Note: This story was written for the Holby City Scrubin a few months ago where luckily thanks to the fantastic running of it I was able to get someone else to upload the story on A03 for me. The story was in its final edit before sadly my mother passed away so I was unable to finish the final edit but still wanted to share it for people to enjoy if it was their kind of thing. I haven't been around online much if at all the past 2 months because of my grief & other problems I'm trying to resolve but I managed to find the energy, courage & motivation to share this story here also. The formatting may be a little wonky but in all honestly I don't have the energy or motivation to go through it all at this point in time. Please enjoy.
P.s, I haven't read this story since it was posted on A03 and so haven't actually ever got around to finishing the final edit but perhaps I shall one day. Thank you! :)
Storge < Philia
Quiet was all Dylan Keogh usually needed in order to remain a somewhat normal man. On the occasions he was unable to focus on the work of unknotting his mind, he read to his half sister Rihanna with a low voice during the late hours as the boat rocked slightly with the force of water underneath. The one year old stayed with him a few nights each week and tonight was a typical Rihanna night with Dylan reading to her from an old C.S Lewis volume he had in hand, bobbing her on his knee.
'Love, affection.'
He Said, leaning back into the chair with an arm wrapped around her.
'Almost everyone it seems can be loved with storge, the ugly, the stupid, even the exasperating can be its objects. There need be no apparent fitness between those whom it unites. It ignores even the barriers between species... What is common to all objects of storge is that they are familiar. We can often identify the very day and hour when a friendship began or when we fell in love. But we never catch storge at the moment of its beginning. To become aware of it is to become aware that it's already been going on for some time.'
Rihanna was far more amused in slapping her small hands against Dylan's arm before enthusiastically jumping on his knee as he continued to bob her. Dylan resumed reading.
' Philia, means "affectionate regard, friendship," usually between equals. It is a dispassionate virtuous love. Philia is expressed variously as loyalty to friends.'
Lowering the book with a thoughtful brow as he looked at Rihanna who was staring up at him, babbling to herself with the infant dribble leaking from her mouth, though Dylan was greatful it wasn't her nose or elsewhere.
'When you start speaking greek you'll have a head start.'
He said, nodding to himself placing the book down and taking Rihanna in both arms to the shelf in order to scan over the remaining books.
'We have read almost all these, Rihanna. I know but I'm sure under all that gloop and lack of verbal competence you're practically Einstein.'
An edge of sarcasm biting through though Dylan did find great comfort in Rihanna. A boat, dog, good book and Rihanna is all he needed.
His phone beginning to ring, resting Rihanna into her travel cot with her small bear after locating it on the floor where it had fallen previously before answering.
'Keogh.'
'Dylan, it's Louise. I just thought I should let you know that your father is here again.'
'Smashed another car window has he? Or the smoking finally offed him.'
A silence followed by an uncomfortable rush swiping Dylan before Louise spoke again.
'He's not very well Dylan. You should come see him.'
'What is it? I'm quite busy at this very moment in time.'
'You don't want to talk about this over the phone.'
'No, that is exactly what I want.'
Louise grumbling. Dylan could feel her frustration as he looked over at Rihanna before strolling into the kitchen.
'He came in last night in a bad way. He's been in intensive care since. He's intermittently conscious and in very poor health. He has liver cirrhosis, as we know, but his immediate danger is from a lung infection.'
She paused.
'he has been very sick for a long time. It's possible he was avoiding going to a doctor or hospital but he is very unwell.'
Dylan hung up. He didn't need to hear this; he didn't want to hear it. Pain coursed through him. Despite all the hate he marinated for his father there was still a small boy inside him breaking down at the thought of losing his daddy again. That small boy screaming for Dylan to go to the hospital and see his father, but he wouldn't; he couldn't. Fear motivated and destroyed him at the same time as he gazed through the wall in front of him. Unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel. Little boy cowering in his own mind, falling into a dark corner, knees being drawn to his chest with tears working their way down his cheeks, gathering at his chin. Dylan was drawn back to the room by Rihanna crying out. He darted to her to find she was just laughing. Such innocent laughing whilst she slapped the teddy off the cot and Dylan wondered how something so small and pointless could bring so much joy.
Obsession, Anxiety, Compulsion, Repeat.
Dylan's first placement in hospital was when the obsessions sprouted and began to grow strong, more violent in his mind. Standing alone in a cubical straightening out four syringes with four packed needles. Infection, the patient will get an infection, death. Infection. Charging through his mind, a shaky hand trying to level the syringes but the gloves made it difficult. Stab the patient. Stab them. Infection. Dylan took a step back from the small trolley to examine the bed beginning with the bottom left corner and working himself through the other three. It was the dreadful fear of either the unknown or the irrational which made him anxious with each thought that spun in his mind. Break a rib doing CPR, the rib will puncture a lung. Puncture a lung. The patient will die. Break a rib. Dylan let out a groan of frustration before bursting into a repetitive cycle of foot tapping as the toes of the brogues he wore snapped off the floor until he was satisfied. Left, right, left, right. Closing his eyes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth before removing the gloves and exiting the cubical.
'Dylan.'
Called Miriam, he turned to face her.
'Yes.'
'Want you to assist me in resus for the evening. Think you are up for it?'
'Of course Miriam, you know me.'
'Just remember to be nice and try not to show up the other F1's too much.'
Miriam let a slight laugh blow itself through her lips as Dylan attempted a smile but it dropped from his face as fast as it arrived.
'I'm joking Dylan. Just be nice.'
