#patients in the entire hospital- when they need to go to the damn ICU.

[dhampir-dyke]

haha..... I'm a hea lthcare h.....her o..... *starts sobbing*

[kamyru]

The blood on my hands scares me to death (Toshiki Kasumi, Munechika Takado & Sentaro Kyogoku) (Shorts)

This is for @voltagefandomproject

TW: Mention of death, losing patients and suicide

Toshiki Kasumi

Words counting: 300

Dr. Kasumi closed the door of his office and put away his jacket. He wanted to relax but couldn't. So, he walked in circles in his office, trying to be as discrete as possible and not make enough noise to be heard by his colleagues from ICU. He sat on his seat, then stood up the next second. Dr. Kasumi didn't remember checking if he closed to door with the key. He had to go and do it.

The moment the cardiologist's hands touched the knob, he froze. The metal didn't feel cold. It was warm, nearly as warm as a living human. No, no, no! Toshiki Kasumi couldn't stand it. Minutes ago, he met his best friend's parents at his grave. "If it's not the Angel of Death," they said to him. Kasumi couldn't see it, but he could feel it: the blood on his hands. He had to do something about it. Where was the sink? WHERE WAS THE DAMN SINK?

The head of EICU tried to open the door, but it was locked. The beautiful man nearly broke down the door while trying to escape his asphyxiating room. He could swear that the blood of his dead patients hit his face but couldn't do anything about it when his hands were dirty.

"It's today," Dr. Takado whispered when he saw his boss rushing from his office to the bathroom in the on-call room. He froze with his eyes on the door. His lips got as thin as a needle. One, two, five, ten minutes passed, and Dr. Kasumi returned. The orthopedist's eyes traveled from his face to his hands. They were red and with a rash. The same happened the last year and the year before the last. And would probably happen the next one too.

Munechika Takado

Words counting: 370

Dr. Takado opened his eyes and threw aside the blanket he messily put over himself two hours ago. Why did he go home when his entire life was in the hospital? He didn't do enough yet again. Where did he leave his car keys? At least he was smart enough not to get in his home clothes. Dr. Takado didn't have a home. He had no right to own one after all he did. His money was made out of blood, flesh, and tears. He didn't have the right to use them.

The head of the EICU let out a sigh when he heard the door of the headquarters opening and closing loudly, followed by heavy steps. He didn't need to leave his office to know that the doctor who had left less than three hours ago was back. However, he stopped writing when he heard a barely audible mumble from the other room. When he got closer to the door, the words became clear enough to be understood.

"Where did I put the patient's file."

After another minute, Takado planted himself in one of the multitudes of empty seats, surrounded by textbooks, papers from the file, and a running computer. He had to know if there was a way to save the patient's diabetic foot attacked by gangrene. What if, a few hours before the surgery, someone discovered a way to save them? What if he missed a "Nota Bene" from his textbooks that said the recovery without the amputation was higher than he had thought?

But no, it was just like Dr. Takado knew. The amputation was imminent. He left the office and walked away while looking at his hands. The orthopedist was thought to be one of the best in Japan, and even in the world. However, the number of limbs he cut off was too high to make him proud. Why his bloody hands were still on their places while kids had to learn to walk with no legs?

"The safety nets on the roof aren't put there only for the patients," Dr. Ekuni wrote on his board, covered his face with his arm, and tried to get enough sleep for both him and Dr. Takado.

Sentaro Kyogoku

Words counting: 271

CPR on kids is made with only one hand pressed in the middle of their chest. The frequency of the compresses has to be around 100-120 and their depth between 4-5 cm.

Dr. Sen was used to performing CPR so much that he could last around ten minutes without being replaced by someone else. He was more than sure that he could last twice that time. Though, he couldn't confirm it, being surrounded by empathetic and well-taught colleagues.

But there was one thing about CPR Dr. Sentaro Kyogoku couldn't get used to - stopping it for declaring the moment of death.

It was ten minutes since the pediatrician fell on his knees in front of the child he had tried his best to save from cancer for more than a year. Ten minutes since he tried to convince the God he didn't believe in, to give their soul back. Dr. Sen failed this time, like many others. He wouldn't hear the kid complaining about chest pain in the morning. However, he would hear the sound of their ribs contracting while trying to fall asleep for two hours.

People had told Sentaro Kyogoku that he looked like an angel, and unlike Kasumi, they didn't add "of death" afterward. But of what use were their words if he couldn't save every child in the world from suffering? Of what use was his face when he was losing five patients a day?

