No More Waiting, She Chooses Love



Although I've been friends with Fanny for many years, it was the first time I heard her recount a story from the delivery room - a tragedy, really. It was tough to listen to.

Now, I understand why she never talked about her work before. Losing both a patient and a newborn must be heart-wrenching for her.

But it genuinely wasn't the doctor's fault. Having known Fanny for years, I know how much she reveres life. She wouldn't give up as long as there was the slightest chance of saving someone.

"So, you're saying the surgeon made no mistakes?" I asked her.

"Yes, but the patient was lost, and the family is relentless. They keep insisting the patient was fine before coming in, and it was us who caused the death," Fanny said, shaking her head with a look of suppressed agony and helplessness.

I've seen news about disputes with medical staff before. These situations can indeed be devastating for doctors.

"Dr. Alfven has been suspended pending an investigation. Even if it's not her fault, the impact on her is significant," Fanny sighed again.

I then understood Fanny's guilt. If she hadn't swapped shifts with Dr. Alfven, Alfven wouldn't have been on that surgery, and none of this would have been linked to her.

"No one could have seen this coming," I comforted her.

Fanny exhaled, "We just have to weather the storm, I guess."

She looked at me, "Deborah is doing well over here. She should recover quickly, and she seems to be in good spirits, which is more than can be said for many girls who've been through trauma."

Deborah's resilience was because she had braced herself for this outcome; she was prepared.

"What about Ernest? Still pretending to be unconscious?" Fanny inquired.

"He's awake," I said, not wanting Fanny to worry about anything else.

Fanny hummed, a worried look crossing her face. I knew she was thinking about the dispute with the patient's family. There wasn't much I could do to help, and she needed some quiet time to herself.

"I'm fine, just came to see you. I'll go check on Deborah," I said, not wanting to disturb her further.

"If you need anything, let me know," Fanny said, as always.

I glanced at her arm, "Make sure to get that looked at if it hurts."

Fanny watched me leave, then lifted her shirt collar to examine the bruised arm.

Her bones were intact, but the bruising was severe.

Looking at the bruise, she felt annovelbin

snapped a photo to send to Yabet

inexplicable sense of injustice ant

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et

But there was no response from him. Thinking he might have missed it, Fanny tried calling him, but he hung up immediately, later texting: "Busy."

Busy. How busy must one be not to inquire about her injury?

A bitter chill swept through Fanny's heart, as cold as a draft.

She glanced at her shoulder wound, thinking it might be time to get some arnica cream for the bruising. Just then, her office door knocked. She quickly adjusted her shirt, "Come in."

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The door opened, and Sinclair walked in, catching a glimpse of Fanny fixing her attire.

His gaze deepened, and Fanny, surprised by his return, stuttered, "Uncle Sinclair..."

Sinclair placed a bag on the desk, "Arnica cream. Have someone apply it for you."

Fanny didn't respond, and Sinclair turned to leave.

"Uncle Sinclair," Fanny called after him.

Sinclair stopped and looked at her. Though he didn't speak, his eyes seemed to ask, "Yes?"

"Why are you in our department today?" Fanny's question made Sinclair clear his throat awkwardly.