Unexpected

Part 4: The Doctor You Deserve

She kept her distance for about 2 hours. Her nerves pulsing under her skin as she sat at her computer and loomed over Luna's digital files, her mind at work trying to find a good solution to treating her ALL. She's the youngest patient in Oncology since before Helen started and her chart isn't very helpful. The only thing Helen can go off of is what was provided in the database and Max's old files. She has found in treating some family members who experience cancer in their family- that often what works for one, there is a good chance it will work for the other. However, with Luna's age taken into consideration, Helen fears Chemotherapy might not be the best or safest option for Luna. Children with ALL typically try chemo and then switch over to a clinical trial that has proven results alongside radiation. Helen doesn't want Luna to have radiation done. She wants the mass removed and a light regimen of chemotherapy to eradicate anything that is left so it does metastasize. With how tiny Luna is, that is her best chance at beating this and surviving with limited side effects, not that she won't have any, but minimal is better than many major ones. Her eyes hurt from staring at the computer and then glancing down at her text books on Lymphoblasts and another on all different kinds of Leukemias. Straining her eyes makes up for the rage of wanting to knock Candelario and Castro out. A knock on her door brings her attention up to it. Max. No doubt she's in for it. The way she talked to the other doctors, the slamming of doors and disrupting patients- no doubt the other doctors went running to Brantley about her unprofessional and destructive rage. Coming in, he shuts the door and sits across from her in an armchair. She drops her eyes back to her textbook and computer.

"Helen, we need to talk." He says calmly and Helen brushes it off. Isn't it true that if you ignore something it'll go away? "Helen."

Apparently not.

"I'm busy, Max." He lifts his head and peers over her laptop at the things in front of her. He knows what she's doing. Compartmentalizing. Getting up, he goes to the other side of the desk and kneels beside her chair. She closes tabs on Luna and everything else related to cancer and crosses her arms over her textbook. Staring at her desk, she tries to ignore him looking at her with his big blue eyes. She knows if she looks at him, then she'll start crying all over again. She has been struggling for a long time with her own personal illness- a secret she keeps from everyone because she has to be strong and brave and ready to concur the world. Yet today, everything is bubbling over and she can't stop the flood of thoughts entering her mind and destroying all she tries to be. She holds still and tries to imagine things that make her happy, but in this moment, nothing seems to help.

"Helen." He says her name again, softly, sweetly, intimately even. Her eyes close and she shakes her head ever so slightly. She can't do this. She can't watch someone she loves go through so much pain again. She would rather give her own life than watch cancer destroy Max and Luna. She never used to think that she would ever love someone so much that she couldn't bare to see them upset and in pain. Yet here she is. Preparing for Max to recede back into grief and despair- and his little girl go through so much pain to try and make her healthy- when the survival statistics for infants with ALL is less than 50%. "Helen, I need you to look at me. Please."

She opens her eyes and looks upward momentarily and then to her left side away from him as her tears begin to well up again. Having no choice but to move her himself, he pulls her roller chair out from under her desk, and turns her to face him- his hands on the arm rests so she can't escape.

"Please." He says again and with every syllable, her heart breaks a bit more. She finally looks down at him, his blue eyes burning hers and his frame drooped. She takes a deep breath and tries to stop the tears, but it's no use. They break the dam and cascade down her face. "Thank you."

That's all he says before he leans forward, taking his hands off the arm rests and sliding them to the sides of her thighs. His thumbs gently massage circles on her hips, beneath her t-shirt and her ripped skinny jeans expose the tops of her thighs.  She doesn't move. She doesn't fight him. She doesn't speak. All she can do is sit there and look at him watching her and wonder what the hell he is thinking about and try to hide what she has going on in her own head.