The latex on Dr. Sen's hands stopped him from feeling the warmth living in the kid's body. And now that it was gone, it was no use because the warmth also disappeared.

[alongpause]

It is April 1, 2020. The entire world has shut down. 

Well, not the entire world. Hospitals and grocery stores, they're still open. Pharmacies and anything deemed "essential", they're still open. 

The rest of us are locked in our houses. When I do leave the house, it's only a quick shift out in the night to grab what I can, and I avoid everyone. It feels like a horror movie. Grab what you need. Some things that you want, if you can fucking manage. Don't touch anyone. 

The loudspeaker in the small store stops playing music to let a soothing, feminine voice tell us the new rules of our world. Maintain a six foot distance. Only leave your house when you have to. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your fucking hands. 

Don't leave your God damn house, motherfucker. You'll catch your death and you'll give it to someone else at the same time. 

My sister works as a nurse in the ICU. It has now been deemed "the COVID Unit" because they're only treating patients there who tested positive for Coronavirus. 

The number of cases keeps rising. Feels like just yesterday it was 4, and today it's 900 and something. And that's just in Alabama. 

People are dying, genuinely, and I know people die from any illness, honestly. Flu season never leaves without claiming a life. But the news is jaded about flu deaths. They're old news. They cycle back every single year. 

Coronavirus has no season, no locality. It is worldwide. Everyone is watching. Everyone is looking at the number of confirmed cases and related deaths as it ticks higher and higher. 

It's a fucking horror movie. 

I'm fine. My seasonal allergies are acting up, but that's the most I can complain about, physically. Mom and Dad have been working from home for just over two weeks. We've been playing games and watching movies together. I don't think I've spent this much time with them in my entire life. 

We're having fun. 

I hate it. I hate it because now I know they could be like this all the time, could have been my whole life, and they aren't any they weren't. It makes it hard to just sit back and enjoy what's happening. 

That and the fact that memory is such a fickle thing. Bad things grow larger and more detailed over time, and all I can do is sit and think of times when I was smiling and I thought we were okay, and then everything in the air shifted, and someone snapped. 

Someone snapped down on me. 

I feel like a shelter dog. Like I left my old owners, they used to kick me, and I have these nice, new people, but my ears still twitch when they move a certain way, have a certain tone, when I can sense the little changes in the atmosphere. Waiting for the boot. 

Everything is empty. The mall, the highways, the airports, my fucking soul… Empty. I miss other people so bad that I hardly know what I'm doing when I see them. The muscle memory to shake a hand, to hug someone, anything, it's all betrayal. It all has to be repressed. Flickers of accidental contact are sacred, savored, and terrifying all at the same time. You have to go home and wash them off, scrub, scrub, scrub, so no one knows. 

Now the whole world knows what I felt like when I used to kiss him. 

Oh, how jealous I am of people with partners. I just want someone to hold me. To talk to me. Someone who really loves me and doesn't scare me and likes to be around me and chooses to be around me. 

The other day, my neighbors were congregated in a large circle outside. Everyone arms length apart, unless they were with their spouse, in which case, two people were huddled together away from the rest. 

They were all just talking. Some of them had their dogs with them, on short leashes. Dogs can get the virus, too. 

I see little kids out with their parents and I wonder what this is like for them. Their spring break just keeps going, but they can't go see Grandma, or play with their friends. They have to stay with their mom, who is wearing a mask over her mouth, and their father, who is diligently waiting to push his wife and child out of the way if anyone ventures too close. 

We're all nice, we're all friendly, we're all scared of each other. 

I assumed my neighborhood was only elderly white people, because that is what's on my cul-de-sac, but I see families with small children out, now. Teenagers typing on their phones as they trail behind their parents. None of them are white. 

We're all stuck here together and finding out who we really live with. What our community really is. How limited perception can be. 

There is a game now, something someone thought of that just caught on, something to put a smile on other people's faces in this hard time when we can barely even be there for each other. 

Put a teddy bear in your window. 

People who know about the game count points for every teddy bear they see when they're out for a walk, or a drive. Other people just see a strange trend and smile. 

I brought four stuffed animals to my father and asked him to pick the one he thought represented our family best. He told me to put all four in the window. 

There is a character from a Disney film, a dog, a raccoon, and a sock monkey. I think it is a nice variety. I think there is something for everyone, in that selection. 

