One last beat (eBook)

Chapter 7

"Bye-bye, baby," called the short-haired, tiny woman after me as I left the apartment. I had already forgotten her name, but I didn’t think I wanted to see her again anyway. It took almost half an hour to get to the clinic. The streets were once again overloaded with unnecessary cars, but what could I say? I would do anything to drive my Lambo instead of sitting on this stinking train. As I entered the hospital, the waiting rooms were filled, and the look of sickness and pain, both mental and physical, hurt my heart. When I reached the nurses' room, I received some important information for the day. It was nothing special. Unfortunately, nothing special. Health insurance companies refusing to pay, parents unable to afford the treatments, and a new offer from the pharmaceutical industry.

I went to the first patient; in my department, there were only three to five doctors, depending on the day. Therefore, the time allotted for each patient was too brief to carry out precise treatments. So, the days usually went on. Today was different. I heard shouting in the corridor from a middle-aged woman. Arguments about the usual matters were common, but I had the feeling that this was something else. After I finished with my current patient, I went to them. The nurse tried to assure me that everything was fine, but I felt compelled to talk to the woman.

"Hello, Mrs. How can I help you?" I asked. "My daughter was here for a few months. I must find her; please help me, please," she begged, avoiding my gaze. I examined her closely and noticed her deteriorating physical condition. Hence, I inquired, "Are you feeling okay?" "No! I have to find my daughter; it's important," she replied urgently. "I see. Please, come with me."

The nurse looked at me as if I were a fool, but with her yellow eyes, I understood why it was crucial to talk to her daughter now. Once we were alone, I started asking her about her daughter's name. "It's Lusie Amans; she's 22 years old," she replied. "Okay, give me a moment. Just stay here." I called my brother, or best friend, who had educated me to be what I am now. He answered my call on the first ring. "What happened, Deen?" he inquired. "Is there a girl in your hospital named Lusie Amans?" "Why do you ask?" That meant yes. "Her mother is here and wants to see her. I think she doesn’t have much time left; I think she has a liver disease," I explained. "I’ll call you back later; I need to think about it," he said before hanging up. So, her daughter was indeed in his hospital, possibly having had the operation or scheduled for it, so she couldn’t afford any additional stress.

"I found your daughter, but unfortunately, you can't see her right now," I told her. "What?" she exclaimed. Had I not made myself clear? "Before you go anywhere, I need to conduct some examinations on you." "No, no, no, stop at once," she protested. "I don’t have the money for it until I’ve seen my girl, okay?" "Are you implying that your daughter will pay for your treatment?" I asked. "She has to," the woman said curtly, sitting down on the bed. "I will perform some basic checks; they are free, okay?" I assured her. "You can do whatever you want, as long as I don’t have to pay anything."

After half an hour, I could easily tell that this woman only had a month left. She was an alcoholic, something that had completely ruined her liver.

"Okay, I am finished," I said, looking at her. Her expression started to turn sad. "I don’t have a month left, do I?" she asked.

"The maximum is a month," I replied. She took a deep breath. Suddenly, my phone rang. "Come here at twelve o'clock with her," my brother's voice said from the other end of the line.

"Okay, I will be there," I replied. "Don’t say anything about her daughter’s sickness."

"See you," he said, and he hung up again. I wondered if I would ever do it just once in my entire life.

"I am going to show you the place at twelve o'clock today," I told the woman. Her face brightened, and she thanked me. But then I had to continue working, at least until twelve o'clock.

From 12 o'clock onwards, I changed quickly and ran to my car. Mrs. Amans had been waiting there for half an hour already. Of course, she was eager to get to her daughter. Hopefully, not just for the money she might get from her. The drive took half an hour. The private clinic was not far from the hospital, but the atmosphere and appearance of the building were in stark contrast to the ordinary public clinic.

"What have you done to her? Is she a cleaning lady, or what does she do here?" Mrs. Amans asked. I didn’t respond. She was so shocked by the fact that her daughter might work as a cleaner and didn’t have the money she was hoping for that a conversation with her wouldn’t make sense.

