❛ ━ꜱᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴡᴏ━ ❜ After their world went up in smoke following the heartbreaking loss of their child, Choi San and Jung Wooyoung's engagement shattered into pieces. Each day became a battle for survival in a sea of grief. Struggling to c...
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─•~❉ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ❉~•─
Over the next two days, there was a noticeable improvement in my condition. The new medication regimen seemed to be effective, though I remained confined to my hospital bed. The doctor allowed me to take gentle walks within the room, but only after meticulously checking my blood pressure and closely observing my body's reaction to the medication. My spirits were buoyed by these small liberties and the comforting presence of San, while Hwa-Young was well cared for by my mother, relieving me of any worry on that front. I turned to face San, who was seated by my hospital bed, as I shifted into a sitting position.
"I want to go home now and sleep in our own bed," I murmured softly, letting out a small, wistful pout. San's smile in response was a soothing balm to my restlessness.
"The doctor is awaiting the final results, and I'm arranging to have a nurse come home to assist us," he replied gently, his voice a soft echo in the quiet room. Just as he finished speaking, the door opened and my doctor, accompanied by the chemotherapy specialist, entered. They were deep in discussion, brows furrowed as they perused a sheaf of papers that seemed to puzzle them.
"Good morning," the doctor greeted, breaking the silence with a professional yet warm tone. "In light of your recent critical episode, we've analyzed your blood extensively to tailor your chemotherapy treatment without compromising your health." He paused, then continued with a hint of optimism, "But the latest tests show significant improvement in your health."
A complex cocktail of relief and anxiety stirred within me. The improvement was heartening, yet the memory of how close I had come to disaster cast a shadow over the good news.
"That's reassuring, isn't it?" I asked, seeking further confirmation in their faces.
The doctor's words echoed in the quiet room, casting a new light on the situation. "I'm sorry I wasn't clear—I'm talking about your chemotherapy. Your body shows very significant improvement. Your body is responding way better and quicker than we thought," he repeated, his tone imbued with a reassuring certainty that seemed to sweep away some of the lingering shadows of doubt and fear.
I sat there, momentarily stunned, absorbing the full weight of his words. A surge of relief washed over me, mingled with a cautious optimism. The fears that had been coiled tightly within me began to unfurl slowly. San, sensing the shift in my mood, squeezed my hand, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.
"Really?" My voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of hope and disbelief coloring the single word. It felt as if the room had suddenly brightened, though nothing had changed but the doctor's clarification.
"Yes, really," the doctor nodded emphatically. "It's quite remarkable. We often see progress, of course, but your recovery pace is notably faster than typical cases. It's a very positive sign and bodes well for your ongoing treatment and overall recovery prognosis."
