On The Horizon || L.S.

October

Saturday, the 1st through Monday, the 31st, 2022

Life is a blur. The days pass in monotony and strain with Harry drifting mindlessly, forever processing, forever left empty.

This is all we can be.

Everything is confusing. There was a deep validation Harry experienced while hearing Louis on the phone that late night, but it doesn't add up in his mind. To him, relationships and love are worth the risks, aren't they? As much as he wants to empathise with what Louis is trying to work through, the situation is fucked. They could be so happy if Louis would give them a chance.

And yet.

I can't let it get any further.

His brain is a skipping record, the songs long past over, needing someone to reset the needle. Preferably a pilot. Also, preferably one that lived within the same country.

Most of the time, Harry can fool himself into pretending that things are alright. He's coasted through his job when his mind couldn't be fully present before - that's something he learned how to do after Robin. Even so, his small mistakes begin stacking up. Mid-conversation, he'll stumble down the path into dissociation, missing essential information. Sometimes there are nurses around to help prompt him, but more often than not, he'll have to awkwardly repeat questions. He can say things to make it sound less incompetent: "When you were talking about your leg pain, could you clarify what kind of pain it was? After reviewing your notes, I have some things in mind and want to confirm my suspicions." But he knows this isn't sustainable, especially when it happens three times in one shift.

It doesn't help that chilly weather is starting to set in, which means one thing: cold and flu season is upon them. Despite Harry's optimism last month, his fifteen minutes of fame have dried up. They had about two weeks where there was a reduction in Minors traffic, fewer patients with congestion and a cough bothering the A&E staff. Either everyone's forgotten Harry urging them to stay home and take over-the-counter medications, or they got anxious and came in anyways. "Everyone's saying COVID will have a resurgence in the autumn and winter," one woman said. She had a very, very acute cold.

The contrast in patient flow blows him away. For a while, shifts in Minors had been relaxing, or as close to it as they'd experienced in some time. Such a harsh shift back to their typical fall waiting room has everyone scrambling, and with Harry already floundering to get through the day-to-day, it isn't a pretty sight. He mixes up multiple patients daily, and he's constantly sluggish, struggling to overcome a general malaise that coats his mind and body. He'd consider checking himself in as a patient if he didn't already know precisely what had him so off-kilter.

All the while, his negative self-talk has been taking slivers of his sanity from him. You should have given up years ago. Why did you become a doctor? It was always obvious that you'd fuck it all up. This patient deserves better. That patient will die because of your malpractice. Failure, failure, failure.

Other doctors and nurses are well aware of his mental state by now, too.

Devon straddles the line between giving him space and smothering him, seemingly unsure how to proceed after Harry's step-dad outburst.

Kate, typically aloof and hard to distract from her job, has been watching him with eagle eyes. That might have made Harry deeply self-conscious in the past, but her soft gaze tells him she's not trying to pick him apart.

George, the nurse who occasionally assists Harry directly, double-checks his notes and adds necessary information. Harry's starting to think that George has been asking patients questions he's forgotten to ask because that's also a thing as of late.