Chapter Text
I don't know, I don't know
My social life is gone
Say goodbye
To the light of day
Welcome to the wards.
Beanie Meadow, I don't know
London, 2nd December 2022
Friday nights at the hospital's ER were like stepping into a bizarre nightmare-comedy show. It felt like the universe was determined to test the limits of human stupidity. Some patients decided it was a great idea to swallow lighters or indulge in glass bottle adventures Indiana-Jones-and-the-Stretched-Bunghole-style that ended in breaking, thankfully, just the bottles. And let's not forget the guy who managed to create a painful pencil situation in his pillar. I mean, who comes up with this stuff, right?
But the award for bravery went to the courageous brunette who underestimated the mighty power of a bad dragon dildo. Her vagina muscles clenched like true champs around the silicone cock, and it was a real torment for her and for us to get that thing out of her.
As each shift passed, I couldn't help but wonder if there were some magnetic force drawing people to explore all the wrong places with the wrong objects. It's like they're on a quest to find out just how much they can fit where they definitely shouldn't. And size? Oh, it definitely matters, the pencil guy informed me with a disarming smile, solemnly promising he'll look for something smaller to stick into his urethra.
Then there are those warning signs plastered everywhere. "No smoking" at the gas station? I guess someone could think setting the pumps on fire would be a great idea. And the classic "keep away from water" caution on toasters? Because, you know, toast and swimming are a match made in heaven. And let's not forget the coffee cups with their oh-so-helpful reminder that the drink may be hot.
Sometimes, I catch myself daydreaming about leaving it all to Mother Nature's grand plan. But as a doctor, I took an oath to save lives, no matter how mind-bogglingly foolish the circumstances. Yes, I know. It's our duty to heal and mend, whether it's an Einstein-level genius in any way useful to society or some idiot who accidentally swallowed their own car keys.
So here I was, a doctor with a front-row seat to the world's weirdest show, sighing in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of it all, hating myself for all the bad thoughts I had about people.
"What do you think about number two?" I asked Michael in a soft voice. He was a tall, swarthy man with a strikingly handsome face and the most captivating olive complexion I had ever seen. His eyes, oh those eyes, held a depth that always drew me in. He sat at the computer, clicking the mouse furiously, his furrowed brow showing his frustration. It seemed he had misplaced his glasses again, and my heart swelled with concern for him. We had met during our time in med school and quickly became inseparable. Our friends often remarked on how well we complemented each other, even suggesting a future together. Today, I couldn't help but wonder if we had missed an opportunity by simply laughing it off instead of exploring the possibility of starting a family. Sure, we had shared a few drunken nights, barely able to tell the ceiling from the floor, but it was always devoid of any serious feelings or consideration for a relationship. And then Uwe came into my life.
"I think a lot, but I haven't done it yet. Not enough coffee," he muttered, a mischievous wink accompanying his words. I let out a sigh.
"I'm serious, the patient in curtain two. Looks like a diabetic foot that needs amputation ASAP before sepsis sets in. The problem is his heart condition; anaesthesia might not be safe for him," I whispered.
The doctor's pen was nothing more than a symbolic wooden fence, earning it the nickname "the pasture." Doctors themselves often resembled a flock of sheep, blindly following their textbooks and the mountain of papers they had memorized for exams. Engaging in a loud conversation was out of the question, though the constant buzz in the room, accompanied by moans and screams, effectively drowned out any potential eavesdroppers. However, I didn't want to draw attention and openly admit that I was a lousy doctor. All right, an absolutely shitty doctor.
"Send him to the SICU," Michael shrugged. He was scouring WebMD and Google MD, seeking answers. That's what I loved about him: he was unapologetically himself, no matter the time or place. He didn't care about others' opinions or whether people respected him or not. I wished I could be more like him, simple and good-natured. I longed for even a shred of his self-confidence, but I had lost it completely a few months ago when Uwe calmly and casually, in a cold voice sending shivers down my spine, informed me about Marina.
I quickly pushed aside the painful memories, though a lingering grimace remained on my face. I was growing impatient, but I didn't want to take it out on Michael, the one good soul in this whole chaotic cesspool.
"You know it goes against the procedure," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Should I call Dr Rotbaum or book the operating room immediately?" I bit my lip, plagued by my usual indecisiveness, one of the worst qualities of a doctor.
"Call Rotbaum; let her handle it. Hadds, really, screw 'em all," Michael growled, slamming his fist on the desk. The monitor shook violently. "Fuck, how I hate this job. It's not how it was supposed to be."
I looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. I pressed my lips together tightly, holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill out.
