Our patients aren’t lying in a sterile treatment room where we have everything within reach, the light is always perfect, and the surroundings are clean. We have to act wherever they happen to be. We act the way the situation demands.
That’s what this Jaden explained to me today, and I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about. For a hero like him, it’s naturally no problem to save lives in heat, rain, or catastrophically bad conditions. But right now I can’t be a heroine, no matter how much I’d like to be one. I don’t have the strength to carry heavy things, nor the stamina to constantly run up and down stairs or throw myself headfirst into a rescue mission, no matter the cost. And my immune system is okay, but if factors like wet or cold come into play, it might fail.
‘I understand,’ Olive says sympathetically. Her gaze meets mine for only a moment before she goes back to her work. ‘You’re afraid.’
‘Yes,’ I admit. Terrible fear that I’m fighting with all my might, but that’s still there. ‘What if my body doesn’t cooperate?’ If it turns out that I can’t do my job after all? Because I’m trapped in this body that is so weak, so vulnerable, so exposed.
What if I have to quit in order to stay healthy? And what if I refuse to give up my dream of being a doctor, and my body gives out on me precisely because of that?
What if I have to live through it all again?
And what if it ends differently this time?
Twenty-five percent.
Only five days left until the follow-up examination.
My pulse speeds up. I don’t want to have this fear, but it’s there and it’s devouring me.
Suddenly, Olive is beside me and pulls me into her arms. Like a child who was just trapped in a nightmare, she rocks me back and forth. ‘I know how hard this is for you.’
No, she doesn’t, and that’s a good thing.
It’s a gift not to know what this fear feels like. How it takes everything from you, your hopes, your dreams, your lightheartedness. How, without asking, it poisons your soul and you forget how to be happy, no matter how hard you fight against it. How it paints horror scenarios in your head, where your wishes used to live.
Olive pulls away from me and looks at me intently. ‘I understand that,’ she says in a tone as if it were actually true. ‘But I know that you’re strong.’ She nods vehemently. ‘I know that every inch of your body, every milliliter of your blood, every piece of your tissue is healthy.’
Yes. Now. But what about tomorrow?
Next week?
In three years?
She brushes the fringe of my pixie cut off my forehead, her warm fingertips gliding over my skin. ‘The strategies you’ve worked out for the emergency room, you can also use in the ambulance.’
‘I will, but …’
With a shake of her head, she signals to me that for her there is no but. ‘Repeat after me: I can do this.’
Indecisively, I chew on my lower lip; Olive’s gaze becomes more insistent in a loving way. ‘I can do this,’ I finally say, doing everything I can to believe my own words. With every fiber of my being, I want to believe them.
‘Nice.’ A broad smile dominates her perfectly symmetrical face. ‘And now wait a second, I have something for you.’
She gets up from the bed and leaves the room. My gaze falls on the empty shelves of the wardrobe and I try to see light in the darkness, hopeful colors in the monotonous brown, new possibilities in the gaps. But there is nothing. The shelves are empty, and filling them with colorful clothes won’t change that. Not really. How could it, when it only takes a small movement of the hand to tear them out of the wardrobe again?
In the hallway Olive’s footsteps grow louder; she appears in the doorway, a pot with a tiny little orchid in her hand. It doesn’t have any blossoms yet, but several buds are already clustered on the two stems that lean elegantly against wooden stakes.
‘Isn’t she adorable?’ she asks, handing me the pot.
She is adorable, but also so fragile in her beauty, and that’s exactly why I give the pot back to her. ‘It definitely won’t survive with me.’
Visibly disappointed, Olive takes the plant back and for a moment studies the rich green leaves that arch over the rim of the pot. ‘But you need a bit of nature in this room.’
‘I’m still decorating, don’t worry.’ As soon as I find the time, I’ll pick out pretty pictures, airy curtains, and cozy cushions.
‘I wouldn’t expect anything else from our style queen,’ she says with a wink, and walks to the window with the pot. ‘You still need a bit of greenery in here, though.’ Lovingly, she places the plant on the windowsill and turns it until, in her opinion, it’s in the perfect position.
My gaze falls on the dwarfish little plant.
