Hallelujah. who: John Dorian, Ben Sullivan, and random hospital staff. what: J.D. is left to take care of Ben, Doctor Cox's brother-in-law, who has been diagnosed with leukemia. However, in Cox's absence, a common complication in the cancer turns disastrous, and the worst thing that could possibly happen becomes a reality. where: Sacred Heart hospital in Los Angeles, California. when: A few years back. warnings: Character death, strong angst, language. notes: Something I wrote while bored and unable to sleep, and in response to Bri's previous post here. :D Sorry if my medical knowledge isn't great, I'm not a doctor, so humor me here, guys. ;D I did do some research using mostly Wikipedia, so let's hope I did a half decent job.
J.D. was striding through the halls of Sacred Heart, pride and purpose in his step and a huge grin on his face. He was grinning because he had just been given the privilege of single-handedly looking after probably the most important patient in the entire hospital.
No, it wasn't some kind of rock star or Hollywood celebrity who'd come spilling through their front doors, desperately seeking medical attention. It wasn't a firefighter who had just risked his life to save six children from a blazing orphanage. And it wasn't a member of royalty... though in J.D.'s eyes it might as well have been.
It was Doctor Cox's brother-in-law, and probably the only man in the world he didn't hate even in the slightest.
The proud grin wasn't about to dissipate any time soon, though the members of staff around him just ignored him as if his arrogance was commonplace. His arms swung by his sides in a self-satisfied manner, and he cocked his head back to make sure Ben Sullivan was still tagging along behind him. He was there, fiddling with one of the functions on his beloved polaroid camera. He'd gotten a few shots of J.D. and the kids in pediatrics as they'd stopped by to pick up a few charts, and he was trying to adjust the flash setting, which apparently was too high for the bright artificial lights of the hospital.
J.D. reached the room which Doctor Cox had emptied for Ben to occupy (he had no idea what his mentor had done with the patient who had previously been housed here, but he didn't really want to know either...), and lead the older man inside. "Okay, Ben," he said in an overly professional tone, loving the fact that he would be running the tests on Cox's brother-in-law a little too much, "I'm gonna need to take some samples - icky squicky stuff, but necessary. If you wanna jump into the gown and get comfortable..."
Ben had moved to seat himself comfortably on the bed, not bothering to put on his gown yet. He was continuing to play with the camera even as J.D. talked to him, scribbling away importantly on the patient chart he held in front of himself.
"Okay, so... your last check-up was..."
"Per', last time I was here." Ben shrugged as if it were no big deal, though he was grinning. "He wasn't a very good doctor though. He promised me a lollipop and never delivered."
J.D. would've laughed, but he was too busy contemplating that. "So, your last leukemia check-up was... almost two years ago," he said in a quiet, somewhat disappointed tone of voice. Ben scoffed in fake exasperation; apparently, this was all just a game to him, it wasn't serious at all. Still, that was kind of what J.D. liked about him... he didn't panic or cry or freak out, he just took the blows as they came. He smiled a bit to himself as he continued to scribble.
"Okay, so, I'm gonna just ask a few questions..." J.D. scoffed himself, trying to keep it casual, and waved a hand nonchalantly as he spoke. "It's just, y'know. Boring stuff."
Ben lifted a fist to his mouth to stifle what sounded like an awkward burp, and nodded. "Sure thing, Doc'. Hit me."
"Okeydokey... just need to know... have you been feeling any of the following: diarrhea, mouth sores, frequent or strong headaches, nausea..." J.D. paused, watching Ben struggle to hold down another belch. "You feelin' okay there, buddy?" he asked with a laugh.
Ben smirked, thumping his chest twice with his fist. "In-di-ges-tion," he half-sang in a higher tone. "I stopped at the worst Indian restaurant before I came here, and my stomach's been trying to make me pay ever since."
J.D. laughed a little too hard, trying to impress his patient and make him feel comfortable and secure. He wanted Ben to tell Doctor Cox upon his arrival what a good and competent doctor he was, and how hard he'd worked, and how smart he was, and... J.D. realized he was drifting off, and shook his head to snap back into reality. "Okay, so, um, where was I... oh yeah, nausea, chills, night sweats, fatigue, or sudden loss of weight. These are just the normal symptoms of, um." Goddamn it, why was it so hard to use the 'C' word in front of a patient? "Of, um..."
"The cancer?" Ben finished for him with a grin.
"Yeah, that."
