Happy Little Accident
2017
Greenwich Village
~~~
Matthew Haag was trying to make his way past the big bastard that was New York traffic. One of the downsides of living in the Big Apple. He sighed as he tried to book surgical appointments, keeping one hand on the steering wheel.
"Stephen! What have you got for me?" he asked, eyes flicking towards his phone for a brief second.
"I've got a 35-year-old Air Force colonel. Crushed his lower spine in some kind of experimental armor. Mid-thoracic vertebral fracture.
"Well, I could help, but so can 50 other people. Find me something worth my time.
"I have a 68-year-old female with an advanced brain stem glioma.
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, you want me to screw up my perfect record? Definitely not."
Born in August of 1992, he grew up in the good old state of tree planters. Which, if you didn't know, was Nebraska.
Not to sound arrogant, but from a young age he was a genius, and he knew it. Matt discovered his eidetic memory when the lad was still in elementary school.He didn't know what it was at first, or that there was even a name for it. All Matt knew at the time was that whatever the teacher was teaching, it learned perfectly the first time they said it, which meant that Matt spent the rest of the class (and sometimes even more than that) extremely bored as they kept repeating the same thing over and over again. And reviews the days before exams were even worse!
This caused some trouble at school, when accidie pushed him into doing some... less than stellar things, and it put his parents through a great deal of grief because of that. Eventually it was Mother who found a way to deal with him. She began buying Matt puzzles, workbooks full of riddles and anything else she could find. That kept him entertained for the most part. Especially because she would always smile at the boy, so full of love and pride, whenever he finished one of those books.
Speeding through middle school and high school, Matt found himself with a high school diploma at the age sixteen because quite frankly, he was bored.
Then came college. College... to put it nicely, was also mundane. For starters, he couldn't find his interests, couldn't find his passion. He was lost. Kept changing my mind on what he wanted his major to be. He was quick-witted, he'll admit, a genius if you will, so success wouldn't be very difficult, but had no idea what he wanted to do with his life
Eventually, Matt found himself studying pre-med. Wasn't sure if that was really what he wanted, but it was the only thing that had held his interest for more than a couple of months. Fast forward three years later the bright young man was ready to begin his specialty: neurology. Matt was studying to become a neurologist! His dream was coming true! He was happy, really happy.
While he still learned fast, it was no longer a bad thing. Most of the professors didn't care how much attention Matt paid to them in class as long as he did all his work and passed all the tests, and that was perfect. Then, just when he thought he had it all figured out, life decided to smack him in the face.
The day he graduated, his parents were supposed to be there, but they never arrived. He later learned that they had been killed in a traffic-accident. Hit by a drunk driver. His dad died instantly, but it took his mother several hours to pass. Doctors tried to save her, but there was nothing he could do.
From that day forward, Matt vowed to never fail a single patient and before the end of the summer of 2016, the now graduated neurosurgeon was working at Metro-General in New York and used the money from his father's life insurance to buy a luxurious flat just a few blocks away from the hospital.
Throughout his whole life, he'd had his fair share of invectives thrown at him. Proud, arrogant, selfish, asshole... being pretty much the least of them. No one understood, no one even tried to see; the fact that it was never about the pride or the arrogance, but rather a deep seated fear of failure.
The selfishness... they were probably right about that, but he'd already lost everyone he cared for. It was easier to keep his walls up, so he wouldn't get hurt again.As long as people didn't expect him to be a good man, he didn't risk disappointing them, or having them disappoint Matt; as far as he was concerned the lack of expectations could only make things easier on everyone.
It was also why Matt refuses so many cases. He would claim that they weren't interesting enough... but it was more that he didn't dare take cases that could become personal in any way, he refused to allow himself to connect in any way. The surgeon also refused cases that seemed too difficult and risky, not because he thought they didn't deserve to have someone do it, or that he couldn't succeed. Matt was very good at his job and he loved his job. He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
But it was that deeply rooted fear of failure that was simply too great. Truth is Matt let that fear rule his life for a very long time...
Noticing that it was starting to rain, he took extra care driving and turned on his windshield wipers, humming quietly to 'Believer'. He made a left turn towards Baker Street, hearing his phone vibrate.
Looking down, he noticed it was a text message from his close friend, Justine, asking him if he wanted to have dinner later. Knowing not to text and drive, he didn't respond. Matt should get to a traffic light first before answering. In that split second of not having his eyes on the road, he didn't realize how his life would completely change right here, right now.
It was too late for him to do anything about it. Horror hit him hard and fast, his terrified expresssion lit by the headlights of the car in front of him. The car was honking loudly. Time seemed to slow down as he felt his car get hit with a bang! His head slammed into the steering wheel so forcefully, he heard a crack.His nose. He broke his nose.
