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Apr. 9th, 2015 03:22 pmShe knew it, had known it the last time she went in to speak with Elise and her parents. Had known it when, in the privacy of the girl's room, Anika stripped off a glove and held Elise's hand, then brushed the hair up off her forehead, comforting her and strengthening the bond between the two of them. A thread of touch-enabled clairvoyance, from the doctor to the patient. When she told Elise that, no matter what happened, she would be there, inside Dr Nuttal's heart, and stay there for always. She had known it, even though the child was too tired, too sick to hug her back.
And Anika knew it this morning when she woke at 2:21 AM, feeling the cord just fade away.
Elise was gone.
Anika had gotten out of bed then, lit a candle in her room, and knelt down to pray for the child, for each of the children that she could not save. The list continued to grow, and it seemed that even with all the new research coming available these days - even now - there was only so much known about certain rare childhood hematologic disorders and disease. It's why she kept making trips to Boston, to the Dana Farber/Boston Chldren's Cancer and Blood Disorder Center.
It's why she slept at the office, haunted the labs, compiled lists of medical texts and tests.
Anika's phone began to ring, but she ignored it. They were calling to tell her that Elise had passed away. Well, she already knew that. Anika continued to pray for a time, then stood up and turned on the light to her room. She blew out the candle and began a slow, methodical search for a clean pair of scrubs. It was going to be another long day.
***
The hospital coffee shop wasn't the best place to get coffee, but with the weather as bad as it was, there was no way that Anika wanted to walk all that way to get to Dunkin Donuts. So hospital coffee shop it was. She stood in line, waiting patiently, then realized while standing right in front of the server on the other side of the counter that she'd forgotten all her cash in her coat, up in the doctors' lounge. Oh, this was just perfect.
And Anika knew it this morning when she woke at 2:21 AM, feeling the cord just fade away.
Elise was gone.
Anika had gotten out of bed then, lit a candle in her room, and knelt down to pray for the child, for each of the children that she could not save. The list continued to grow, and it seemed that even with all the new research coming available these days - even now - there was only so much known about certain rare childhood hematologic disorders and disease. It's why she kept making trips to Boston, to the Dana Farber/Boston Chldren's Cancer and Blood Disorder Center.
It's why she slept at the office, haunted the labs, compiled lists of medical texts and tests.
Anika's phone began to ring, but she ignored it. They were calling to tell her that Elise had passed away. Well, she already knew that. Anika continued to pray for a time, then stood up and turned on the light to her room. She blew out the candle and began a slow, methodical search for a clean pair of scrubs. It was going to be another long day.
***
The hospital coffee shop wasn't the best place to get coffee, but with the weather as bad as it was, there was no way that Anika wanted to walk all that way to get to Dunkin Donuts. So hospital coffee shop it was. She stood in line, waiting patiently, then realized while standing right in front of the server on the other side of the counter that she'd forgotten all her cash in her coat, up in the doctors' lounge. Oh, this was just perfect.