He nodded before the two headed towards resus after Miriam's pager informing them of a young man who had been found unconscious from a suspected heroin overdose. Dylan bounced into resus trying to keep his excitement under wraps as finally after a boring day he was able to expand his intellect further, approaching the young man.
'Right, what are you going to do Dylan? Talk me through it.'
Said Miriam, motioning for a nurse to keep an eye on the monitor whilst she gave her attention to Dylan, waiting for him to spring into his excellence. He began listening to the man's chest, checking his air entry.
'His breathing is shallow. He's very bradycardic. Has he been given Naloxone, no? Well let's do that now. Naloxone 400 mg IV. Breath is after all one of the essentials of life.'
He carried on talking through his actions.
'We have fixed, pinpoint pupils... OK, he's arrested. Drop the bed. I need to begin CPR. Can someone start the clock?'
Dylan said as the obsessions warped around his mind again as Miriam observed him carefully. Break a rib. He's going to die. Check the bed, check the bed, check the bed. Dylan began to count out loud.
'One, two, three, four.'
He stopped, it concerned Miriam instantly.
'Dylan I hope your compressions are much more continuous than that or I'll have to take over.'
'Yeah, yeah.'
He grumbled before stopping to check for a pulse.
'We need a naloxone injection 400mg.'
Said Dylan
'If you can find a vein that is if not intermuscular please.'
Resuming his CPR compressions as the nurse prepared the shot. Dylan grumbling with more disapproval towards the drug habit. Moments later the monitor beeped back to life as Dylan eased himself away from the patient.
'Are you done, Dr Keogh?'
Asked Miriam.
'He's stable - for now. We need a full blood test, MRI scan as soon, and a saline drip.'
'You're missing something Dylan.'
Miriam folded her arms. Not only was Dylan typically faster and better but he rarely missed things, especially in the early days when he had a fire burning through him to prove he was the best, to be the best. Dylan's thoughts stormed once more. he's going to die. Check the bed, he's going to die. Dylan had discovered that tapping your feet in cycles of fours off the floor whilst standing was much more difficult than sitting down especially if he was to avoid people noticing as he tapped his foot, wiped his face, tapped his foot and wiped his face once more trying desperately to bring himself back into the presence of the room - Feeling distant from himself as the monitor beeped through his ears.
'Dylan.'
Snapped Miriam losing her patience at the boy she knew was much better than this poor evening replacement who had seemingly taken over.
'He has a slight yellowing of the eyes,' said Dylan trying to swing himself back into the room as he checked them 'which would indicate early signs of liver failure. Oh', he interrupted himself, 'You're back are you?' The man was regaining consciousness and in his confusion was thrashing angrily. Good. Something in him was eager to live.
Said Dylan swinging himself back into the room.
'which could indicate early signs of jaundice. I can't smell alcohol on him but just to be sure a urine sample can be taken we will need a catheter inserted. Most likely to be liver cirrhosis considering the drug use so an ultrasound scan is required.'
'There is something else Doctor Keogh.'
Miriam's tone unsettling Dylan as he examined the man again, pulling the already tugged trouser leg, becoming fixated on the red swelling. Red, bad, red, bad, the car will crash. No. The patient will die. An immediate whirlwind of aggressive thoughts stabbing him as all he could see was the redness but his mind unable to process the diagnosis until Miriam snapped again.
'Doctor Keogh, I need an answer, now.'
Unamused, unhappy with her golden boy
'Redness.'
He finally said as Miriam backed down slightly but he struggled to finish. Red, bad, red, bad. Words flashing with each blink he took, trapped in what felt like hours of trying to figure out how it was bad, why.
'Redness, swelling localised around the calf. Very warm, especially around the erythema. He probably has a DVT. He'll need warfarin and can we also get a cross-check blood test for HIV from the needle use?'
He looked at Miriam who nodded with approval.
'Good job Dylan. Worried me for a moment.'
He nodded in response before removing his gloves, exiting resus and evacuating quickly into a cubical, sitting on the bed. Left, right, left, right. His feet tapped, relief.
'One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.'
He drew his focus to his breathing as his hands clenched around the bed sheets in frustration. A brilliant mind working against itself in a place that required him to be on top form at all times. By this point in his life, he had some understanding of what was going on but didn't wish to think about it too much and would never go and see someone about it. Dylan would find another way to ease the war in his mind. Later on in the day Miriam and himself sitting down with a coffee.
'Something was bothering you back there Dylan.'
'Nothing bothers me.'
'Ah, we both know that is not quite true.'
'God, you are annoying.'
'Play nice now Dylan. Come on, what's on your mind.'
Dylan taking a mouthful from the cup to avoid answering as Miriam raised a brow.
'Whatever it is, sort it out. You're spectacular but you can be better. I was worried about your performance for a moment.'
'My performance was immaculate.'
'Don't learn to lie to yourself, Dylan.'
'You're like a brick wall, in fact, I think I would enjoy a conversation with a brick more than I would you.'
Miriam laughed, shaking her head as she drank the coffee deciding it was best to stop probing.
Red Light, Green Light, Red Light.
