Drowning in the Distance

XX | Donghyuck

I blink, watching the short, brown-haired woman sleepily from the edge of my bed as she argues back and forth with Dr. Moon. As if screaming about it will somehow help change the words written across the paper, the intricate patterns making up the diagrams. If there was one thing about my mother, it was that she could never take this kind of news very well. Technical terms aside, there's been no change. The Cevaflomalin hasn't done what it was aiming to do, what the researchers and doctors were praising that it would do. I'd learnt not to get my hopes up, not after having so many meetings like this, but something is different about this time. And that something is her. She wasn't in my life the last time I had news like this. The last time I had news like this, it didn't keep me away from the one person in the world who I wanted to be close to. Happy birthday to me, I guess. I stare at the guitar case leaned against the wall behind her, eyes tracing over the messily littered band stickers and doodles covering it. My fingers tingle, itching to reach out, unzip the case and strum. I barely register the words that spew from her painted lips, no longer wanting to listen or be tuned in to the conversation.

"The researchers praised this drug to the high heavens, it should be working." She paces back and forth, hand scratching at the back of her neck. She turns to face the doctor once again, pointing a finger at him as she speaks. "There must have been an adverse interaction, a fault, something keeping this drug from working as it should." She fires, her eyes frantic and hair dishevelled as she stares at the man before her with desperation. She speaks as though she's as versed in her medical knowledge as the doctor she's addressing, and at this point, she may well be. Dr. Moon takes a deep breath, sighing softly and shaking his head. He looks back at her, imploring her to understand and to see reason in this.

"The B. cepacia bacterium in Haechan's lungs have deeply colonized. Antibiotic penetration into lung tissue takes time for any drug, regardless of how well it's been praised by its researchers." He says firmly, nodding his head towards my daily IV of Cevaflomalin before continuing. "This drug is no different." He stares at her, waiting for some kind of reaction. Even from being here a few weeks, it's obvious to everyone in this godforsaken hospital what kind of person she is and, therefore, what kind of response she'll have to bad news. My mum takes a deep breath, placing one hand on the side table and leaning against it, shaking her head.

"But if this drug isn't effective-" No. No, absolutely not. I'm not leaving. She's not pulling me out of another drug trial only to enrol me on another, another that's halfway across the world. Not again. I stand from the bed, careful with the IV line connected to me, cutting her off.

"No. That's enough. It's over, Mum. I'm eighteen now, remember? I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not going to any more hospitals." My voice comes out firmer than I'd been expecting, much stronger. Maybe it's because I finally have a leg to stand on, being of legal age to make my own medical decisions, or maybe it's because I feel more attached to this place than any other that I've ever been to. The shorter woman spins around to look at me, and I can tell she was entirely prepared for this moment, her familiar eyes hardened and blazing with anger.

"Oh, I am so sorry that I'm ruining your fun by trying to keep you alive, Donghyuck! So terribly sorry!" Her voice raises in pitch, clearly already livid with me. I scoff, spotting Dr. Moon slowly back toward the door in my peripheral. Smart man. This wouldn't be pretty in any respect. My eyes remain on my mother as the door closes behind him and I glare at her, giving her the same hard look that she'd given me. Childish, maybe, but it's impossible to win with her, so I have to get my own somehow.

"You know I'm a lost cause, don't you? All of this-" I gesture around the room, one hand gripping the IV pole to my side. "- is pointless. You're making it worse. Nothing you do, nothing doctors do, no treatment is going to rid my lungs of the B. cepacia. None of this is gonna save me. Nothing can." I say, finally letting the words that I've been holding back for eight long months fall from my tongue. God, that felt good. I watch her carefully, staring as she removes her hand from the table, pursing her lips for a moment before parting them to speak.