Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide

03 | TO FIGHT

"I'm sorry, but the cancer's too widespread. There's nothing we can do."

Stepping backward, I watch as the woman in front of me begins to shake horribly, loud sobs wracking her thin frame. Beside her, her girlfriend squeezes her hand, a frown on her face.

"Shh," she comforts her before looking up at me, "can chemo not even help this time?"

Desperate, I glance back at my resident, a stocky Lebanese doctor who I had never seen before in the hospital until today.

Sliding past me, my resident, Doctor Pjune, gives them a comforting murmur before glancing down at her charts.

"No," she says through a thick accent, paging through the papers in her hands, "with this type of cancer, it is extremely aggressive and has progressed …show more content…

"Not even three months."

Another wait echoes through the room, and Pjune turns on her heel, ready to escort me to the next room, when I blurt out, "There's a trial going on at Mayo. You might be able to get in. Their success rate is magnificent, they're making amazing process."

"Can I have a word, please, intern?" Pjune growls out, yanking me by the arm and letting the door swing shut behind us.

"I'm sorry," I begin, "but Mayo really is--"

"Did the hit you received yesterday knock out all of your brain cells?" She snaps, "You don't give patients false hope, not when it's a bad case like that."

"She has a chance, though," I argue, hands now on my hips.

"Go. I don't want to see your childish little face until I call for you. Is that clear?"

"Fine," I grumble, "not like I wanted to be on your service anyway."

Stalking off, I make my way toward the cafeteria, shoving my black pager deep into my pant pocket.

"Stupid Pjune," I mutter to myself, grabbing an apple and slamming down a couple bills to pay for it, "stupid trials, stupid concussion test that I didn't clear. I could be slicing people open right now, living out my dream!" I throw my hands up in the air, eliciting stares from other …show more content…

You never called, you never wrote, you never even told me you were leaving. I just woke up one morning and my best friend had abandoned me."

"No, oh god no, that's not true, George," I tell him, "I left because I had to. I can't tell you why, but I need you to know that I never wanted to leave you. You were my best friend, George, and I want to be best friends again."

I reach out again, and this time, I touch his palm. I envelope his cold hand in mine and squeeze it tightly, a promise that I wouldn't let go. Not like before.

"It's a start," he says softly, and I echo it back with a small smile.

"It's a start."

Letting go of his hand, I watch as he turns and heads out of the cafeteria, and I clasp my hands together, a wide smile on my face, happy that my friendship with him was once more in reaching distance.

✱

"Where the hell is Pjune?" I mutter to myself as I walk down the hallway, passing by the nurse's station.

Glancing down at my pager, I read the room number for the seventh time before looking back up, confused.

Angrily, the pager beeps once more, and I shake it, annoyed.

"I know it's an emergency," I snap lowly, "I just can't find