Oasis (A KaiSoo Fanfic)

Chapter 8 | A Cure

Every weekend, the parents and loved ones of the cancer patients came to visit. During their time at the hospital, they talked with their kids, enjoyed the lovely refreshments courtesy of the hospital cafe staff and, most importantly, met with the doctors and therapists to catch up on their treatment progress. They talked about an array of things like the different treatments they were trying, how well they were working and the progress the victim was making. (They also guesstimated how long they had to live, but no one mentioned that outside of the doctor's office. If you saw them come out crying, though, you knew there wasn't much time left.) 

For most kids, being able to see their parents after so long was a fantastic opportunity, a relieving one even, but I felt otherwise. Before you go on and judge the younger me, it wasn't because I didn't love my parents. I did, but I kind of held a grudge against them for basically dropping me off at that hospital until the end of my time. To me, it was the equivalent of them saying, "We don't want to deal with you while you're dying, so just stay here." And all I had to say back to that was, "I'll see you at my funeral."

As I sat in the art room working on my painting, I would glance out the glass, sound-proof doors toward all the other kids on my floor sitting with their parents. Some of them were laughing and others were conversing, probably about how they had been doing, and then there were some that were simply hugging. Why? I, personally, couldn't tell you their reasons, as I'm sure the justifications varied for each person, but it was most likely something along the lines of because when you know a child that doesn't have a good chance of making it past 30 years of living, it's not the words you say that count but the actions you take. I could be wrong, of course, but since I was in a cancer hospital, it made sense.

While I was turned away, the door opened and I could hear Ms. Choi's voice come flying into my ears, the sound making me internally groan. "And as I part of his individual therapy," she said as she walked in with my parents, the sound of her and my mom's heels clicking almost identical, "I've challenged him to paint as a way to express his feelings rather than speaking them since he seems to have trouble with that yet."

"Didn't you know it's rude to interrupt an artist while they're creating art?" I said, not looking at her or my parents but instead observing the progress I made on my painting.

"I take it that means you are enjoying your assignment," she said in retaliation. Out of the corner of my eyes, I looked in her direction just long enough to see her chortle quietly and grin. Oh, how victorious she must have felt at that moment. "Well, we hate to be rude and interrupt an artist while he's creating his art, but I have something important I'd like to talk to you and your parents about."

"Talk. I'm listening," I said, touching up a small blemish on the canvas.

"Jongin, I'm serious," she said, the playful tone leaving her voice quickly. "It won't kill you to take a five-minute break." I sighed in annoyance, giving in and placing the brush on the easel before spinning around on the stool so that I was facing her. "Here, please sit," she said, smiling kindly at my parents and pulling up three chairs: two for them and one for her. After taking a few moments to get organized and seated, she cleared her throat, crossed her legs and began to speak. "As you know," she said, making eye contact with all of us, "we've been looking into Jongin's case, as well as other similar cases,  to try and find a cure. So far, we've been unsuccessful, hence, him still being here, but we think we may have come up with something." My parents, clearly surprised, sat up slightly in hope.

"What is it?" asked my dad.

"It's very similar to a surgery, but it's a more in-depth one," she explained. "Essentially what we would do is open up his skull and attempt to remove the tumor and its origin. It would take approximately three hours to do carefully and correctly, but that can vary depending on how far along the cancer is. It's a risky procedure since it's still new, but it could work and has the potential to extend your life significantly." My parents' heads turned in my direction, their eyes glimmering with something that I couldn't identify. Hope maybe? Hope that I would jump out of my seat in pure joy. Hope that I would show even the smallest sign of not being totally and utterly depressed.