Anxiety by no means started with the traffic lights but it was Dylan's most vivid memory from his childhood—the intense anxiety surrounding the red and green bulbs. If the light was green something good would happen; if the light was red something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the response his father had to being caught in a red light, the booming yells of road rage, that initially triggered Dylan, but that wasn't all. Something was missing and he couldn't place it. Watching the lights go from amber to red, his chest clenching as he failed to take another breath before tapping his feet. Left, right, left, right. Dylan took a breath it was harsh, shaky but still a breath. Left, right, left, right. The tapping of his trainers against the car floor was subtle enough that his father didn't notice and if he did he would only put it down to being fidgety. Whilst Dylan didn't understand why he thought this way or how the tapping would ease the anxiety, it did. Left, right, left right. He breathed again as the lights turned green once more with the car pulling away. Finally, the fear of impending doom began to ease as he sunk into the seat.
Every journey the same as he reached the next set of traffic lights, scrunching his eyes closed. I'm going to die, I'm going to die. His mind began to race. The car will crash, it's going to explode, the car will blow up. The car will crash. Dylan gasped for air.
'You alright son?'
His father asked, looking over for a brief moment before returning his attention back to the road as the lights changed.
'Yeah.'
Left, right, left, right. The tapping continued. Left, right, left, right. Followed by another two cycles before he felt relieved enough from the chaotic thoughts racing through his mind to stop. That was the continuous state Dylan found himself trapped in every car journey from a young age. Once home, chess was one of his rare pleasures. Dylan could feel somewhat normal when he played chess, even if that meant playing alone. The board composed of several multiples of four which Dylan discovered helped him with his feelings. Four white plots across the length and width, paired with four black plots. Half the board was four squares long. His biggest feeling of relief came from the free-for-all pieces which could be moved however many spaces he desired, such as the queen to be protected at all costs. The pieces became real to him with their different approaches, angles and manoeuvres, and this was how Dylan had developed to become so good at the logical game. He found it difficult to comply with the lowlier pieces only being able to move one, two or three places but took joy in having the choice of hearing the pieces click off the board four times, onto the fourth square of the fourth white plot. Left, right, left, right. His feet tapped again with each movement of the wooden pieces. 'I'm okay,' he said. 'I'm okay. I'm okay.' Left, right, left, right. Clicking the queen four places towards the centre of the board as the relief began to wash over him, easing him into the chair. He watched the board with an intensity trying to compose the next few moves within his mind. His thoughts were silenced.
'I'm okay.'
He said.
Left, right, left, right. Clicking the queen four places towards the center of the board as the relief began to wash over him, easing him into the chair. He watched the board with an intensity trying to compose the next few moves within his mind that would satisfy the obsessions cutting through each layer of his brain.
Let's Put The World's Most Expensive Therapy To The Test
Once Dylan had been told about the number four being symbolic in the Chinese language - translating closely to the meaning of death it took a hit to his stability. The number was feared Once Dylan had been told the number four was symbolic in the Chinese language, a homonym of death, it hit hard at his stability. He was not a superstitious man or so he would tell himself but who could argue when patients began dropping every time he treated them in bay four? He had spiralled so badly into the newly-found obsession that his checklist was now composed of everything he had tried to avoid for years. He knew it was crazy. It brought tears to his eyes. Continuously checking the beds, four times, pause, cycle. He admitted to himself that he was really scared this time. Lights, equipment, needles, syringes, scalpel, himself, hands, gloves; only once it was all crossed out on his checklist would the fear subside.
It was Dylan's collapse into this worse than ever hole of shame that lead to his exposure and soon to be therapy. So when Dylan's father made another entry into the ED he knew it was time to put the world's most expensive therapy to the test. It worked. There was no large issue other than the underlying never-ending fear and exhaustion Dylan felt around his father but not even the slightest tick in his OCD provoked concern. That was until Cal's death of course. The real test of the world's most expensive therapy.
What else could you say at that moment? Dylan couldn't exactly turn to Cal and say he would die in the hospital bed as he tried to comfort the young Doctor outside in the rapid rainfall that washed away the blood seeping out of the stab wound Cal had.
'Can we get some help here! We need a trolley.'
Yelled Dylan as he hurried to Cal's side, throwing down his umbrella to piece together what was going on.
'Cal, are you okay? What's happened? You're bleeding.'
Cal struggling for breath in the cold rain. The blood thick on Dylans hands in the mixture of rain rinsing itself away.
'Have you been stabbed?'
Cal attempted to nod. With every second his body grew colder and struggled to cope with the shock of the wound and the adverse weather. With chattering teeth, Cal managed to piece together a short collection of words to ask if Ethan was okay before looking up at Dylan who was searching for a pulse.
'I don't—don't want to die.'
Said Cal, shaking, his body beginning to shut down from the trauma as his wet clothes clung to his weakening body.
'I'm not going to let you die Cal.'
assured Dylan. A lie but one that Dylan also happened to believe. Still, Cal died inside the hospital, covered in his own blood but surrounded by those who loved him. Defeated, Dylan backed away from the bed, shaking his head but understanding why it was best to stop. He thought that once, just this once, he had not performed his best. The rush, panic, fear, fear, fear, fear. He was caught in the emotional downfall of losing one of his own and it was always ten times worse when it was one of their own.
Dylan was holding onto sanity by his fingertips as he scruffily forced his sleeves up his arms to attend to Cal. No time to be fastidious. He would usually roll them perfectly to the elbow with just under three inches of rolled sleeve—always neat, always tidy, always just right. Dylan was no fool; he knew what bay Cal had died in. He knew the build-up of thoughts in his mind that was attempting to push the lid off. His therapy had helped him to the extent that he had learned to deal with the second thought but not the initial one, so once he was back home in the seclusion of his boat he began to work on the slowly bubbling pot of his mind.
