transient.

chapter 5: balance

"Eddy, you need to stop being so married to your work. The other nurses will take care of the patients just fine!" His nurse manager insisted, after seeing him back at the ward that evening. "It's not that I don't trust them," he laughed, "it's just a thing about me - don't worry, I'll probably wear out soon."

"That's what you've been saying for the past 3 years!" she exclaimed, clearly exasperated.

"One day, I'll act like a normal staff nurse, trust me." he could only laugh as she sighed. "It's like practicing 40 hours a day," he murmured after.

It was just a little after 7pm, and the ward was bustling with visitors. He was expecting Brett's mom to be there, but was surprised to find Brett alone with his headphones on. He sat down on the chair beside the bed, which startled Brett.

"Holy shit you're back??" Brett exclaimed.

"People say I'm married to my work." Eddy replied. "So, how are you feeling?"

Brett scrunched up his face. "Feels sore, pain relief medication is great though."

"That's good. What were you listening to?"

"Mozart 4."

"Thought you were a Tchaikovsky person."

"Well, I took a liking to it when we played it together I guess..." Brett trailed off at the end.

There was no face mask to hide his blush now. Eddy hurriedly continued, hoping that Brett didn't notice his flushing - "well, since I'm here, is there anything you want to do?"

"Can you play the violin for me?"

"What? Seriously?" Eddy said incredulously.

"Yeah, seriously." Brett quickly replied. "You're still decent at it, you know. Just play anything. I won't judge, I promise."

Eddy couldn't believe it, as he took the violin out of its case, a classical musician asking him to play? Mom, are you proud of me now? - the music lessons haven't gone to waste. He thought. He quickly tuned it.

He played Canzonetta off the Tchaikovsky concerto, not because he was the best at it, but because he knew Brett liked it. Sure, he struggled with some fingering here and there, and with his memory. Thankfully, he had kept his classical music playlist and had revised some since he met Brett. Amidst the white noise of the cubicle, he kept his thoughts on how the strings sounded, and tried to convey his feelings of worry over the past couple of days, but also his positive outlook for Brett's future - Tchaikovsky was always this confused with his emotions anyway. He had also unknowingly played the ending a little more slowly, dragging each note out, as he realised that Brett would ultimately be discharged.

Patients were transient.

When he was done, the white noise of the ward returned. He recognised chatter, nebulisers running, the clattering of medicine trays. He registered the awe in the eyes of the musician. Had he understood the messages within the music?

Brett smiled softly. "That was amazing."

Eddy quickly responded with "no, no - you're a classical musician, I'm someone who used to play and is out of practice."

"Still."

"Nope. I'm sure you're better than me. I'll be waiting to hear you play when you get well alright?" Eddy cheerfully added.

"I'll be waiting" never comes true, because patients are transient, and nurses are just part of the recovery. And patients forget. However, not seeing their patients again meant good news.

They talked a little after - things like how Brett was coping, his worries, and excitement to get back to playing. Brett had promised him an invitation to his first concert when he got back to the orchestra. All the while, Eddy reminded himself, transient, transient, transient.

"What about you?" Brett suddenly changed the topic.

"Huh?"

"What's your life like? I told you mine - I feel like we need to have some fair exchange here." Brett teased.

Eddy laughed, "I go to work, I go home, eat, and sleep. Cycle repeats."

"What? Don't you go anywhere else?"

"Once in a blue moon, I gym, or I go out with some old friends. Shift work isn't great for having a life on the side, yknow."

"Also, you're married to your work." Brett recalled.

"Yup I sure am." Eddy agreed.

"Please make time to see my concert?" Eddy felt like he was imagining Brett's pouty face. But after a discreet pinch on his thigh, Eddy realised that Brett was indeed pouting like a small boy.

"I'll try, I promise."

Transient. Transient. Transient.