Father: A Sanders Sides Story

Everything is Messy

Dante was lying awake on his bed. A hospital bed. The clinical white that surrounded him was a reminder that he was dying. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but he couldn't do anything other than accept the fate that he was given. Last week had been hellish. He had been vomiting every time he ate and one time, he got a horrible stomach ache. The day he drove himself to the hospital, Dante had another wave of pain in his stomach and chest and it felt like he was going to collapse at any moment. Using the last of his energy, he drove carefully to the hospital. Once he was in the emergency room, the headache had been so unbearable that he was only able to give the receptionist his name and—incoherently—gave them his two children's phone number before finally collapsing in the middle of the room.

When he woke up, his children were there, holding his skinny, clammy hands. They were asleep, so he assumed it was night time, which made sense since it was already late evening when he drove to the hospital. His left hand was hooked up to several IV bags, which made him cringe a little. He had always hated needles. Dante tried to wake his sons, calling their names, but only squeaks escaped his throat. Only then did he realize that his throat felt like sandpaper. Carefully, he took out one of his hands from Logan's hold to reach for the glass of water next to him. The movement woke Logan and he immediately helped his father reach the glass of water. After he had his drink, Logan set the glass back on the table.

"Are you better?" Logan asked, his voice hushed so he didn't wake his sleeping brother.

"I'm fine, Logan." Dante croaked out. Obviously, he was nowhere near "fine," but Dante being Dante would always hide his condition even if it was obvious that he lied.

"No, you're not, father," Logan sighed. "You could have told me. Or Virgil. Why did you hide it? If it was this bad, you must have been sick for some time."

"It's okay, Lo." Logan stiffened at the nickname. Dante hadn't called him by that nickname in years. "I'll be fine." Logan nodded, not realizing his father didn't answer his question. Later on that night, a doctor came in and informed him that he needed to stay in the hospital until they made a diagnosis. He didn't bother remembering the doctor's name. He was too tired.

----------

It had been almost a week and today was supposedly when the doctor should come with a diagnosis. That morning, Dante was alone in the hospital room, watching boring television. Luckily, he had told Logan to bring a book or two for him to read in his spare time. The hospital was boring. Even though he knew he was probably dying, Dante wasn't scared. When he was younger, in his twenties, he had always thought that death and dying in general would be terrifying. Now, finally looking at Death straight in the face, he didn't feel fear. At least, not that kind of fear. The only thing he was afraid of was leaving his children with his problems. He didn't want his sons to have to deal with his problems and become a nuisance to them, even after death. He sighed in defeat and leaned back on the bed.

Retrieving one of the books Logan had brought him, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie, he flipped through the pages, letting the story wash over his mind. A little while later, he heard the door opened, indicating someone was entering the room. Putting the book down on his lap, he leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of who was in the room. It was the doctor from last time.

"Good morning, Mr. Fulgencio. I have with me your diagnosis." The doctor said, waving the file he was holding. From the look of sympathy that he was giving, it didn't seem like it was any good. Dante could only nod in acknowledgement, his heart hammering in his chest in anticipation. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess." Dante responded, his voice coming out a little croaky.

"Okay," The doctor said again, "now, serious business." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "During our test, we found cancer cells in your stomach walls. It's already in late stages and have spread to the surrounding areas, so it's most likely incurable..." The doctor trailed off upon seeing Dante's blank expression. He sighed, giving the patient a small smile of sympathy. Patton never got used to delivering heavy news to patients. There are times when patients would reject and deny the diagnosis and frankly, he understood. Of course, accepting that you have a deadly disease is not easy and sometimes it will break your mental wall to bits.