First thought; chaos. Cal had died in bay four and Dylan was blaming himself. Blaming himself more now because he had no run through his checklist before putting Cal there but this is what the therapy was for, this is what it taught him. Dylan was coping. Second thought; Dylan had to be taught how to change the second thought that responded to the first thought. His obsession to check the bed could have been followed by numerous compulsions of continuous checking, counting, checking, counting, left, right, left, right. Breath. He lowered himself into his armchair, a book in hand, bloodstained shirt still slightly damp to his body as he opened the book
to read out loud. He didn't always read out loud but it was a combination of Dervla not hearing his voice all day that made him think she could appreciate the enrichment and knowing that the words mean more when they can vibrate around the room, ricochet off each object before finding their way back to his ears.
'Things are happening elsewhere. Things are always happening. It seems wherever I go there is drama. People are like lice—they get under your skin and bury themselves there. You scratch and scratch until the blood comes, but you can't get permanently deloused. Everywhere I go people are making a mess of their lives. Everyone has his private tragedy. It's in the blood now—misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. The atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. Scratch and scratch, until there's no skin left. However, the effect upon me is exhilarating. Instead of being discouraged or depressed, I enjoy it. I am crying for more and more disasters, for bigger calamities, grander failures. I want the whole world to be out of whack, I want everyone to scratch himself to death.'
Another dull realisation roamed into his mind. Henry Miller is not the best company for him right now. Dylan closed the book. The fearsome words meant more now than before and they did not in the least help his attempt to untangle his mind from the obsessive thoughts and cravings for compulsion actions. Taking himself into the bathroom to scrub away the blood that had stained under his fingernails until each tip was raw, sensitive to touch. The shower coming on with a crunch, hiss, splash of water. Removing his blood-stained shirt, frowning at how he knew it now had to go in the bin as he still folded it neatly, resting it gently across the sink. The shower calming, soothing as the water shimmered down his body, dragging away all the dirt, filthy, impurities. Contamination, blood, check the bed. His mind ticking over but not racing as his hair fell heavy on his forehead, water trickling down the drain with the pressure of the shower head constantly forcing the water against his chest. It's your fault. Shaking it off with shampoo trailing down him. The boat will sink, check the shelf, the boat will sink, check the shelf. Frustrating, yes. But Dylan was better than this now, he had his coping mechanisms; he knew logically nothing would happen and all he had to do was tame the anxiety and fear then exert his dominance over it all.
Dervla - A Man's Best Friend
Removing the glass from the shelf before placing it back, lifting it again and lowering it on the shelf. No. Dylan shook his head taking the glass once more into his hand to raise it up onto the shelf, shuffling it over closer to the others. 'One, two, three four.' He said to himself before tapping his four fingers against his thumb. Taking a step back from the shelf before letting out a groan of frustration, slapping his hands down on the desk, lowering his head as he kicked his heel against the floor. The boat will sink, the boat will sink, the boat will sink, the boat will sink. Why on earth would the boat sink? he asked himself in exasperation, forcing his intelligence to interrogate his fears. But he was tired of the endless battle between his frontal lobes and his hyperactive amygdala. It drove him mad. And sometimes, like today, he couldn't quite manage it. Today he was driven to carry out every compulsion before noticing he was late for work. Rushing for his coat and grabbing his keys, he turned to the shelf just once more. Fingers tapping off his thumb in a cycle of fours until the fear subsided. He could feel himself slipping out of the grasp of stability as he darted off the boat after one final check of his surroundings.
In the staff room, Dylan attempted to make a cup of coffee. The night before a woman had died in resus from a fatal stab wound. He had caught himself in the blame game. Whilst logically he knew there was nothing else he was able to do in order to save her but his mind fought against him holding onto the fear he continued to hold after Polly was stabbed. Rattling the spoon around the cup before tapping it off the brim and laying it down. The patient will die, check the bed, the patient will bleed out, check the bed. Stop, that's what he wanted for it just to stop. Picking back up the spoon to clank it against the mug four times, lowering it into the sink before shuffling the coffee jar into position just right as he tapped his fingers off his thumb then he could raise the mug to his lips for a rewarding drink in the short time he knew he was free from the thoughts.
Cubicles that afternoon would bring another challenge to Dylan who could feel himself slipping out of the grasps of stability and into the pit of relapse.
'Katie I can't treat you if you won't let me examine you.'
Said Dylan, resting fists on his waist as the young girl covered her ears.
'David, have we managed to contact a next of kin yet?'
'Uh, no. She won't give us her last name or any other details for that matter.'
'Do we have any idea how old she is?'
'She said she was twelve. Came in complaining of abdominal pain and vomited shortly before being brought into cubicles.'
'Okay, Katie, we need to know your last name or if you have a mobile phone so we can contact your parents.'
The young girl rocked slightly on the bed as a frustration developed in Dylan.
'Do we still have her vomit?'
he asked David, searching for a way forward. The girl looked at him as though he was mad.
'If you don't tell us what is wrong, we can't treat you'
he said with more bitterness than he had meant to show.
'I give up David. I'm tired of patients not wanting to be treated.'
That's when Louise appeared from behind the curtain.
'Excuse me Doctor Keogh that is a child you're insulting.'
Insulting? Simply pointing out facts.'
He grumbled as she closed the curtain behind herself, standing by David.
'David, could you go call social services for me. Something else might be going on here.'
David nodded picking not to argue with the Doctor as he left. Louise glared at Dylan before turning her attention to Katie.
'Sweetie, the Doctor here really needs to examine you so we can see whats wrong and make it all better.'
Katie uncovered her ears but remained unsettled.
