"Why you out of uniform?" Eric abruptly questioned me as I entered his hospital room. I sported clothing as simple as some jeans and a fitted shirt, I guess he was so used to seeing me in a lab coat.
I chuckled, "I just don't have my jacket on, Eric." I then began to ready his medicine. "It's time for your shot."
He groaned and then let out a dry cough.
"Your cough is gettin' better. It doesn't occur as often." I said, rubbing alcohol on his arm. I then took the syringe and simply pressed down, injecting him with medicine. He furrowed his eyebrows, Eric disliked doing this everyday. I would always try to convince him that it would heal him, but that 2 second pinch wasn't his cup of tea.
I covered his arm with medical tape and some folded tissue, he would've cursed me out if I gave him the kiddy bandage. Even though that's exactly what he acts like; a kid.
"That shit be hurtin' lowkey." He said, flexing his arm slowly flailing it around as he frowned. I only just shook my head and laughed. Eric cracked me up, just his personality alone was a handful. A true Virgo; stubborn and gets too comfortable once you're their friend. So much vividness packed all into 5 feet and 3 inches, or was it 5 feet and 5 inches? I couldn't remember. Seeing him progress healthily was amazingly great. It had only been a few weeks after his unfortunate coma, and he acts as if it never happened. While not cured, his immune system has radically strengthened.
As I cleaned the syringe, and threw it in the used bin, I squinted my eyes at his hair. The bed head was serious; his once neat and nice cornrows were now all puffy, short little baby hairs escaped the tight braid and he looked as if he'd been rolling around all day. "Who braids your hair?" I asked out of the blue, even though it wasn't any of my business, he probably would agree with me on that
"Tomica," he swiftly announced. Considering who it was I was surprised he even said it lacking hesitation.
"It's time for those to come out," I softly giggled as I took off my gloves and three them in the trash, then rinsing the powder off of my hands in the sink.
I heard him suck his teeth, and blurt out, "Excuse my ass for not having a stylist come do my hair every 2 weeks." He tried to stay in his funky attitude until he toyed with the ends of his braids, letting out a, "Damn."
Simply laughing, I said, "You don't have enough energy to take them out? They're already unraveled for you." I threw a joke his way, only earning a chuckle. His eyes briefly fell on me, then he shook his head with a soft chuckle.
"Uhhh," my eyes skimmed over the counter, searching for a tool fit for taking out brsids. I opened the drawers and found a dull suture, I broke it in half and threw one of the pieces in the trash, then striding over to Eric and asking him to turn his head.
He sent a weird look my way, then said, "Don't you have doctor stuff to be doin' or somethin'?"
Somewhat offended, I just simply said, "I don't get a lot of patients as a doctor who treats sexually transmitted diseases. I still tamper in other things but ... it's '95, the AIDS outbreak was in the 80's. If I was old enough back then, then I wouldn't have time to be a hairstylist on the side." I got mixed signals from Eric, one minute he'd seem as if he was comfortable with me, but then he'd put some sort of guard up at a certain point. Maybe I was crossing a boundary. "Sorry," I stopped unraveling the braid and pulled my suture away.
"You good, I wasn't trippin'." And with that, I only just handed him the suture, letting him do it himself. He looked like he wanted to say something else, and a questionable look painted on his face, but it all vanished when he started to finish the braid I tampered with.
"So do you befriend all your patients like this?" He asked me.
"Of course, as a doctor it's only common courtesy to make the patient feel comfortable. It's a trust building process," I informatively ranted, only receiving a 'Hm' from Eric. Not like an 'Ooh, fascinating' hm, but a 'Whatever, shut up' hm.
Eric could be so unpredictable, like his whole mood changed within a blink of an eye. Was it something I said? The questions that I asked myself were somewhat answered when he said, "Long story short - y'all are obligated to become friends with us." His words were laced with annoyance, and stabbed me in the heart. When he put it that way, it was kind of the truth.
"I mean, no, - well, I don't feel like it's an obligation," I tried to make less of the situation, "Myself, for example, I -" I was rudely cut off.
"What's the point of all this if you don't genuinely care? I mean, y'all better off lettin' us die. It's all in the money, huh?"
"Not really."
"So what's it about then?"
I pondered over his question, it spoke to me so much because I've never been asked that question before.
"Empathy, like puttin' yourself in their shoes. Trying to feel what they feel. What they go through sitting in a hospital bed almost everyday. And even though you barely know them, you still have that spec of compassion for them because you're there to help them, make them feel better. Make them know that you're in good hands, and that you won't give up on them. That's how I see it, at least." The culminating sentence of my theory provoked a gaze between Eric and I.
He finally spoke, "My arm tired, you can finish, " he held out the suture with little curly hairs caught on it. We shared a laugh and I took hold of his half afro half braided hair.
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filler chapter😜
tell me what you guys think so far