Again the patient laughed, moving to sit up more, obviously uncomfortable from the indigestion. "It's fine, Annabelle. Cute name, by the way. If I wasn't busy tonight I'd love to wine and dine ya." Apparently, he had stolen the idea from Doctor Cox to start referring to the resident using random girls' names, only he was pressing on the idea a little more. J.D. just laughed a bit and scratched the back of his neck.
"I just went on the grand world leukemia tour! I've kinda accepted the fact that, y'know, my bone marrow is being eaten away and is now producing less and less of the blood cells I need to stay good and healthy." He looked pleased with himself. "Yeah, I've done my homework."
"I always sucked at homework, I just couldn't do it without being in the classroom environment, in fact when I was in college..." J.D. trailed off, realizing he was babbling when he should've been paying attention to the VIP in front of him - that's Very Important Patient. In fact, Ben was probably more like a VVVVVIP...
Ben shifted on the bed, suddenly looking pained. His hand rose to his chest and he pressed on it, exhaling slowly. "Indigestion?" J.D. asked, and Ben rolled his eyes. Maybe J.D. would get him something for that, like... well, Tums or something. Make him comfortable.
"What was the first one again?" he asked, tilting his head a bit as he rubbed his chest with his right hand.
"Um... diarrhea? I think."
Ben giggled with that childish, immature charm of his. "You said diarrhea."
J.D. rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Ben. We're trying to make you better, we have to make sure the c... the cancer," God, saying that word was like burning yourself with a red-hot poker, "isn't progressing faster than it should be so we can check which is the best course of treatment to take."
Honestly, two years was a long time to leave leukemia, even if it was chronic. They needed to let it progress a little, to see which would be the best course of action to take, but that was a damn long time...
"Okay, okay, sorry. Read 'em off again." Ben's subconsciously began to follow the pain from his chest into his left shoulder with his hand, massaging through the tee-shirt as he listened to J.D. repeating the list of symptoms.
"I guess... I've been having headaches, yeah. I've lost some weight too, but I thought that's just 'cuz I'm not eating much. My appetite's kinda hit an all time low, but hey, that saved me a tonne of cash on my vacation! That lunch I had was the first thing I've eaten since yesterday morning." He shrugged as if it were nothing. "Can I go pee in a jar now? It's hot in here and I kinda wanna get me some'a that ceiling fan action."
Glancing up at Ben, J.D. noticed a few beads of sweat on his forehead. "You'll probably be cooler if you change. Here, there's a gown on the end of the bed..." He grinned at the other man. "Then you can feel like a real patient."
"Will I get a lollipop?"
"You betcha."
Ben plastered a wide smile across his face. "Well, then, I guess I'll do it. Just for you, Doc'."
J.D. moved to close the door, sliding the clipboard onto the footboard of the bed and passing Ben the gown. However, as he reached out to the patient, he noticed just how hard Ben was rubbing at his left shoulder. "Hey, Ben... are you okay?" he asked, sounding serious and concerned all of a sudden.
Ben snorted coolly, though continued to rub, his face twisting in some pain. A bead of sweat slid down his temple from beneath his bangs. 'Yeah, it's just... it kinda hurts. Feels tight?"
J.D. watched him for a few moments with that doctorly concern in his eyes before moving to turn the thermostat for the private room down, trying to cool the man off a little quicker. When he turned back to the bed, Ben had his eyes closed and was breathing very slowly, obviously struggling. J.D. was at his bedside in an instant, as Ben sat forward and grabbed at the front of his tee-shirt.
"Ben -?!"
'It's... ngh, it just... it fucking..."
"Ben, don't move."
J.D.'s hands were on the man's chest, but Ben cried out in pain and jerked forward even further, so far that his head was almost touching his bent knees. Both of his hands were clawing at J.D.'s, hard enough to bruise the skin. With his hands trapped, J.D. watched in shock as Ben's entire body tensed up, his breathing so shallow it was almost nonexistent. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene that was unraveling in front of his eyes.
Ben was having a heart attack.
He wasn't hooked up to a monitor. No Code Blue sounded in the halls, or on pagers. The crash team wasn't slamming through the door with the cart, ready to save his life. It was just Ben and J.D., locked together with their hands against his chest as the blood flow to his heart was interrupted and, eventually, he went into cardiac arrest.
Suddenly, J.D. snapped out of it. Everything felt surreal, like a dream... or rather, a nightmare. He barely heard his own piercing screams, the words echoing around the room and out into the hall. Code Blue. Code Blue. Get a crash cart. I need a crash cart in here, now. Code Blue. Please... help me. Help me.