'My stomach hurts.'
She whispered. A faint relief to Dylan that finally he could attempt to piece together what could be wrong and do his job.
'Can you point to where it hurts?'
Eased Louise with a soft voice as Katie held a hand over the bottom of her stomach.
'Okay, does it hurt anywhere else?'
Katie froze up again as the bang of an item hitting the floor from another cubical scared her, covering her ears and looking at Louise. Dylan turned his attention to Katie's backpack which had a cartoon dog in bright colors on the front. The dog a retriever of sorts in all white with black ears and a large brown nose resting on the vibrant green background and a soothing blue collar dangling from the dog's neck that had a small tag attached to the bag saying the dog's name was Pip in light green writing.
'Try and get more information out of her Louise this is ridiculous there are patients here who require actual medical attention and who want it too.'
'Doctor Keogh can I remind you that this is a child and one who is clearly very scared. Some respect and understanding might be nice.'
Said Louise with Dylan gritting his teeth, closing his eyes momentarily before opening them again and attempting to examine the girl once more.
'Katie I need to look at your stomach now.'
He tried to ease her back on the bed but she pushed him away he then removed his gloves in a huff, shrugging towards Louise before leaving the cubical. She fought to chase him, slap him perhaps but instead she stayed with the girl. Dylan's phone buzzed in his pocket as he slipped into the staff room to answer it.
'What? That's quite the inconvenience. Okay, yes. Bring her here if you must.'
He hung up, forcing the phone back into his trousers. A while later he ventured outside to collect Dervla without a word to the person dropping her off as he bit his tongue, walking her inside to reception.
'David, I need you to look after Dervla for me.'
'But I'm working?'
David's reply was quiet, he didn't like saying no. Louise pulled back the curtain of the cubical.
'Dylan, what is that doing here?'
'That is a dog Louise and her name is Dervla.'
'I know what she is but why is she in the hospital.'
Katie looked up from the bed, her eyes glowing at the sight of the lurcher as she smiled slightly. Louise failing to draw the curtain closed as Dylan looked at David then back at Katie.
'Don't worry David I have an idea.'
He walked over to the cubicles, past Louise.
'What are you doing?'
She asked, following him as she closed the curtains.
'Katie, this is Dervla.'
Said Dylan, petting Dervla on the head.
'She's a lurcher.'
Said Katie. The shock, she hadn't spoken around him other than to say her stomach hurt.
'Very good. Would you like to pet her?'
Katie nodded.
'Can we make a deal Katie? I examine you first then you can pet Dervla?'
Louise backed down, enjoying Dylan's softer side even if she never understood what brought them on or why his moods switched so fast. Katie nodded again.
'Good girl.'
He said, handing Louise the leash which she took hesitantly as Katie laid back on the bed whilst Dylan pulled on a pair of gloves.
'I just have to lift your top a little now Katie. My hands might be cold but try and stay still for me.'
He palpated her abdomen with a slight frown.
'What is it, Dylan?'
Asked Louise.
'She's quite distended. Did we manage to contact anyone?'
'David called social services but no one has come down yet.'
'No surprise there. Okay, Katie can you sit up for me so I can listen to your chest. Very good - Deep breath.'
He listened through his stethoscope before pulling it out of his ears and easing her back into the bed.
'Do you have pain anywhere else Katie?'
She was silent, looking at Dervla.
'Katie I need you to tell me if you have pain anywhere else.'
Forced Dylan as Katie shut down again, he bit his lip, fighting his bitter side as he glanced towards the backpack, the green popping at him before patting the bed allowing Dervla to jump up.
'Dylan.'
Hissed Louise.
'No one has to know.'
He replied as Katie stroked Dervla with content which was given back in return as Dervla laid herself across Katie. She went to talk but paused, stopping herself. It seemed a struggle even when she wanted to - she hit a wall.
'My-'
She said gently, holding onto Dervla, rubbing the scruffy ear between her fingers gathering the comfort, then strength to talk.
'My last name is Maestro. My mum doesn't know I'm here.'
Dylan nodded.
'Louise can you go check the files and see what past medical history we have and also contact her next of kin which I presume is her mother.'
Louise left as Dylan watched Katie.
'Katie, do you have other pains?'
'Yes.'
'Where are they?'
'My back. She's very cute.'
Katie smiled at Dervla who was nuzzling against the young girl.
'She won't be able to stay much longer I'm afraid.'
Katie remained quiet. A moment later Louise returned.
'Her mother is on her way and I called psych to inform them it won't be necessary to come. There are no past medical injuries.'
'Right okay, can we get an ultrasound please I want to rule out ovarian cysts.'
'Dylan she is twelve.'
'Are you questioning my medical competence?'
Louise gritted her teeth.
'Please remove your dog now Doctor Keogh.'
Dylan adhered as he pulled off his gloves, Dervla hopped off the bed and he took her away. Louise uncomfortable with the lack of hygiene after Drvla had been on the bed but at least Katie had been examined. Vanishing on a shift wasn't Dylan's usual but he had to take Dervla home but he strongly disliked disrupting his routine as he walked the down docks, approaching the boat. The girl will die, the girl will die. He didn't understand why it happened now and not when he was still at the hospital. Getting onto the boat, dropping Dervla's leash and hurrying to the shelf to grab the glass, pulling it onto the lower shelf. The girl will die, the girl will die. He stopped himself, pausing. Fighting it. The girl will die, the boat will sink. Fighting it, panicking as his breathing picked up whilst the walls felt to slowly creep towards him. The girl will die, check the bed, the bed, the bed, the bed. Dylan backed away and fell against the table rocking the marigold-coloured vase which rattled as it rolled, supporting himself as he grew light-headed from the uncontrolled breathing before darting back towards the shelf, grabbing the glass and forcing it back onto the top shelf before tapping his four fingers against his thumb.
