back out, wind down my driveway, and head out the gate. It’s about a thirty-minute drive to the children’s hospital. After fumbling with the radio, I finally find a station that I like and crank it up. I drive into the doctor’s parking lot and pull into my reserved spot.
As I walk into the hospital, many of the nurses smile and wave. They are much better behaved now that I’ve been here for a while. When I first started here, they called me Doc Delicious behind my back. They slid panties under the on-call room door. I put an end to that shit quickly. They still glance my way with fuck-me eyes that all go ignored. I’m a doctor, not a fuck boy. Besides, I am sure they couldn’t handle the experience. I knock on Ivy’s door before opening it slowly.
“Dr. L,” she yells!
I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of my chest.
Pulling up a stool beside her bed, I take a seat. I nod to her mom, who stands on the other side of her bed, appearing to be ready to make a mad dash out of this hospital room.
Ivy pulls on the hem of my shirt. “You’re wearing princesses!” She squeals excitedly.
My lips turn up into a grin that spreads from ear to ear. “Do you like them?”
A very serious expression crosses her face. “Dr. L, I love princesses. They are my favorite. Especially Elsa,” she says, pointing at the princess on my shirt.
I smile, “How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m sad that I have cancer again,” she hangs her head low as she twists her knotted fingers.
“Me too, Ivy. But guess what?” I say, trying to sound upbeat.
Her eyes snap to mine with a questioning look.
“You’re going to kick cancer’s butt twice! Right?” I arch an eyebrow at her expectantly.
“Yes! Super Ivy!”
I chuckle as she giggles. “That’s right, sweetheart.”
“Can I talk to your mom for a minute?”
“Will you come back?” Her eyes are practically begging me to say yes.
“They are going to come in and put your port in while I see other patients. I'll tell you what, let's have lunch together. What do you want?"
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries before I get sick again,” she says with unshed tears in her eyes. It breaks my heart that she knows the sickness that’s sure to be coming. I won’t give her false hope though, she is going to get sick, really sick.
“You’ve got it, kiddo.” I smile and nod to her mom, who follows me to the hall.
“We’re going to do chemo again as well as targeted drug therapy.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
