Hey, Cupid (COMPLETED)

Chapter 26: Charity Ball

Hey, Cupid:

How can love help us mature and make us petty at the same time?

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Feb’s POV

It was the end of my shift today. As a newly passed resident doctor, I literally am ‘residing’ in the hospital where I had been accepted.

Today wasn’t just an ordinary day. Many things have been bothering my mind especially on what happened to the patient whom I was assigned.

She…she died.

I was sitting on one of the benches outside the hospital to take my mind off things. I felt someone tap my shoulder and then proceeded to sit beside me.

“Here’s your coffee, Feb. I heard what happened. Now go cry.”

I was really trying to hold everything back. I know very well that I shouldn’t be attached to my patients in the first place but I couldn’t really help it with that child. I know I should be strong because I had an important job to do and my emotions shouldn’t get the best of me so earlier, when they were bringing her corpse to the morgue, I tried to stand firm and maintain a calm face. But right now, I need to…I need to let go of this emotion.

The moment I saw Al’s broad shoulders, I couldn’t help but lean my head against it and cry my heart out. This was the first time ever since that day that I cried really hard. Al just kept on consoling me, telling me that she’s going in a more wonderful place right now and that she’s free from pain, finally.

Just why do people have to suffer even though they’ve been nothing but good? That kid doesn’t deserve such a life.

“She didn’t even get to be happy in life, Al.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course! How could she? When she’s been stuck all her life in the four corners of the hospital room?” I whined like a kid.

“We have different definitions of happiness, Feb. For example, some people’s happiness is travelling. While some prefer to just stay indoors and appreciate silence more. Some wants to be the life of the party while others find comfort by being alone.

I’m not romanticizing what happened to her Feb and fuck fate for that, but I am pretty sure that she had moments in her life where she become happy. We’ll never truly know it since we aren’t her, but I believe at some point, she had experienced it.”

I continued weeping that night hanggang sa maramdaman kong wala nang lalabas na luha sa mga mata ko.

We’ve attended the girl’s wake and I got to talk to her mother.

“Feb, hija, maraming salamat sa pag-aalaga mo sa anak ko. Matagal na naming tanggap na ito na talaga ang huling taon na makakasama namin s’ya dahil hindi naman gumaganda ang lagay n’ya. Masiyahing bata talaga ‘yang anak ko na ‘yan. Mabait din at palangiti. Pero alam mo ba no’ng dumating ka sa ospital at nakilala ka n’ya? Mas dumoble pa ‘yung mga pag-aliwalas ng mukha n’ya na para bang wala s’yang iniindang sakit. Naging parte ka ng dahilan kung bakit naging masaya ang mga huling sandali ng anak ko, kaya lubos akong nagpapasalamat sa ‘yo, Feb.

Kaya lang ganoon talaga eh, ginawa naman natin ang lahat pero hanggang doon na lang talaga.”

That girl’s death taught me a very valuable lesson: that we, doctors may try our best to save a patient’s life but we are not a god. We cannot do the impossible. We’re always being limited by what we can do with the help of the machines that we had learned how to operate.