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Ivan sighed. Getting attached to a person, it wasn’t a bad thing at all, but for a doctor, getting attached to a patient, now that was bad… very bad. Alfred knew it too, he was sure of it, but sometimes, Ivan wanted to smack the American on the head to make him remember it.
Alfred can’t escape from him if Ivan ambushed him into confessing. He noticed. He observed. He took note. Alfred can’t deny being attached to one of his patient who he diagnosed having late stage leukemia.
The child was eleven years old with a cheerful smile, twinkling eyes, who had started to get bald because of the extensive treatment, started to get very thin because of the loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting, started to get paler and paler, tired and fatigued… the child had started to deteriorate. Ivan was sure she wasn’t going to last long.
Alfred was handling the case. Gave the proper treatment the hospital can give, medicine the money can afford, best care and support the staff can offer. But fighting cancer, it was always been tricky.
--
Alfred arrived at the doctor’s lounge carrying a box of cupcakes and with the usual winning smile on his face. Ivan sat on the leather couch drinking coffee.
“Coffee?” The oncologist asked as he placed the box of sweets on the table.
“Ludwig gave me a memo about bringing a bottle of vodka here. He said I should set an example for the younger residents.” Ivan answered, “Personally, the residents are old enough to know what’s good or not.”
Alfred laughed in amusement, “That’s Ludwig for you.”
The Russian doctor eyed the cupcake on the table, “For the little girl?”
The other was quiet for a while, “Yeah. She said she wanted cupcakes. Kept on throwing up, might as well give something that taste delicious rather than the bland hospital food.”
“I hope you know what you are doing.”
They left it like that.
--
Alfred wasn’t usually the person who easily got attached. He was polite and professional, and well, a bit rude. But attached? Not really.
Perhaps there was a story behind it? Ivan doesn’t know. If there was, the oncologist can tell him when he’s ready.
--
The girl’s condition deteriorated further and she eventually died. It was a quiet death. Her parents had sadly accepted her condition and were now in the process of grieving. It was a normal event for the staff.
“She isn’t suffering anymore.”
That’s true, Ivan thought. But he knew there was another person suffering too.
--
The Russian found Alfred inside his apartment drinking whiskey alone. The door was unlocked and he entered without knocking or calling.
“You look miserable.” Ivan said.
Alfred stared at him (no tears, no red eyes, the diagnostician noted), “No one invited you here”
Ivan walked towards Alfred’s liquor cabinet, took out an unopened vodka he remembered giving the American for his birthday and sat beside the blond. Alfred simply watched him.
“I know, so invited myself in.”
The blond huffed in irritation but said no more. The two of them minded their own bottle and can hold their alcohol well.
Alfred was the first to break the silence, “When I was a kid, I had a friend. She was eleven too, and she looked hauntingly similar to the kid.”
Ivan kept quiet.
“She was diagnosed with leukemia too. I used to visit her at the hospital after school. I brought her homework and we talked about the classes she was missing. And she would tell me to come visit her again if I have to go. I did… I came everyday.”
“One afternoon, she told me she knew she was going to die even if her parents wasn’t telling her anything,” Alfred drank another glass, “She said she was thankful for knowing me and then had to scare me by saying that if I touched her gameboy after she dies, she was going to haunt me.”
Ivan smiled at that.
“She died the following day while I was at school. Can’t remember what I did after learning what happened. I probably cried lot. But I do know I did not touch that gameboy.”
“You saw your friend through your patient.” Ivan said.
“History repeated in front of me. The kid thanked me that day before she died too, you know.”
“You did your best; you gave the best of your abilities. You always do.” Ivan said with confidence.
The American did not react though. Ivan wasn’t expecting any. Any other day, the oncologist would probably make a joke about what he said just to annoy him.
The Russian let out a deep breath and looked at his friend, “Alfred, we can’t always save everyone.” It was the truth.
“I know.” It was a universally acknowledged truth. They weren’t comic book superheroes. They weren’t gods. They were humans. And they needed to deal with death.
Silence filled the living room as the two finished their drink.
“Hey Ivan…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”