A Rush of Blood to the Head

From Denial to Acceptance

The ultrasound put out a familiar, bassy whomping noise as the wand pushed against John's chest, then a whoosh with each heartbeat. There was a low hum that he could somehow feel in his bones, and it was a sensation he was getting used to. This was the third time he had one; once back in Atlanta and another time at County, preformed by their Cardiologist, Jack Kayson. He wasn't one of John's favourite amongst the doctors here, but what choice did he have?

"Left ventricle is still thin," Kayson stated. "But it's slowly getting better. That diet you're on isn't doing you any favours, though."

"He has to be on it," Mark said, folding his arms. "At least for a month."

"I realise that, but it isn't helping. He may as well be starving himself all over again. He needs nutrition."

"He's getting it!" There was a moment of silence while Mark waited for John add something to the argument. He figured he would be waiting a while, so he asked, "Right?"

At first, John's sole response was a smile, guileless as a child, then eventually spoke with equal innocence. "Technically, ice cream has dairy in it."

Mark slapped his own forehead in a face palm. Exasperated, he uttered in a sigh, "Oh, God, Carter. Is that all you've been eating?"

"Kind of. I'll do better."

"I should hope so!" Kayson exclaimed. "You're too young for a transplant, son."

"If I get that bad, just let me die."

"Hey," Mark chided him with all the chivvy of concerned parent. "Don't talk like that."

"Well, if you don't need me anymore... Try to get some real sustenance, Doctor Carter," Kayson took his leave, without another word.

For a while, nobody said anything. It seemed impossible to express any opinion at all. At least, nothing that either of them didn't already make known before. Mark knew John had reservations about continuing at the pace he was going, and John knew how Mark felt about it. Disappointed, annoyed and mortified that he could easily give up.

At last, John broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Carter. Just get better."

A chuckle, mirthless and despondent, escaped from his mouth. "If only it were that simple," John managed to get out before he completely broke down. "Sorry," he whimpered, trying hard to plug up the dam. "I don't know why–" John's hand waved up towards his face, now wet with tears.

"Stop apologising. It's okay. It's been a long few weeks, and sadly, it's going to get worse before it gets better. But we're here for you."

There was a long, weary and shaky sigh before he tried to talk again. "Can I go back to work?" John asked, voice coming as almost a whisper. Anything louder and he would have started weeping for a second time.

Mark gave him a thin-lipped half-smile. "Sure. Take a few minutes to get yourself together, okay?"

Then there was one. A sudden sense of helplessness washed over him. One that left him feeling bitter against himself.

As he wiped the gel off his chest, John's eyes caught sight of the ultrasound image still on screen. It stalled his breathing for a few seconds, then gradually became rapid the longer he stared at it. John was too out of it the last two times to fully take it in. He traced the ventricle walls with his finger, horror and regret marring his features. His entire body trembled profusely.

How could he let himself go, ignoring the signs and major circumstances? At the time, he didn't care. A part of him still didn't. A larger part of him, however, wanted to keep going, and right now, he was unsure how he could.