'One, two-'
Dervla came to his side, pushing herself against his legs.
'One, two-'
He looked at her with his hands shaking, breathing just starting to collect itself back to normal as he held his mouth closed, lowering himself to his knees and ruffling Dervla as she laid down and rolled over to welcome the attention. But it would not be quite enough despite his love for the scruffy dog he needed something else. Bringing himself back on his feet before reaching into a cupboard for a bottle of wine. Grabbing the troublesome glass from the shelf almost as an act of rebellion towards his own mind, pouring the drink. Knocking it back with no class before pouring another.
Just scared enough to keep going
'I can give you the details of someone. Hazel Layton, ex-girlfriend and mother of his daughter.'
'That would be very useful for us, thank you.'
The nurse said, Dylan was unsure how he escape explaining who he was but maybe he knew, he would have only lied anyway. Handing over her name and phone number before exiting the ward and working himself back to the ED with the small boy kicking at the walls of his mind, slowly cracking through, slowly breaking his way into Dylan. No, stop that. Not now. A look from
Louise was somewhat comforting, she knew? Could she of known? Dylan was not exactly going to ask in front of anyone else as he slipped into the staff room.
'Dylan, I heard your dad was back in the hospital. How is he doing?'
Asked Jacob raising the mug of warm liquid to his lips whilst Dylan blinked.
'Fine, he was discharged yesterday. Back to whatever pit he crawled out of I imagine.'
Jacob chuckled lightly, brushing past Dylan to leave as Louise came in, closing the door.
'Dylan?'
She asked softly.
'You know, don't you?'
'You need to go home, Dylan. You can't work after finding that out.'
'Who else knows.'
'No one. I made sure of it.'
Dylan couldn't bring himself to turn and face her as she rubbed his arm for a moment.
'Please go home, Dylan. I'll tell Ethan that Dervla was sick or something.'
His silence was the only answer she needed, patting his arm soothingly before leaving. It would be unlike Dylan to shut down from his job due to an emotional disturbance that locked him away with the intensive rushing desire to drink as the little boy broke through the walls, screaming, roaring, sobbing. Okay, you win. Weakness, that's all it was. Throwing himself into the closest pub away from the hospital, drinking until his lips were numb, hands tingling and feet just able to take him out onto the street at eleven when the bar closed.
It was the walk home with a bottle of whiskey in hand and complete lack of shame or self-respect as he chugged from the bottle walking down the docks. It was unlike Dylan to take time off work for any reason as work was his only way of typically escaping the havoc. This was different as he fell onto the boat, stumbling through the door and dismissing Dervlas warm welcome by collapsing onto the sofa sloppily with the bottle in hand no second thought about a glass as he chugged from it again. Okay, you win. His mind replayed over and over again. The scared, timid, angry little boy beginning to settle down with each rush of alcohol flooding Dylan's system, toxins, poison, destroying him and his mind but it was a relief.
Just for a short while, just for now the pain would go away the fear would sink, the anxiety ceases to exist whilst all emotions were kept locked away behind chains and fire. Dylan knew this would not last long, he knew how it would all crash down harder, faster, worse than before. It always did. Give me more, make it go away, please. Chains hot from the flames but perhaps it was accessing these chains that could let Dylan get through this. He needed to feel his emotions, he needed to let it all out but no. Waking up the next morning, body heavy with a sickness in his chest as he forced himself off the sofa that he had fallen asleep on wearing yesterday's clothes, stepping down onto the empty whiskey bottle before moving his foot just as it slipped off, gathering his balance - Easy breaths to calm his stomach as it churned, dry throat, sore eyes. Welcome back.
He went to work, of course, he went to work but with a bottle of whiskey in his backpack that he hid away carefully in his office after taking his morning sips alongside the dark coffee. Strolling down the hall as Ethan popped to his side.
'Dervla better then?'
'Sorry?'
'Louise said your absence yesterday was to do with your dog Doctor Keogh.'
'Yes, she's fine now.'
'Good.'
Ethan hurried off as Dylan rolled his eyes slightly before working his way to cubicles.
'Doctor Keogh, can I shadow you today?'
Said the enthusiastic redhead as she bounced to his side, following his tough pace as he stopped, turned to face her, then kept walking.
'Why?'
'Well, you're the best.'
Dylan nodded to himself at the young F1's compliment.
'Stay out my way, watch, listen, don't ask questions unless totally necessary.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And don't call me sir.'
'Sorry Doctor Keogh.'
She followed him behind the curtain of a cubical.
'My name is Bea just so you know.'
She said softly whilst Dylan raised a brow.
'That's not a name.'
She shrugged slightly through somewhat shyness as Dylan turned his attention to the young man on the bed.
'Mr. Stevens I'm Doctor Keogh. Would you like to tell me exactly what is wrong?'
He tried to listen, pay attention, his distraction had slowly begun to fail him. Check the bed, he's going to die. The lights, check the lights. Is he really breathing? Check the bed. Dylan stood shaking his head continuously in an attempt to shake away the rapidly throbbing thoughts as his hands began to tremble from the lack of ethanol raging through his tolerance building body. He will die. He will die.
'Doctor Keogh?'
Asked Bea.
