The Not-So-Sexy-Doctor

Chapter 3: In Comes Fate, Out Goes Life

February 20, 2029

You see, one thing about my job that I love the most is the patients. Sure, I only know them for a few hours, but it feels good to save them. I always do, and I'm glad they made the right choice by joining the program. Despite certain stigmas surrounding the practice, the legalization of it has certainly brought an increased popularity (and patients) to this way of ending.

Most of them are old, and would rather not see themselves be dusted away into an immobile form of life. Some are young, terminally ill. I've even had some desperate and hopeless come begging illegally, but who am I to turn a person away? I am here to help after all. Though there are various locations within Seattle that offer the practice, this particular hospital brings in many different brands of people. All nearly perfect, all nearly ready.

I thought I've had good patients before, but it turns out I was very, very wrong.

The day was quite normal, with nothing out of place. The sun wasn't shining, as it tends to do in Seattle, and I was stuck at the hospital, sipping sugary cherry soda listening to coworkers' ramble. It always seems to be the blandest of days when the grandest of things sneak up, because I tell you, grand was coming.

A nurse approached me, bearing a smile. Young, and pretty. I wasn't one for dating though. It wasn't that I was ugly—I consider myself conventionally attractive, I just didn't care much for that area of life.

"Excuse me, Dr. Cowwer. There's a patient here who would like to talk to you about the AS program and I was told to inform you," she said, again with that smile. Everything's oh so smiley here, so I wore my own, pleased at the aspect of releasing another patient.

"Thank you, Nurse..." I snuck a glance at the nametag, "Alyse."

I pronounced it carefully. People like hearing their name, and I knew that. It's one of the easiest ways to drag your coworkers into liking you, know the names of those useful.

Everybody who works within the building knows where to find the patients waiting. It's required. After a particular situation of ignorance presented by several employees some months ago, a new rule strictly ingrained the location into our minds. Every way to get there, every way to leave there—you had to know it. In case you wanted to know, somebody died rather gruesomely because of neglected care within the waiting room. Plainly laying within their own choked blood, yet one certain nurse had a petty hatred for that person, and just happened to be stationed in the waiting room that day. Of course, someone called the cops, who decided they'd receive better care somewhere. Died on the stretcher, though.

It's funny, how some people die.

That led to a hefty load of lawsuits against this hospital, who somehow managed to carefully shift the blame onto that one nurse precisely. Their fate? I am not certain, but it probably involves many years in prison. One lasting effect, however, was the stained reputation that now clung to the wall of this place. To combat that effect, they pushed it upon the employees to change the energy by shooting rainbows out of their asses and going above and beyond. Some people did not mind the change of pace, for others it was a special type of Hell.

As I approached the waiting room, I paused outside the wide glass windows and searched for the patients in mind. The stood out distinctly, with the standing woman's body language suggesting impatience. The other, much older, male, was confined to a wheel chair. They were slightly tilted away from my position, but I decided to move before I was caught staring.

I slipped on an air of confidence and authority, giving them the sense of who I was before I even talked to them. Upon hearing the door open, the woman turned, and I could see that she was alertly young. At least early 20's. The old man turned his wheelchair for the introduction. I could see that he was balding, with aged brown spots dotting his skin. He looked older than I first assumed.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Cowwer, the AS specialist of the Forestline Hospital. I'm glad you're considering the ASP—"

"Just considering. I'm Sarah Midtaker." She cut me off, yet stretched out her hand for a shake. I greeted it, and she clamped back with a firm hold.

"Of course. Is there anything in particular you're interested in?" I subtly pressed.

Actively ignoring the old man gave me a manner of rudeness, but I couldn't risk looking eager to end the old guy's life, no matter how badly I wanted to release him of his pain. The woman either ignored the impolite air or did not take notice.

"My grandfather here, Clarence Midtaker has a late stage terminal illness and is also at a rather old age. Uh, he's 85. He just wanted some information on the AS process, the actual process in the last moments. I'm also his caretaker." She stated all this with a tone of disproval. Ah yes, a supporter of eradicating assisted suicide. Always young, always easy to spot.

It was perfect.

Perfect. As I mused the moment I knew the word was far too overused. It was used to describe vanilla sprinkled good days, piercing materialistic possessions, and forms of life. I felt it rested in moments you knew were fate. When a chain of events come together, the stars align, God interferes, and it makes sense that your life in on the right track—that is where perfection lays. Anything else? Nah.

Her question was meant to catch me off guard. People do this to us often. Harshly said: What do you do to these helpless people in private? How does it feel to murder people? How does it feel to be disgusting? How does it feel to know you're going to Hell? How does it feel to know God hates you?

To lay it down, it feels good, because I knowthis is what God wants. Why would God hate me for releasing humans of their pain? Point straight—he doesn't!

"Well, within the actual process..." This time I finally addressed Clarence Midtaker, who stared numbly from his chair. I explained the (painless) needles, the (painless) medicine, the relaxing and humane way of ending. I tried for an informative and reassuring presentation, and by the looks of their faces, I knew I was doing well.

"Well, as flowery as that sounds, I think we'll be fine without the program. By the sound of it, a natural death sounds like a preferable alternative. Thank you, Dr. Cowwer." She held a tight smile, and without letting her grandfather get a word in, she turned his chair and strode away from me.

The curtness filled me with a special type of hot annoyance, the kind that could found working in customer service. The nerve—over a life that wasn't even hers to spare. What compels people to act like that, I hope I never understand.

Yes, I was annoyed at the disrespect. However, I was offended and infuriated at other factors. That patient was unique. I could feel the fate within it, and she just took him away. He never even had to say a word, yet I was inspired.