Nurse Doherty shook his head, looking disappointed, but still in full countenance as he checked the monitor in one of the beds in the unit. Attached to the end of the device’s leads is a girl, aged less than a decade; limp, cold, and pale, swaddled in the blue sheets that smelled of a mixture of cornstarch and phenolic compounds. She was afflicted with the disease of the royalties - the one birthed from Queen Elizabeth herself, monarch of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland - long before she took her first cry.
“I understand that you do not approve of this kind of therapeutic. But she currently losing blood so she needs a form of blood replacement immediately…”, the nurse said tacitly, breaking the crass cacophony of the beeping of the monitors in the room.
The parents, both medical doctors by profession, didn’t need further explanation. They were very well informed of the urgency of it and the slim chance of survival if they choose not to do so. Their religion compels them not go with the procedure in fear for the consequences in the afterlife, they say.
The nurse handed them a clipboard, in it contains a document which may, if signed, signify that they had refused the treatment. “For legal purposes,” the nurse said. As the parents took hold of the nurse’s clipboard, the girl who seemed to hear the non-consent, partly opened her eyes and looked at her parents who were torn between having their daughter live or being faithful to their church’s teachings.
“I still want to live, Dad.” she said wryly with a throaty voice, mouthed from her pale, dry lips.
And the father became more miserably undecided.
Left me speechless. You perfectly captured the time ans setting. This also made me think about the church and how greatly it had affected (and still affecting) the people of those (these) times.
ReplyDeleteAww thanks iamrel. The church had always been a potent regulator of social norms no?
ReplyDeletedon't be too cynical about it, iamrel.haha :)
ReplyDelete