'What.'
He snapped looking at her as he was drawn back into the room from the mess in his mind.
'I think we need to call an interpreter. Mr Stevens is deaf.'
Dylan frowned, his expression dropping heavy as he ground his teeth against each other, biting his gums slightly.
'You do that.'
He said before walking out of the cubicle before Bea could grab his attention again. Hiding instantly into his office where he almost collapsed pathetically at his desk drawer to pull the bottle of whiskey into his pale hands to nervously remove the cap before taking a heavy drink. Okay, you win. Check the bed, the shelf, the boat will sink. The obsessions whirling harder, drinking quickly until it all died down. Dylan hid the bottle away before taking two large swirls of mouthwash, dribbling it down into the bin by his desk before leaving his office and charging straight towards nurse David Hide.
'Dylan.'
David said, a peculiar smile on his face.
'David.'
'You okay?'
'Of course why wouldn't I be.'
'Look a little peaky.'
'I'm absolutely fine. Go back to counting paper clips or whatever it is you ponce around doing.'
The coldness stabbing David as Dylan began to walk past him, but he turned, watching Dylan.
'I'm here.'
He called.
'I'm here if you ever need somebody.'
Naturally, Dylan ignored the proposal but it sat somewhere in the back of his overworked brain. Things with David had been difficult since France and Sanosi. Dylan did hold onto the slight brotherly bond the two men seemed to form but he brushed it away like he did with most bonds he appeared to be accepting. Now was not the time, he didn't care, he wouldn't, he simply would not. The hole of spiraling self-destruction was underestimated. The boat will sink, check the shelf, the boat will sink. Not acting on the obsession was more simple after months of therapy, sobriety, and self-control but now Dylan had thrown it all away things were collapsing around him as he tried to find Bea again but she had occupied herself with a new patient.
'What happened to Mr. Stevens?'
Dylan asked, stepping to her side by the bed of an elderly woman.
'Doctor Hardy took over. This is Sharon, she has numbness in her fingertips and a tingling sensation down her left side accompanied by numbness.'
'Sharon, can you smile for me?'
Asked Dylan, the elderly woman attempted but failed as her left side stayed untouched by the other muscles functioning. Dylan knew that more tests should be done but his temper buzzed up and out, turning back to Bea.
'Right, she's had a TIA, Bea, it's not rocket science. Are you sure that you're a Doctor? Call the stroke unit she has to be transported to St James and monitored closely until then. Get an ECG done.'
He growled slightly, falling apart more each second as he backed himself into Louise who was glaring at him before he stormed off.
'Don't worry about him, Bea. I mean he is typically like this but much less shouty.'
'It's fine, honestly. He's right. I did - I did know I just, he had arrived just before I had a chance - He was.'
She paused in the sudden mind fog.
'Go call the stroke unit Bea. I'll stay here with Sharon.'
Bea nodded, dashing off.
Dylan, unable to finish another shift as he slipped away, out into the rain of the night. the darkest skies of the worst day that collapsed with rainfall onto every poor soul caught in the middle of hell. Weeks passing, each second a nightmare he tried so desperately to kick himself awake from.
Out of character. That's what Dylan had become - Though not sure of his own character to begin with but taking a week off work and claiming he had the flu just to drink his day's away on the boat was most certainly not him. A horrific fear of watching himself get worse and worse unable to reel it all back in and bring himself to change. Ten in the morning, raising the glass of whiskey to his lips with his phone in the other hand, waiting for the courage to press down over the name he had been gazing at for hours since he woke up. Finally, he pressed dial.
'I need help.'
He said the moment the familiar voice answered.
'I don't know, everything's just falling apart around me and I can't stop it. I'm losing touch, going insane.'
'Oh sweetie, I can't fly over from the states each time you need your diaper changing. You're a big boy now.'
Said Zsa Zsa, snorting with humor.
'But De De, on a serious note. What's going on?'
Dylan hesitated, holding the phone with a clammy hand to his ear.
'I'm drinking again.'
'Then you need to get help, Dylan. I can't come running to bottle feed you every time you hit a wall. Even you must have someone much closer who you can reach out to.'
'Reach out? Me?'
'Right well it's that or I report you to the GMC myself and launch an investigation because if you're putting patients lives at risk to pickle your liver for Sunday brunch then I have no other choice. Momma Zsa can't and will not watch you destroy yourself. Come on De De! Put your big boy pants on and quit playing the fool.'
'You were always quite the motivator.'
'Only for those who deserve my gracing. You're better than this and you know you are. Whatever it is, whatever has happened you better pick the grass out your teeth and stand back up otherwise I'm coming over to force feed your dirt until you beg me to stop.'
'I don't do begging.'
'We both know that's not quite true.'
Silence, Dylan not in the right mood to bounce off Zsa Zsa as he usually would. An old friend, mentor, passionate acquaintance. This is what he needed.
'Right De De, who can you call. Who can come and slap you into shape before I do.'
'I'll call someone. I have someone.'
'Good. Now don't ever let things get this far again. Look after yourself. I'm not ready to lose your repressed, witty, dry energy from the world just yet.'
'Was that a compliment?'
'It's about as close as you're going to get.'
'I can deal with that. Thank you Zsa Zsa.'
She hung up. There was no need to drag the conversation out for any longer than it needed to be. This was Dylan and Zsa Zsa, two peas in a pod. A slightly mismatched, perplexing pod but still a pod. Dylan laid the phone on the table by his side before standing up and carrying the bottle of Whiskey to the sink where he poured it away. Drunk enough to have the confidence to let go, anxious enough to know this was the end again and just scared enough to keep going. When he returned to his seat he grabbed the phone again.