Matt felt crimson red blood drip down his face in a steady stream, staining his shirt. His breaths quickened, panic settling in, releasing him to the cold harsh reality.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die here.
No! I'm too young to die, I've barely even lived my life yet! It can't be over.
He slammed his foot on the brakes, desperately trying to get the car to stop spinning. That only made it worse, rain water flying everywhere as the tires screeched on the ground.
Hitting the highway railing, the car flipped over, so quickly that Matt didn't have time to even scream as his life flashed before his eyes.
There's a million things I haven't done. No... not yet. Please, not yet. I need more time!
His heart was beating in his chest so loudly, he thought it might explode. Fear melted away, replaced with agonizing pain, like his whole body was going to fall apart.
The last thing the neurosurgeon saw was his car landing on his hood as darkness claimed him.
~~~
Metro-General
~~~
Four months after the crash, just as he woke up from his third procedure on his destroyed hands, Matt heard one of his former coworkers in the hallway say, "He's obsessed about curing his hands."
He internally scoffed at their words. This was not an obsession; it was due diligence. He was released from the hospital three weeks after the accident and from the rehabilitation center another four weeks later, and at the ten week mark he was no better than he was at six weeks. Despite the constant work at the physical rehabilitation process, his hands would not stop shaking .
His hospital, at first, would not agree to do a procedure on his hands ten weeks after the crash, which was complete bullcrap to him. However, Matt found a reputable orthopedic surgeon out in California that was willing to do a small, experimental procedure on only his right hand, which was less severely damaged than his left (five pins versus six; not that that mattered, because it shook just as badly). He was in surgery eleven weeks after the accident. Insurance wouldn't cover any of the experimental surgery, of course, but it was a reasonable $75,000 so he wasn't worried.
Five weeks after that surgery and the shaking was still there and it was still happening, but he was constantly reading and constantly researching and he realized that his hands were possibly not healing fast enough due to decreased blood flow in his brachial and radial arteries. This might be solved with a newer form of angioplasty (which would restore blood flow through the artery) with vascular stenting. (essentially putting a metal-mesh tube in his vessels to increase blood flow) He brought this up in his next meeting with the top orthopedic surgeons and the administrators at the Metro-General.
They agreed it was a possible solution and they agreed to take his money at that time, though they said it was due to the fact that the work would largely be done at his wrists rather than his tender palms and fingers. His former place of work was quite generous, however, in covering one third of the cost of the procedure in honor of all his work for them, leaving him with only $180,000 left to pay.
Matt rolled his eyes to himself as his former coworkers walked away from his door. Some people really didn't get it. Being proactive hardly made a person obsessive . He knew a cure had to lie somewhere and he'd find it.
Hopefully the procedure they just completed with the stents did what he was hoping for them to do regarding the speed of his tissue regeneration. Regardless if they did or not, he still had a surgeon in Boston who was willing to try a more invasive fasciectomy (the tissue protecting all of his essentials would be cut to relieve tension or pressure to help circulation) on his left hand four weeks from now. And he was already looking for another orthopedic surgeon who had experience with the newest research in regenerative medicine with the peripheral nervous system for his right hand.
And if those didn't work? Well, he already had three more avenues to explore beyond those. And he'd explore all his possible options after that, if necessary.
Anything to fix his shaky hands. Anything.
"You're going to need to stop obsessing over your hands you know," a voice warned and he looked up to find his best friend Justine, standing in the doorway. There was another figure lingering behind her, but Matt barely noticed that the second person was even there."I know it sucks, but you can't just keep doing this to yourself. There's a reason why big non-life-threatening procedures aren't done consecutively like you're doing. You're just throwing money down the drain."
"My career is ruined, Justine. I can't be a neurosurgeon and have shaky hands. I didn't spend all that time going to medical school for my profession to be over so quickly," he talked back, not sparing a glance at her. He heard her sigh and sit at the edge of his hospital bed. "It's not the end, you can find something else. Another calling. You've always spent money as fast as you could make it but now you're spending money you don't even have. Maybe it's time to consider stopping."
"No. Now is exactly the time not to stop. Because, you see, I'm not getting any better!" He felt angry tears well up in his eyes as he lifted his trembling hands. "I already lost the two people that truly cared about me, didn't see me as an arrogant good-for-nothing, I can't lose the career I love too. Life without my work..." He hated sounding so immature and childlike, but he couldn't help himself.
"Even without your work, it is still your life. Your job doesn't define who you are, Matt. You're so much more than that." They locked eyes and she continued, "You're my best friend, I'm not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself. This isn't being proactive, this is mania. You need to stop. It breaks my heart to see you this way."
He averted his eyes and mumbled, "Easy for you to say, you still have a government job that gives you loads of benefits and I'm still unemployed because of my hands." She scowled, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't you start making this about me now. If you're going to be acting like this, then I'll be leaving."