I knew exactly what he meant. We were kindred spirits, mentally aligned like two sides of the same coin. We had both pursued careers in medicine fuelled by a deep sense of mission and purpose. Our desire was to make a difference, to heal, to overcome diseases, and to work miracles. We both had a touch of the God complex, yearning to experience the exhilaration of defying death. Like naive dreamers, we had watched House MD and Grey's Anatomy as teenagers, convinced that the reality of the profession would mirror the drama and fulfilment portrayed on screen. Despite the challenges, the difficult cases, and the exhaustion, we believed we would have a fulfilling and meaningful life with the eternal gratitude of the people we helped along the way.
And here we were, confronting patients spitting in our faces, drunkards shitting on the hospital floor, and morons engaging in questionable practices with various orifices. It was hard to believe that just a few years prior, completely green and full of dreams and ideals, I had stepped foot into the hospital wearing a brand-new, pristine, freshly-pressed white apron, only for it to be coloured moments later by the vomit of a five-year-old with a stomach bug. Perhaps I should have taken that as a warning. Instead of being a happy and fulfilled woman, I found myself reduced to a mere shadow of my former self, a thirty-one-year-old fool who couldn't move past her failed marriage.
Of course that I was burnt out. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror of the staff restroom, that cramped little cubicle that was always out of toilet paper. The reflection staring back at me was unrecognizable. I used to have shiny, beautiful hair that now hung lifelessly in dull strands. I made an effort to wash it regularly, but I had long given up on using conditioners and masks. Just a month ago, I had promised myself that I would visit the hairdresser and get my act together, maybe even dye my hair to cover the few strands of grey that had started to appear. Yet, I had failed to fulfil that promise... Why? Simply because… What was the point? My skin was dry and rough because I was too lazy to apply lotion. The dark circles under my eyes were a constant reminder to everyone that my sleep was anything but restful, as evidenced by my slow, lethargic gait. It was a daily struggle to drag myself out of bed and face yet another gruelling day of work. Truth be told, I wasn't sure which was more depressing—the shattered dreams or the ordinary loneliness that seemed to fill my existence. Still, I tried not to give up. I dedicated myself to helping people, tirelessly working those long hours, and never shirking my responsibilities (at least in cases where I had a clue about what the hell I was supposed to do). I was determined to help people, even those with the most absurd ideas imaginable in this vast universe.
I was no oath breaker. Not in the branch of medicine nor the branch of marriage.
"I'll get us some coffee," I offered with a weary sigh. "And then I'll give Rotbaum a call."
Just seven more hours of this chaotic circus, and then I could finally go home. Home, if you could call it that—a rented, cramped flat on the outskirts of London, the refuge I sought after my divorce.
Michael nodded. "Make mine a gingerbread latte with lactose-free milk."
I let out a brief laugh, the first in what felt like ages, though a lump formed in my throat. The hospital's offering to its staff was nothing but vile coffee with grounds that had likely been stored since the Cold War.
A surge of newfound, teeny-tiny particles of energy coursed through me. It wasn't like me to leave a patient mid-examination and disappear, but I couldn't help myself. I was exhausted, I was in desperate need of sleep, and the bad aura of this place seeped into my bones. Skilfully dodging the bustling nurses, who hurriedly carried vials of blood for tests, IV drips, and bandages later carefully wrapped around blood-stained patients, I quickened my pace. The closer I got to the break room, the more my energy reserves seemed to increase at an incredible rate. The chaos of the ER overwhelmed, suffocated, and tormented me. I hated those feelings, the lack of control. I loathed the task of setting broken bones and stitching up jagged wounds.
I almost run the last few metres, my magnetic card belonging to Hadassah Schroeder, MD, securely pinned to my pocket as always, granting me access. With a sigh of relief, I pushed open the door and stepped into the sanctuary of the break room, finally being able to breathe. The door closed behind me, shutting out the chaos, and I was enveloped with blissful silence. Slowly, I sank down, my back against the door, sitting on the floor. In an instant, the headache that had plagued me since morning faded away, the nausea caused by the patient defecating on multiple hospital beds was gone, and the overwhelming burden of people's trust in me, knowing I couldn't fully help them, lifted.
I couldn't help them.
And right now, I didn't even want to.
A familiar lump formed in my throat, and I couldn't help my quiet sobs. I had been an emotional wreck, trying to pull myself together throughout the past few hours. I didn't shed a single tear when I attended to the young boy brought in by the police, a victim of domestic violence. I stayed calm as I helped a woman through the process of delivering a deformed stillborn five-month-old foetus, witnessing her raw grief and animal-like howls as she cradled them to her breast. I performed my duties like a machine, but the emotions that were building up inside me finally had to find an outlet.
The break room, known to all the ER staff as a sanctuary for release, served as a Wailing Wall—a place of prayer for a better future, for an easier tomorrow. If you didn't need it, you didn't go there, as simple as that. Coffee was just an excuse, as we usually didn't have time to drink it anyway.
