Never Met a Girl Like Her | ✔️

(14)

H E A T H

On Saturday, after a long week of lectures, practical classes and an insane amount of assignments, I sat at my desk with a cold coffee, watching the moon light up the night while I continued to slave over medicine studies. Sometimes it required a self directed pep talk to ensure that I remembered how worth it would be when I graduate.

Of course, then there's the internships and residencies and I'm almost certain that a doctor never stops learning or dedicating himself to his work. So there's that. But once again, worth it. One day, I'll save lives and I can't imagine that there would be much else more rewarding than that.

But then I remembered the one life that I couldn't save. The one life that I wanted to save more than anything. So I stood up and went in search of Sarah to ask if she wanted something to eat. It was almost eight, Mom was at work and my little sister had been curled up on the couch watching Netflix for a concerning length of time.

But when I wandered out into the living room, she was no where to be seen. The kitchen was vacant and so was her bedroom. So I tapped on the bathroom door which was closed and became increasingly worried when no response came.

"Sarah?" I tapped again and put emphasis on the worry in my voice so that she wouldn't mess me around if she heard me.

If she was just a typical teenager that was prone to tantrums, I would leave her to it. But that wasn't the case and I'd found her face down, unconscious, one too many times before. So I twisted the handle and barged on in. There was no lock due to the fact that it was dangerous in case she did end up having a seizure or passing out. We just respected knocking around here. Unless of course there were suspicions for well-being.

Sarah was curled up beside the bathroom vanity, tears ran down her pale cheeks, clumps of her hair were clutched in her fists. It broke my heart. I couldn't even be upset for a moment that she'd ignored me. Seeing her with her knees to her chest, which racked with silent sobs, it was devastating.

"It's happening again," she cried, the sort of cries that stole her breath.

Last time she'd undergone chemo, she'd refused to shave her head. It looked awful and patchy but she couldn't go through with it. It had grown back in time but the same thing was happening again and this time, it was worse.

I sat down beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and let her lean on me as she cried. I couldn't cry with her. I never cried because it made her more upset. So despite the fact that my heart was hurting and my nose stung, I held it in and let her lean on me for strength.

"Do you want me to shave my head as well?" I questioned with sincerity after about ten minutes. There was no hesitation from me. I would do that for her, if she needed it. "I will."

She leaned back with horror on her blotched cheeks. "No," she sniffed and tried to hide a little grin. "You'd look so terrible with no hair."

"Nice," I rolled my eyes and gave her a light jab in the shoulder. A very light jab. She was more frail than ever these days.

Her lip began to quiver again as she glanced over at the bottom drawer of the vanity where the clippers were kept. "We can't afford a wig," she whispered, her tongue flicked out as a tear rolled over her lip.

"I'll buy one for you."

"They're expensive, Heath."

"I will buy one for you."

I wasn't sure how I was going to do that. But I would. If that made her feel better, I'd scrape together every last bit of cash I could find.

She inhaled a deep breath. She exhaled it with a ragged breath and then she nodded as she swiped at her wet cheeks. "Let's do it."