Cheating Gods of Death (Sequel to L: Find A GirLfriend)

Modern Medicine

He came out in two minutes, an angry brunette man with a well-kept pompadour, but an... aristocratic face fuming behind him. The badge on his puffed-out chest read, "Dr. Charles Holt, Neurologist". Just behind him, to the side came a bald, scrubbed and sterile man, a name tag identifying him as, "Dr. Robert Blackstock, Neurosurgeon".

In the gurney they were trailing, was my very confused father, from any anesthetic he may have received or for the pure nonsense of the situation, I was not certain.

"Blackstock! How in God's name did you expect that to work? That could very easily be clipped, and with a 22% essential failure rate... What were you thinking?"

"I felt it could lessen possible vasospasm-"

"With you shaking like that? You'd have sprayed it all over his blood vessel!"

"Sir, with utmost professionalism-"

"Don't sir me! He ought to sue you for malpractice!"

"Ahem..."

My father spoke up amongst the argument, shifting his position ever so gently.

"I appreciate your efforts- both of you, however, I would like to personally review my treatment options before we proceed further."

"Sir, we don't have the-"

"We don't have the time! You got lucky once, this time when it bursts you won't even have a chance!"

"We have enough time, it's my time we're bartering. I'm sure we can have a few more days, maybe even get this done tomorrow if we hurry. Besides, your vacation, Dr. Holt, was that too much time?"

They both went silent, the timid Neurosurgeon speaking up first after a long time.

"I think that would be wonderful, your wife can sit in too-"

"Sit in? Oh, no. We mean to assist you to the greater of our abilities, and to give the final word on the matter. I'm sure you understand."

"No, we don't. Sir, you will, I say, you will die if this fails-"

"It is my death, I am happy to influence it."

With that, they had a meeting in the recovery room two hours after. Mom had heard the conversation, too.

Then, he called me into the room, alone.

"Hey..."

I spoke first, he laid there with his pallid arms resting on the stiff hospital blankets.

"Hey... So..."

Quietly, he invited me to his right side, where a chair sat.

"George, listen."

He said my name for the first time since he woke up; I don't think he realized it.

"That... aneurism is much larger than I had previously thought. It is eleven and a half millimeters at it's largest point. This time, I will not hesitate to express that I am intimidated."

He thought for a moment before finding my eyes again.

"I will, this time, tell you what I wish for you to do. I want you to pursue a tangible and relevant career, I want your mother to assist you in choosing a college with your major, but above all else, I want you to act according to the following bite of advice. It's not ever, not for a moment, too late to pursue what you want. However you must proceed readily and competently, focusing adequately. You need to find out what it is that you want the second you decide you are unhappy, I have done this twice in my lifetime. I have been brought measurable success..."