She stood up swiftly, making her way out of the room. "Fine then, leave! Like you always do! Don't even bother coming back this time! And take your little friend too maybe she can be your new best friend and I can stop being your charity case!" The stranger in the doorway flinched as Justine slammed the door behind her.
Matt let out a grunt and leaned back against the pillow. "I'm not obsessed," he insisted to himself. "I don't care what everyone else thinks."
~~~
"He's a real piece of work, isn't he?" Sierra wondered aloud and her blonde colleague muttered, "You have no idea. Believe it or not, he was just as unbearable when we were growing up. And he wonders why I never tell him things like working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Introducing him to friends like you. Matt's too damn obsessed with his own livelihood, it's why we fight so often."
The brunette raised an eyebrow as they made their way out of the hospital, getting into the car. "Yet you chose to remain friends with him?"
The agent started the engine to the car and clarified,"Well, there's been years where we've been close, years we've hurt each other and years where we haven't spoken at all, but... I know he can be a good person, the person I can became best friends with. He's just too absorbed in his own problems it feels like I don't matter to him anymore. I wish I could find a way to help him... but it's impossible. How do I save someone from themselves when they don't even realize that they need saving?" Justine was on the verge of tears, not even bothering to hold them back as they fell.
Sierra was silent for a few moments, advising gently,"It's possible that it may be time to let this friendship go, Justine. I know he means a lot to you, except you can't destroy yourself for someone else. I'm not saying that Matt is a bad person per se, I want to help him too, but the time has come for your paths to split. This isn't healthy."
"I can't just leave him to be alone... I'm all that he's got," the blonde protested, yet knew in her heart that she was right. Perhaps it was time to end it all.
~~~
Matt's Apartment
~~~
Matt had always loved the piano, ever since he'd started learning when he was six. Being a professional concert pianist had even been his second choice in careers, and when he'd been especially young he had even naively thought he could do that and be a doctor. This hadn't occurred of course, but he continued to play. It relaxed him to play and he even played in restaurants and bars every now and again for the money, to help pay for medical school.
Then when he'd became a successful neurosurgeon and bought a fancy high-rise apartment, one of the first things he'd bought to put in it was a beautiful grand piano. However, he played less and less as he became more and more successful, but every now and then he would sit down and play.
Then the accident happened.
Now Matt glanced at the piano for the first time in quite a while. Before he could truly think through what he was doing he approached the beautiful instrument and placed trembling fingers on glistening white keys. No matter how hard he willed his hands to still they kept shaking. He tried to play with bated breath. All he wanted to hear was a scale, just eight simple notes in a steady pattern, one of the simplest things that could be done. Yet he couldn't do it. His fingers moved clumsily, shakily, banging out the wrong notes at the wrong time. He pulled his hand away as if burned and turned away from the piano.
He glared angrily at his hands, his always shaking hands. Tears welled up that he refused to let fall, and he wanted to scream his frustration, but bit down hard on his lower lip instead. He walked away, into his bedroom, banging the door shut behind him. That was the one thing Justine couldn't understand, it wasn't just about his job.
It was all the simple things in life that he could no longer enjoy that made his condition so much worse. He even thought about selling the grand piano, as he was starting to lose hope on his hands, but he couldn't bear part with it. For without it, the apartment would be empty. Like a void. His phone started ringing and he grunted, remembering he left it on the kitchen counter.
Begrudgingly, he rose from the comfort of his bed and made his way towards the kitchen. Reaching out, he got a firm grip, praying it wouldn't slip out of his hands spontaneously. It was a number he didn't recognize and he considered not answering. And then it stopped.
Muttering to himself about how he shouldn't have wasted his time, his phone rang again. Not wanting to deal with this any longer, he picked up the phone, getting ready to hang up. "Hello, this is Matthew Haag, how can I help you?"
"Alright good, I got the right number. The name's Sierra, Sierra Furtado. I was the woman that came with your friend to the hospital earlier."
Now this piqued Matt's interest and he inquired, "What do you want? And how did you get my number?"
"Your friend of course. I wanted to talk to you about your hands. I think I know how I can help you." He scoffed, not believing her. "With all due respect Ms Furtado, I've already contacted all the best orthopedists and all attempts have been unsuccessful and I have surgeries already planned. Thank you for the offer though."
"Have you tried Kamar-Taj though?"
He furrowed his eyebrows. "Kamar what? Is that some cult or drug or something? I'm not messing with the spiritual realm, thank you."
"I figured the name alone would catch your curiosity. I'll explain to you if you don't hang up on me." Matt hesitated for a moment, before answering, "Fine. I'll hear what you have to say."
Desperate times called for desperate measures after all.
~~~