"Hi, Deen, Are you Mrs. Amans?" Hannah, one of the nurses, greeted us. I started to flirt unobtrusively with her. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to come here usually, but it would always be my pleasure. I really didn’t understand my brother. If I were him, I would take these gorgeous nurses as a snack full-time. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me to work for him. I smiled at my thought and followed Hannah.

"What exactly are you doing here?" Mrs. Amans asked.

"Oh, I am sorry. I work here as a nurse. I should have said that sooner," Hannah replied.

"This is a hospital?" Mrs. Amans didn’t reply, but her face said everything. I didn’t like her at all. She wasn’t here for her daughter, just for the money, I thought.

"In here," Hannah said, winking at me before she knocked on the door. As we went inside, nobody said anything.

"Hello, doc, here are Deen and Mrs. Amans, the mother of the poor child," Hannah announced.

"It’s alright; you can continue working," my brother said. I wanted to turn and leave the room with her, of course, just to give them their privacy, but then he said, "You stay here. I don’t remember saying anything else to you." The mother went to the girl, saying, "Hello, darling, wake up; your mother is here with you."

"Stop; she is under anaesthesia and will not wake up for now," my brother interjected.

"I am sorry, doctor, but I must talk to her. It’s very important," Mrs. Amans insisted. I rolled my eyes and said, "Mrs., if the doctor says that she is not going to wake up now, you have to wait here or leave." Hopefully, my anger didn’t show in my voice.

"If you are lucky, madam, she will wake tomorrow,” my brother added.

"It’s really important," she begged. I began to hope that neither of us would lose control. We had to remain polite, and if I were lucky, I could leave or have fun with Hannah.

"Do you know the diagnosis?" Her face turned sad, and she continued, "That's why I have to talk with her."

"She will be fine again, but I don’t think it’s her you are worried about, is it?" He said this, noticing that this wasn’t the whole truth.

"Leave my clinic," my brother said firmly.

"What?" she protested.

"I don’t want any negativity around my patients. Leave!" he reiterated. The woman started to cry but didn’t argue. Of course, she didn’t. Nobody would argue with him. My friend, my brother, had an indescribable aura. I followed Mrs. Amans, knowing that I had to drive her. Luckily, he called after me, "I will call her a taxi to a hotel, so she can stay there until her daughter wakes. Don’t worry about her. We must talk." He said it as if I cared about the alcoholic woman, but I knew he understood me better.

Since we were children, he was almost the smartest among us. He could read everybody easily, and I knew that my parents loved him as much as they loved me. Because of that, my mother couldn’t have a second child, so they adopted him. At that time, I was just four years old, and he was six. Over the years, we didn’t just become friends; we became brothers. Even if I were on the ground, he would lift me up. I followed him and adored him, but it was impossible to do anything else. He was always so charming but self-contained. If other people talked badly about me, he would always stand up for me. In return, I tried to be a good friend to him. It wasn’t easy. What makes a good friend?

Most people want a friend who listens and is always there for them, someone who cares about their problems, so they can talk freely. I wanted to be that kind of friend. The problem was that we were completely different. So, while I cried because of my first breakup, he put an arm around my shoulder and motivated me to start something creative. That’s when I started playing guitar and drawing. My brother never showed abrupt mood shifts himself. He never wanted to pour his heart out to me or needed help. Then he skipped some classes at school and started studying medicine, five years before I did. I finally found something I enjoyed more than anything else. Girls. Later, women, but at that time, girls. However, I tried to follow his positive development. But as he entered college, I stopped studying. My grades got worse, and I know the only reason I got accepted into medical college was my brother’s positive recommendation and his old tests from high school.

"Deen?" My brother's voice brought me back to the present.

"Yes?" I replied.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. He rolled his eyes at me and said, "I don’t pay my nurses to fuck with my brother. Get yourself under control."

My face turned red, like so many times when he said my thoughts...