Michael understood my need to let it out, yet he pretended to wait for his coffee, scolding me each time I returned empty-handed.
Curled up on the floor, my back pressed firmly against the door to keep anyone from entering, I clasped the delicate silver chain adorned with a small ruby pendant. I never got an engagement ring from Uwe. As he explained to me, he didn't believe in rings. I had no idea at the time where he got the money for a real freaking ruby. He always said he was as poor as a church mouse, and the salary of an aspiring psychologist left much to be desired. The necklace now served as the only link between us, a painful reminder of our failed marriage, which I, a complete fool, was wearing every freaking day. After our divorce, I wanted to return it to him, to get rid of the last piece of him, but he insisted I keep it.
"I hope it brings you happiness in your new life. May all your dreams come true," he whispered coldly as he grabbed the hand of the woman who had ruined my marriage. The stunning blonde with long legs offered me a faint smile and waved goodbye, flaunting a dazzling ruby on her ring finger.
He never believed in rings until Marina.
"I want to escape from this place," I sobbed, my voice trembling. "I want a purpose in life; I want to finally be happy!" I almost screamed, pounding my chest. "I want to be able to love my life again..."
I felt like I was completely falling apart. All the emotions I had tightly held in check, restraining them like a leash to prevent their release from my mind and soul, now poured out of me in hot, bitter tears. I made no effort to wipe them away. I would wash my face later, put on a smile, and attend to the next patient who would vent their frustration on me for the delay in setting their broken leg, all because the ambulance brought in a victim of a car accident who took precedence.
I wept for myself, for the life that was lost, for my depression, for the hardness of the floor and the uncomfortable door, for the cool wind, for the forest and those damn birds, for the blinding sky above that seemed to mock me, for...
I stood up abruptly, my vision momentarily darkening. I blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the peculiar, hot, and intense sensation forming in my chest. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the light that contrasted starkly with the dim bulbs of the break room. It was then that I realized that everything was far from normal. Nothing was as it should be. I gasped as I took in my surroundings, finding myself surrounded by a dense green forest, its beauty causing my heart to ache. Tilting my head back, I looked at the towering trees, their sheer size yet failing to completely block the sight of the delectable blue sky above. The melodies of birdsong filled my ears, enchanting me and causing me to momentarily lose myself. Something was wrong.
Something was extremely wrong.
Someone help me, please?
"Haddie, lass, you're losing your mind," I murmured to myself. "You need to stop stealing opioids from the ER's meds cabinet." I forced a nervous smile towards the surrounding trees as if they could see me. The truth was, I had never dabbled in drugs. My profession exposed me to the devastating consequences of substance abuse far too often. To ground myself, I pinched my arm, wincing at the sharp pain that it caused. I used to fall asleep on duty, a consequence of exhaustion, both physical and mental.
Well, the pain in my arm was severe, but it didn't change anything in my field of vision.
Swallowing hard, I looked once again at the unfamiliar forest before me, a mixture of shock and disbelief coursing through my veins. A sense of irrational fear began to take hold, despite my attempts to rationalize the situation as a mere dream. Yet, the dream felt oddly real as I inhaled the scent of grass, felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, listened to the gentle splash of a nearby stream, and felt the sharp stones under my feet. I could still feel the hot tears on my cheeks, so I wiped them quickly with my arm, leaving a wet trail on my clothes.
Fear coursed through me as if something bad was about to happen. I shivered, caught between the chill of the air and the sweat trickling down my body, dressed only in light blue, thin scrubs adorned with a print of cartoon cats. Something was undeniably wrong, and my heart pounded in my chest as if it would burst or have an attack. My breath became shallow and short. The necklace from my ex hung heavily around my neck, tightening around it, choking me. I clutched at my chest, trying to calm down, but my hands shook uncontrollably. I looked around once again and panic surged within me, stronger than ever before.
Then, a deafening roar pierced the air, tearing at my ears and causing me to turn back. My gaze met the eyes of the most bizarre creature I had ever laid eyes upon. If I believed in fairy tales, I would swear it resembled the ugliest, most monstrous, and gigantic dragon in the whole world. Its yellow eyes roamed over my body, seemingly assessing my worthiness as a potential yummy dinner.
Another wild roar echoed, and right in front of my face, the ugly beast's massive jaws opened wide. I gasped, frozen in place, as a ball of fire took shape within the mouth of the dragon. It was a fucking fire-breathing dragon, and I couldn't muster the strength to flee, as if my legs were completely useless.
This is it. This is how I'm going to die.
And then darkness consumed me.
Darkness tinged with glimmers of gold, silver, and a musky, smoky, leathery scent.