My mother informs me that when they came back from their daily walk yesterday evening, a child was excitedly pointing the toys out to his parents. 

And this makes me happy. 

Those are my toys and I have no room to display them, they're not first-draft picks, they're bench-warmers. They were just sitting in a large bag in my closet. Now they're on display and they're making people happy and that's so simple and so sweet. 

So beautiful that something I was taking completely for granted is helping to brighten someone else's day. I think I'll tell my parents we should put different toys on rotation. The same neighbors will pass again, after all. 

The quarantine keeps getting extended. End of March. End of April. Indefinite. 

That's the worst one. Schrödinger's infinity. Indefinitely. Until further notice. Until otherwise stated. TBA. TBD. N/A. Who's to fucking say? 

It's April 1st. I've never been big into April Fool's Day. I have a few good ideas from seeing videos on the internet. Everyone's been so bored, stuck at home, that it's basically been April Fool's Day for the past two weeks. 

I don't know that my parents would appreciate a prank very much. As much as anyone healthy hates to admit it, right now, stress levels are incredibly high. 

We're all so tender, just walking bruises, and people like me, we can't even talk to our therapists about it. 

I could call her on the phone, but I know that if I do, I have to sit in the closet or in my car, or some place cramped and strange like that, so that we maintain the privacy we usually have, and I don't think I can manage it. I think I would cry. I think that would make me feel like the world is really ending. 

Some people feel that way and I know why, but I can't. It won't settle into my mind. There is a determined and blind optimism that I'm not sure I ever knew I had, and it has sealed the exit, no doubt can sleep in, we will not succumb. We will overcome. This will end. I will live to see the end. 

I've always been such a personal defeatist, but my faith in humans, in humanity, is shocking me. My faith in myself, growing as I realize I'm just as entitled to the faith I give others simply by their merit of being human? Once an impossible dream, now I realize at least part of me believed all along that I can make it. 

Especially this time. Stay home. Stay home. I can do that. I can manage that. I always do that. In fact, I think I'm going outside more now than usual. 

It's strange the way one reacts to a situation. If you had told me I'd have to stay at home with my parents for over a month and not see any of my friends, not see my therapist, nothing, I would have told you I wouldn't make it through the third week. I would have told you that I wouldn't shower or go outside once, that I'd pay in bed the whole day, and I'd pick up the knife again and keep cutting and cutting 'til I whittled myself down to the bone and then, finally, it'd be too much. And I'd snap the bones. 

But I've been showering more than usual. Probably because Mom is around and she is not quiet about how I look or smell. I've started taking showers without prompting or scolinding, just to avoid it. Suddenly, the look on her face is worse than the shower itself. It has not been that way as far back as I can remember. 

I seamlessly faded from the phase of not wanting to bathe because I was a child, to dreading breathing because being naked was unbearable on several thousand levels. And it's gotten worse in the new house, because the bathroom doesn't feel private enough. There used to be two doors between me and the hallway. A whole room between me and the hallway. Now there's barely enough room for a toilet and sink between me and the rest of the world, and the lock doesn't feel strong enough. 

A lot of people in my living situation wouldn't even bother with the lock. Two other residents, my parents, and they have their own bathroom. My father has never even been in the bathroom I use. But still I lock the door. I'm not stupid enough to trust the thin red line of blood relations as a taboo that will keep me safe. Not anymore. 

And all this and more happening in my personal world, four rooms, two bathrooms, a screened in porch, a one car garage, a partially finished attic, a backyard accidently fenced in because the people on every side have built fences. (I guess that makes our yard fenced out?). 

Inside that there are three people, three infinite universes of electrical currents, composed of carbon. And all around us the world is shut down. 

Disney World shut its gates, and the photos are eerie. Empty Disney is something we only imagined in apocalyptic sci-fi, and even then, we were optimistic enough to believe deranged scavengers would be there, living off the canned food. 

To think I was there 6 months ago and it was full of life and energy and motion and emotion, every fucking human emotion possible, and now there's nothing. I wonder how the geese are doing. 

What are they doing without popcorn and bread and anything someone feels like throwing or dropping? How are they fairing without the easy pickings of thousands of people's discarded food available at every moment? They're been there for decades, generations, do they know what it's like to be geese anymore? Do they know they're geese? Can geese born and raised in Disney World even communicate with other geese, or have they, like humans in a community, slowly mutated their language over time into something that can not be understood even by members of the same species? 

Why do I give a fuck about the geese?