A Healer's War

Chapter 19 - Game Changer

Chapter 19: Game Changer

00:33. Tuesday - April 17th.

On the stairs back to the unit, Rory's adrenaline finally faded, and his professionally pent-up emotions broke free. His knees gave out, and the frustration and fear boiled out of him, hot and stifling, choking his air. He clutched his chest, feeling as though his heart had cracked. Perhaps it had.

Some piece of him tried to talk himself out of the feeling—that he'd tried, that he should be proud of that at least, but it did little to soothe the growing pressure behind his eyes. Tears broke free and splashed onto the cold steps. He clutched his fists next to his temples, leaned against the wall, and trembled. He wept for Tommy and Octavia and all the others he couldn't save. It wasn't the first time he'd cried in this stairwell. These steps had soaked up many nurses' tears over the years.

Between sobs, a voice reminded him he still had a patient to care for and people waiting on him. He managed a few ragged breaths to settle himself and wiped the dripping snot from his nose.

No more. I'm done. For real, this time.

The thought warmed him, calmed him, and the pressure in his chest lifted. A single path became clear. A simple path. An easy path. One without the need to cry secretly in the stairwell. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, hoping his sleeve dried before he returned to the unit. He didn't want to explain anything more to Bell.

His pocket vibrated, and on his phone, he found a text message from Patrick: Van guy wants to meet Saturday and even knocked down the price when I told him about you. 5K!

Rory cleared his throat, typing out a quick message. Saturday it is. He hit send and continued up the stairs. He'd need to give his notice and finish out the schedule, but then... he'd be free.

Maybe he'd try photography, or maybe he'd pick up the guitar again and see where that might take him. Maybe he should try something totally new, like scuba diving or bullfighting.

As Rory climbed, old memories crept in—memories from his treatments, of coloring outside the lines with his nurse Florence, and how Susie snuck him extra sorbet during those long infusion hours. He remembered being taught how to make a squirt gun out of a syringe, tubing, and wall air. He remembered his nurses building him forts of blankets and pillows just so the monsters couldn't find him.

Rory had reached the eighth-floor landing when a thought stopped him. If I'm not a nurse, then what am I?

He didn't have an answer. He never thought he'd need it. It made him nauseous. At least here, he made a difference, little by little, person by person. Even on the worst nights, he could claim that. That's where he wanted to be, in the trenches with the people, fighting for the fractions. He wouldn't find that in an office, banging out memos, no matter how good the mission is. That just wasn't him.

Maybe I'll try adults? A smaller shake-up to start. He still had bills, after all. Maybe after a stop in Yellowstone, he'd find work at a rural clinic and learn to be a jack-of-all-trades? Then slowly, sadly, more reality dripped back in.

What about Patrick and Anna? And Khloe? Who knows where that was going to go, if anywhere. Was it even worth trying? Starting over would be lonely at first, but Rory was used to the darkness. He survived it plenty of times before, and at least this time, it would be his choice. The idea of leaving felt so enticing, so pure.

Rory stepped into the back hall, dabbing his eyes and trying to come back to the present moment. He braced himself for a lecture from Bell regarding hospital policies. He deserved it.

As he approached the double doors' windows, he saw a frenzy of activity outside Room 4. Tommy's room.

Oh shit. He's coding.

If one ever runs, actually runs, in a hospital, it's life and death. Rory sprinted.

Both residents stood outside Room 4 talking on their cell phones, and nurses buzzed in and out like bees. The respiratory therapist rolled a ventilator out of the room. Rory slowed; his heart raced as he listened. Laughter flowed down the hallway, and he saw a resident's face - smiling. Crying.

Dr. Deedee stepped out of the room, wiping her eyes. She spoke with a resident who nodded, her hair in chaos, matted down on one side, and red lines streaked her face from a pillow. She spotted Rory and waved him over with a wide grin.

"He's AWAKE!" Dr. Deedee croaked.

"Awake...?" Rory couldn't make the thought stick. He didn't understand. It hadn't worked. "You mean he's... alive?"

Deedee nodded through laughter. "See for yourself."

Slowly, Rory stepped over the threshold and into Room 4.

Round, red, and smiling, Tommy reached up and cupped Bell's wet cheeks. She cradled him, cooing. Tears streamed down her face. Rory's legs wobbled, and he braced himself against the doorway. The boy had come back from the dead.

He's alive?! Rory felt more tears building, but this time, he didn't care if anyone saw him.

Taking his eyes off Bell, Tommy watched the nurses flow around him with confusion. Two orchestrated the collection of vitals and labs, while a third distracted him with a stuffed lion. Bell tapped Tommy's nose with hers, refocusing his attention. The boy giggled and grabbed her snowy curls.

"I've been doing this a long time, Rory," Dr. Deedee said from next to him, blotting her eyes with a tissue. "And I've seen some spectacular recoveries, but I have never even heard of anything like this. It tempts you to believe in miracles."

Rory nodded, dumbfounded. It's called casting... The word miracle now felt too small to describe everything he'd seen in the last day.

Deedee nudged Rory with her elbow and nodded back toward the unit. Parents from other rooms poked their heads out and watched the commotion. "The unit needed this. Morales is low. And this... is a big win."

Pride swelled in Rory's chest. A win. Thoughts of travel slipped away as Rory drafted a pitch to Jacklyn in his head. We can do this again.

One resident held up their phone and called for Deedee. As she stepped away, Tommy turned his head and met Rory's eyes briefly. The boy blinked once, then unleashed a toothy smile. It stunned him. The dead don't smile.

For the first time in months, Rory felt the tightness in his chest release. He breathed lighter. We did it. He barely believed the thought. The relief and joy of the revelation cracked him open, shattering his professional mask. Happy tears followed. He sniffed and discreetly aimed his phone and pressed record. Aunt Jackie needed to see this.