Season 9, Week 4 entry...
Charlie and Dr. Traghen were about as different from each other as it was possible to be.
Charlie was a small boy of seven, all blond hair and crooked teeth and eyes too old for a face so young. Two months ago, he'd suddenly been overcome by a strange series of seizures and loss of appetite. He dropped weight alarmingly fast, his strength waned. Test after test showed nothing, and multiple medications made no difference. In many ways, though, Charlie seemed unaffected by what was happening to him. He remained a talkative and cheerful boy, little different from any other seven year old, ready to laugh and tell jokes and regale anyone he could with the tales of whatever superhero he was drawing adventures for this week.
Dr. Traghen was a gray haired man in his mid-fifties, all business and precision and seriousness in everything he did. He was a stickler for strict adherence to procedure, and the staff knew better than to ask for anything that even remotely smacked of bending a rule. While not necessarily unpleasant or haughty like many of the other surgeons and chiefs were, most people agreed they'd never once seen him laugh, smile, or be anything other than stiffly professional in all the years he'd worked there. The idea of him cracking a joke at the lunch table or acting out a funny story was as foreign as thinking the sky was purple or that unicorns lived on the roof. No one particularly cared that he wasn't friendly, though, because they'd seen him save more lives than any four other doctors. He had an uncanny ability to diagnose what had been missed, an almost otherworldly ability to cure what had remained uncurable by those before him.
But not for Charlie. Despite visiting him daily since his admittance, despite all the poking and prodding and lab work and scans, Dr. Traghen could do nothing for Charlie.
"Hi, Charlie," Dr. Traghen said as he flipped his notebook open. "How are you feeling today?"
"Fine, Dr. Dragon," Charlie replied. Charlie had mis-heard the doctor's name when they'd first been introduced and had called him Dr. Dragon ever since. "A little tired."
Dr. Traghen knew that was a gross understatement. The boy could barely lift his arms and head for the doctor as he checked him over -- even that small effort seemed almost too much for him. The doctor carefully recorded all his observations in the notebook; he would type them into the boy's file himself, hoping as he did each day that doing so would trigger some new thought, some new possibility to pursue.
"More tests today?" Charlie asked.
"Not today, Charlie," the doctor replied. "We want to give you a few days to rest up before we continue with the next tests." In reality, though, the doctor knew there were no more tests to be run -- every conceivable test had been run, every scan had been done, and there was simply nothing left to try.
"OK," the boy said, and though it was only one word, Dr. Traghen suspected Charlie knew the truth as well.
The doctor moved to set his notebook on the bedside table and saw the boy's drawing pad there. "Who's this one?" he asked, showing the image to Charlie. Normally, the boy drew various sword- or axe-wielding comic book heroes, but this one was different.
"Oh, that's me!" he said, brightening a bit and straining to push himself to sit upright. "I've just started drawing horses. That's a Clydesdale, you know, one of those really big horses, and that's me riding it. I know Clydesdales aren't really for riding, but it's just a drawing, so it can be whatever I want, right?"
"Absolutely," Dr. Traghen said with a nod. "Have you ever ridden a horse?"
"No, we've always lived in the city. There were pony rides one day at the school fair, but we didn't make it through the line in time. Mom said that she'd take me out to a horse farm this spring, though, after I... you know... get out of here," Charlie said, his voice trailing away. Dr. Traghen's dark eyes looked into the boy's blue eyes; though he'd have given anything to be able to hide it, the doctor knew the boy had seen the truth written there. There would be no horses in the spring; the boy would be lucky to make it another month to Christmas.
Just then, Charlie's mom and little sister Delia came bustling into the room. "Dokker!" the girl squealed as she saw the doctor. He soon found his left leg being hugged with all the might her three-year-old arms could muster before she ran up to her brother's bed and started chattering at him. "Delia, Mrs. Hudson," Dr. Traghen said politely. He spoke with Charlie's mom for a few short minutes, and then quietly withdrew from the room.
Over the next few weeks, Charlie's room became decorated more and more with his drawings of horses. He talked non-stop about how great a rider he could be, about the adventures he would have; the harsh reality of the world was not going to stop his imagination. The staff began to bring in little horse knick-knacks and stuffed animal horses for him, which mixed in with the Christmas decorating the staff did for all the rooms. Charlie laughed and applauded when he woke up one day and saw that Jaden, the night nurse, had replaced Rudolph and the other reindeer pulling Santa's sleigh with the Budweiser Clydesdales.
Everyone kept hoping for a miracle, kept praying they'd come in the next day and find Charlie healed. But he continued to decline, what little strength he had ebbing away a bit more each day. He was transferred to a different ward of the hospital, one out of the crush and with a less medical feel to its every corner -- a more comfortable area to await the inevitable. By Christmas eve, it seemed unlikely he would make it through even another few nights. The on-duty nurses became hushed as the evening wore on, wiping their tears away before checking in on him every thirty minutes or so as he watched a series of Christmas movies quietly in his room.
"Where's Dr. Traghen?" one of them suddenly asked mid-evening. "I just realized, I haven't seen him all day today." No one else had seen him either, which they all agreed was highly unlike him. Even on his off days, like this one, the doctor still visited Charlie each afternoon. As they were discussing their concern and whether they should try calling him, the service elevator dinged its arrival at the end of the hall. They turned to look, wondering who would be using the service elevator to this ward at this time of night.
Stepping out from the elevator car was Dr. Traghen. This was not unusual; what was unusual was the soft clip-clop of the small pony he was leading behind him, its harness jingling with the small bells tied to it. The staff could do nothing but stare as he approached them. He stopped as he reached them, the pony (who was wearing reindeer horns) quietly nibbling at the doctor's pants as they stood. The doctor looked at each person in turn, silently asking for their cooperation in the biggest rule-breaking endeavor any of them could remember. Without hesitation, they all nodded. As the door to his room opened and Charlie's delighted laughter filled the halls, Dr. Traghen smiled as well.
Tonight, Charlie would ride as though the world would last forever.
This is my entry for the fourth week of Season 9 of therealljidol. The prompt this week was the quote "Nobody can ride your back if your back's not bent."
As always, thanks for reading. :)