Red Leaves and the Living Token - By Benjamin David Burrell Page 0,12
anger began to swell up in his face, pushing out through heavy, labored, breaths. He struggled to rein it in, to keep himself from completely breaking down.
"We can't simply throw random treatments at him and hope that something works. The wrong treatment could kill him." The Doctor explained.
"But if you take your time debating about what might and might not work, he’ll die anyway. I think its time to take some risks here." He was shouting now. The rage had ripped itself free of his meager attempt to restrain it.
"Mr. Handers..." The Doctor tried to interject.
"I refuse to accept that there isn’t a better way to do this. There's always a better way!" Raj was on his feet now.
"Mr. Handers, please. You have to understand. Any loving parent would exhaust all effort looking for something to heal their child. I understand that. You'd go to go to the ends of the earth if needs be." The Doctor stood up to try to calm him down.
"What I want you to understand is that is not necessarily what he needs right now. That's not what you need right now. A natural part of the grieving process is coming to terms with an outcome beyond your control. The unending quest for new and exotic methods is contrary to that grieving process."
"It's a desperate attempt to control something that has proven itself to be uncontrollable. Believe or not, the powers of modern medicine are, in fact, finite. We can't cure everything... yet."
"But...
"Endless searching will only prolong the pain and rob you of the time you do have left to say good bye. Let us worry about finding the solution. You worry about the time you spend with your son. If your son's last day comes soon, that will not be something you can control. What you can control is how you prepare yourself and your son for it."
Raj grabbed his coat and slammed the door as he left.
-
He found himself wandering out the back of the hospital and down the dark street that led to the sea cliffs. It was the first place that came to his mind when he thought of somewhere he could be alone.
A steep stair case, cut into the black rock, lead down from the coastal street to the sandy beach below. He stumbled down the steps, holding an arm in front of his eyes to shield against the sand blown off the rocks.
He'd come here before for the same purpose; he remembered. The same thought had come to him. To come here. To be alone. To think.
He wandered out onto the wet sand and felt the spray on his face as the dark waves crashed against the beach. Night had come while he'd been in the hospital. Yet the night, with the moon glowing through a thin layer of clouds, seemed to add to the environment he was seeking. He tried to avoid the thoughts that were stirring in his mind, the thoughts of her, of the last time he'd come here from the hospital. It'd taken him so long to forget, to push the memories back far enough that they stopped hurting. He had to. He had his son.
The moon went dark behind a cloud. A flash of lighting flickered from the horizon, giving a momentary glimpse of the approaching storm. He felt the crushing weight growing from inside, pushing down on him. He couldn't afford this, not now. He had to fight it back.
He dropped to his knees, digging into the soft sand. The dried top layer caught in the gusts of wind and swirled around him. He looked up into the darkness above him. He didn't know what he was looking for. Sometimes just seeing something above him staring back down was reassuring. He got no such comfort from the black, star-less void above him. The crushing weight increased, almost as though the void above had reached a slender finger down to him and was working its way inside him. His desperation grew to panic.
"Please," he voiced into the wind. "Help me."
Another flicker of light flashed across the sky, showing for a brief instant the beauty of the clouds as the lighting etched its zigzag through them. The illusion of emptiness broke. The slender finger withdrew.
"Please," he begged. "Don't take my son away too!" He called out.
He turned away from the sky. What right did he have to ask such things? Why should he expect such favors? The proposition was ludicrous.