Everything from then on became little more than an adrenaline-fueled blur. Two nurses bolted through the door, forcing Ben to lay on his back against the pillows. That was when J.D. realized that Ben was no longer tense or fighting, and the reason he was no longer tense or fighting was because he was unconscious. An oxygen mask was snapped across his mouth and nose, forcing oxygen down his throat, and one of the nurses quickly and efficiently cut the front of his tee-shirt open to reveal his chest.
J.D. didn't see or hear the crash cart arriving, he just remembered reaching out for the defibrillator paddles and having them pressed into his hands. Interns, nurses, medical staff, they were everywhere, or at least they seemed to be. Hooking Ben up to monitors and support machines, so they could see what they were up against. The screeching sound of the flat-line pierced through J.D.'s skull once the monitor was flipped on, and with both determination and fear in his eyes, he pressed the paddles down hard against Ben's chest and side and barked out the order, as loud as he could.
Clear!
The mask was removed, personnel stepped back, and the jolting shock was delivered to Ben's torso. J.D.'s eyes shot up, but the line on the monitor remained flat. Flat, and dead, and motionless, that shrill single beep cutting through his vision like a knife through butter.
Rinse, repeat. The mask was back across Ben's face, and J.D. rubbed both of the paddles together, his hands trembling so hard he thought he might drop them both. Ben was dying. Doctor Cox's brother-in-law, his best friend, was dying, right in front of him. Only he stood between Ben and death, and he wasn't about to let the latter win.
Clear!
Shock. Rinse, repeat. J.D. cursed, in more of a sob than a bark, and began uncontrollably pleading out loud to no one in particular. This couldn't happen, this couldn't... he'd been just fine five minutes ago, he'd been walking around, he'd been laughing and joking... he'd been fine.
Clear!
Seconds passed. Minutes passed soon after that. That single shrill beep didn't falter, not once. One by one, the medical team began to realize that this patient's heart wasn't going to respond to the AED, and there was nothing more they could do. A full four and a half minutes later, one of the nurses put a hand on J.D.'s shoulder.
"Doctor Dorian... he's gone."
"No!" J.D. screamed at her, not bothering to turn. He wasn't gone, he wasn't going to die... just one more time, just once more, and that single beep would break up into a normal heart rate, and he'd be stable again. Just once more...
"Clear!" he barked, as loud as he could, though his voice cracked in the middle of the command. The shock was delivered and Ben's body jolted slightly, but the monitor continued to flat-line. J.D. stepped back, rubbing the paddles together, but lifted his eyes to glare when the nurse with the mask didn't place it back over Ben's face. "Oxygen! Give him oxygen!"
"Doctor...!"
"I said give him fucking oxygen, damn it!" he shrieked, tears already welling up in his eyes. The paddles were against Ben's chest, and he yelled out for the clear, but a member of the crash team had already powered down the AED. He looked at J.D. sternly, shaking his head.
"Doctor, he's gone. It's over. You need to pronounce it."
J.D. looked across to Ben, his eyes widening a little as he took two steps back, hitting the crash cart and nearly sending it toppling over. His back slammed against the wall of the private room, and his head began to shake quickly from side to side. "No..." he started, panic rising in his chest. The AED was switched off, but his fingers were curled so tightly around the paddles that his knuckles had gone white. "No...!"
"Doctor..."
"No!" J.D. shrieked, throwing the paddles across the room. The curled wires caught them before they got too far, clattering to the ground. He turned around and threw himself against the wall, crossing his arms and burying his face in them. This couldn't be happening... this... this couldn't be happening...!
The next few seconds were slowed down, and felt like hours. Every breath took an eternity to be dragged into his lungs. His head was spinning, he couldn't think straight. Everything felt pixellated, like it was moving past him in slow motion, blurred and unfocused. His mouth was dry, his cheeks were soaking wet, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
He was dead. Ben was dead. It was like a nightmare, and he prayed that he would wake up. The worst thing that could ever have happened had actually happened, and now that slim possibility was very, very real. J.D.'s breaths came short and sharp, and he swallowed painfully to he could try and moisten his mouth to talk.
It was too late, too late. He'd fucked up everything.
It was all his fault... it was all his fault...
Peeling his forehead away from the wall, he turned. His eyes were pink and blotchy, his cheeks damp, and his voice was so quiet and hoarse it was barely coherent.