Harry
Harry sprinted into Resurgam, only pausing to sign in at the reception desk. He dumped his bag in his locker, pulled on his white coat and ran back out of the locker room again.
“Crap, crap, crap,” He turned the corner and ran through the Emergency Department. He passed through another ward, up two flights of stairs and into the Stafford Ward, where he was supposed to be doing his rounds. In the corner he saw his older sister, talking to a patient. Slowing down and straightening his clothes, he walked over.
“And here he is now. I’m glad to see you Harry. I was just talking to Mr. Davidson here about being transferred to cardiac rehab tomorrow.”
Harry scratched them back of his next. “Ah yes. Your condition is stable enough, and we’re confident that you won’t need to go in for a second surgery.”
“It’s great news, my wife is going to be so happy!” The man smiled. “Dr. Blaylock-Vaughn was also telling me how she’s your sister. I mean, I thought as much seeing as your surname isn’t very common. But you look nothing alike!”
Charlotte chucked dryly as she placed Mr. Davidson’s charts in the pocket at the foot of his bed.
“Indeed. I seem to have gotten our father’s genes.”
“We best be moving on,” Harry tugged on Charl’s arm. “It’s very busy today.”
“Of course. Thank you for the good news, Doctor.”
Harry and Charlotte walked away from Mr. Davidson and towards another patient. Charlotte smiled and picked up the patient’s chart.
“What took you so long?” She hissed as they read the chart.
“Traffic,” Harry looked at the woman on the bed. “Ms. Yale. How do you find the medication?”
“Oh, it’s quite alright dearie. I still get pain, but no where near as bad as before.”
“Hm, okay,” Harry checked the dosage that the woman was getting. “Charl, could you bump up the dosage and get one of the nurses to administer it?”
“Already done, just need to tell a nurse.” She turned and went to the desk. Typical Charl. Always one step ahead. Her quick thinking and complex mind were what helped her stay on top in her specialty. Harry sometimes wondered if that was her Healing Touch. He mentioned it once when he was younger, and she had just graduated. She laughed at him and told him to stop being silly. Harry knew she wished it were true. When they found out Harry had his Healing Touch (coincidentally the same as his mom’s), Charl has acted overjoyed. He could see on her eyes that she was upset though. Jealous, even.
He cornered her after and asked if she was one-hundred percent sure she didn’t have a Healing Touch. She was sure. It would’ve been found out by now, she said, like Harry did.
Someone was dying. He had to help, even though he knew he would get in trouble. He stepped next to the operating surgeon and laid his hands on the patients body. As he did so, the patient’s vitals froze, at 19.
“Hurry and finish up, I can’t hold this forever!” He already felt exhaustion beginning to wash over him. The surgeons nodded and finished the procedure, closing up the patient.
When it was over, Harry took his hands off the patient and stumbled out of the OR. His attending surgeon followed.
“Mr. Blaylock-Vaughn-”
“I know. I apologise for overstepping the line, sir.”
“Under no circumstances will you ever do that again, do you hear me?”
“Yes sir. But without me, that patient may have died. I don’t want to take advantage of my parentage, or use it as an excuse. The fact simply is: I saw a patient dying, and I was able to help. So I did.”
“I cannot say I understand, but it is apparently common for Healing Touch users. Please refrain from stepping in on future procedures.”
Harry looked at the floor. “Yes, sir.”
The older doctor held open the door. Harry walked back into the room, where the other students stared at him. He closed his eyes and leant against the wall, dizziness momentarily disorientating him.
“Harry? Snap out of it!” Charl flicked his cheek. Harry put a hand up to the sting, surprised.
“Ow. What was that for? And when did you get back?”
“Oh, you’re back with us! Great! Look, it’s nearly half eight, you know I have an appointment at 9. Since you owe me for covering...cover for me while I go prep? It’s not that many patients.” Charl looked at him, already edging away.
“Sure,” Harry sighed.
“Thanks!” Charlotte whizzed out of the ward, the doors swinging behind her. Harry looked at the patient’s chart again, then at the bed. The poor old woman looked up at him apologetically.
“I think I might have sprung a leak, dearie.” She said. Harry peeled back the covers to see bright red blood pooling by the woman’s lower half.
“Oooookay, I need help here!!!” Nurses and Senior House Officers began flocking to the woman’s bed. “She had lower intestinal tumours removed two days ago. They were akin to the regenerating tumours that Dr. Naomi Kimishima wrote a thesis on.”
Harry paused, checking that the SHOs were following. When they nodded, he continued. “She was complaining about pain and discomfort increasing over the last couple of days. There’s a possibility that they’ve regenerated. I would like her to be taken into theatre as soon as possible - the tumours drain vitals very fast once fully formed.”
The SHOs nodded and wheeled the woman out of the room. Harry shook his head. He was definitely going to be busy today.
***
On his break, Harry called his brother. Being the youngest had its perks, like being the older two’s favourite sibling. To be fair, their family did get on better than some. They bickered of course, but it never escalated further than a few teasing remarks.
“Sup Harry?” A cheerful voice said from the other end of the phone.
“Sam! We’ve already had an emergency surgery for someone on the recovery ward today.” Harry began. “No doubt it’s going to get busier. How’s work for you?”
“Dr. Stiles has been keeping me busy, but it’s not been too heavy. The Americans politely decided to refrain from killing people for a while.”
“Lucky you. Are you free on Friday evening?” Harry fiddled with the corner of his lab coat.
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s mom’s birthday soon, remember?”
“Oh yeah, next week right?”
“I’ll be honest, I haven’t actually checked,” Harry sighed. “Charl wants to go out for dinner. She said I could ask you to come if I wanted so...”
“I don’t know, runt,” Sam said. Harry could hear him swinging around in his chair. “Most of the time, when she says she gives you the choice to ask, she doesn’t want me to be there.”
“Just come, okay? Valentino’s at 7pm. I actually need to book a table, so I’ll text if anything changes.”
“Hey I didn’t - oh, Dr. Stiles!” The chair stopped spinning and Harry heard Sam stand up. A muffled female voice was talking on the other end. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll get back to it. My little brother called and asked me a favour. I’ve sorted it out now, yeah....Yes, Dr. Stiles. Have a good morning.” Harry heard a door slam and Sam’s voice came back clearer. “Sorry Harry, I gotta go. She’s on my case. Both the literal one and figurative. It’s best if I don’t cross her. I’ll see you on Friday!” Sam ended the call.
“Well thanks. Love you too.” Harry pocketed his phone. He looked at the vending machine in the corner. Might as well get something before he has to go back.