“So you wouldn’t try to do that with anyone else?”
“It’s not supposed to happen this way with anyone. No one else needed what you did. Not from me.”
“I . . . I’m only following doctor’s orders.” His voice trembles.
“Yes, you are, but it’s also more than that. We both know it is.”
“I’m not sure what I know.” He starts to sit up and I push him back down.
“You know that you’re feeling better today, and you know that you want to keep it that way.”
“What else do I know,” he scolds. “Since you’re such an expert on what’s going on in my head?”
“That you’re soon going to ask for eight weeks, but you haven’t yet because you’re worried I’ll say no. That I’ll want to end our doctor-patient relationship.”
“Do you not think I’ll be better in eight weeks?”
“No,” I answer swiftly.
“Is it because you don’t think any of these methods you’re using are working?”
“No, sweetheart. They’re working, but there’ll only be new problems that will replace them. New tests needed to be taken. New bandages to be placed and new stitches put in. Maybe even small surgical procedures.”
“That . . . you want to keep having reasons to treat me. Am I like, some guinea pig to you? Someone to prod, poke, and experiment on?”
“That’s not why there’ll always be more, and you know that.” I cup his face and hold it in place when he tries to look away again “You’re not practice for anything. You’re the real deal.
“Why, then? No one ever gets that sick and hurt. No one.”
“Not anyone who doesn’t want to.”
“Why would I want this?” His breaths quicken.
“That’s something you’ll have to ask yourself.” I squeeze tighter, and he flinches when I use my other hand to stroke down his chest.
A muscle ticks in his cheek. “I don’t know. I . . .” His eyes water.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay to want what you want.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not everything is meant to be understood. Especially not at first. It will all come together later. It’s already starting to fall into place.”
“You said you had one other patient. Did you mean like me?”
“He was nothing like you,” I grit out. “He was nothing, period. A poor substitute and a small stepping stone closer to where I was supposed to be.”
“Did he . . . did you have him strapped to your bed too?”
“No. We only did basic checkups. Temperature taking, blood pressure cuff, throat checks, and ear checks.”
“That all?”
“Blood draws, urine samples he gathered himself, and shots.”
“No treatments or therapies?”
“He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anything from me, and I didn’t care to give him more than I already did. He had a cold and I tried to treat it, but he was very stubborn. It was worsethan that. Not only was he refusing the meds I offered and breathing treatments, he also—”