Hell Implies That The Pain Will Last Forever
Sitting with shaking hands that have become damp with fear as I wipe them across my grey suit trousers, staining them. I am tainted. Standing up with some attempt to distract myself from the chaos in my mind with that little whisper to drink. Go on, have a drink. It will take away all the fear, pain, stress, anxiety and you will be able to sleep tonight. Sleep. Even sleep horrified me between the options of having a nightmare, waking up screaming or worse - A dream of hell
where I have relapsed into the bottle once again only to wake up with a clamp around my chest whilst my heart forces itself through my ribcage and out into the open until I realize it was all just another trick inside my own mind. Driving me insane slowly with every breath I take. Drink, go on.
I can now, right? It's been months I have proven I can do this so why don't I just - Stop. Look what it destroyed, look at what it took away from you, you moron. You have gone too far to step back into the fires of hell now but hell implies this pain lasts forever and you're smart enough to know it won't. Just focus on now. In fact, don't focus at all, have a shower, make some food. Drink, go on. It's there, always there and it haunts me stripping me bare until I can't hear myself think through the toxic whirlwind of thoughts and images flashing. The walls are caving in on top of me but only I can see them crashing down as my eyes crunch closed. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just stop, be normal, stop. Stop. Stop. I can feel the panic attack approaching and then I see it like a speeding train but I am frozen in the lights knowing how irrational it is to stand still, not moving but being unable to pull myself away until I crumble to the floor, breathless.
Come on Dylan pull your damn self together you're a good Doctor too good to destroy it all again. Come on. You got this Dylan, come on. It's that very first sip from the glass that will ease all the chaos but you know better that it will only end in destruction. Goddamn, your father for planting the seed so early, so young. You stupid man for letting this addiction control you and corrupt your mind all you have to do is avoid going to the pub or to the shops. Just don't do it for your own sake, Dylan. That's it I will play chess. I will play chess. Four white plots, four black plots, four parts of each half on the board. Relief.
Let's Not Mess This One Up Too
Cradling Rihanna between his arms, Dylan walked up and down the boat whilst the sun settled across the water outside and Dervla kicked in her sleep. He wouldn't of left Hazel to do this on her own, no matter what. He had already experienced what it was like not to have some form of male role model in his life so looking after Rihanna a couple of times during the week was the least he could do. Afterall she was his half-sister.
'I think you're better off without him Rihanna. I mean at least you won't have a single memory of him - It's me who has to live with that one and all the horrific things he has done.'
Rihanna beginning to drift off to sleep, closing her eyes as Dylan continued to carry her up and down the room slowly with the radio on in the background.
'Hazel is going to do a great job at raising you. Though I do question it considering her taste in men, she's a good mother. I wonder how young you can start training someone to be a Doctor.'
He paused, frowning slightly at himself, looking at Rihanna who was asleep in his arms.
'I'm talking to a baby about training her to be a Doctor. I'm officially mad.'
Dylan then lowered her into the travel cot Hazel had given him for when Rihanna came to stay, placing down a small stuffed bear by her side as she settled into the mattress. He covered her with the blanket. A brief smile pressed his cheeks before drifting away before he found himself on the sofa, with a book. Dylan believed that maybe one day he would forgive his father for abandoning him but he could never forgive him for abandoning Rihanna. Whilst in some ways it was best considering how Brian was, though unfortunate to force another child onto the planet who had a failure of a father. Thing's recently had settled down in his mind by mostly avoiding situations he felt would make it all uncontrollable. Tonight he only had one thing to worry about and that was Rihanna. There was still fear, lots of it. That was Dylan's problem - He couldn't escape the fear, he wouldn't let it slip through his hands like he did other things so easily but instead he grasped it with all his might. Ironic? Holding onto fear because you're scared of what might happen if you let go. But for now, he managed it.
He would never sleep whilst she stayed with him. It was impossible with the tamed but still present thoughts in his mind. The impending doom he felt surrounded by the fear of going to bed whilst Rihanna was on the boat was equally as distressing having chaotic thoughts. Dylan would never work out which he preferred, not knowing and just being overwhelmed with anxiety or having a whirl of toxic thoughts horrifying him. Ideally, he would rather they all went away completely but at least the void of doom was somewhat easier for him to manage. A few hours would pass before Rihanna had woken up crying as Dylan prepared a bottle of milk
'Whilst I'm sure you don't understand a single word I'm saying I can assure you I am going as fast as possible.'
He said as she screamed, it echoed around the boat.
'Come on now Rihanna.'
He strolled over, picking her up before grabbing the bottle of milk and offering it to her which she took to easily.
'Much better. You wouldn't have any lungs left if you kept doing that.'
She rested peacefully in his arms, suckling as he rocked her lightly, keeping the bottle upright until she had finished. Winding her was a task he didn't particularly enjoy as he never knew when a ball of vomit would work itself into the fabric of his grey pull-over jumper but it still had to be done before he settled her back into the cot, wiggling a finger into her small hand.
'If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise.'
He began to sing softly, looking down at her untroubled face.
'If you go down to the woods today, you better wear a disguise.'
The same gentle song his mother sang to him even well past Rihanna's age. It soothed him when his father would kick off in the house whilst his mother tried all she could to ensure Dylan everything would be okay.
'For every bear that forever there was will gather there for certain.'
His tone easing Rihanna back to sleep as he watched over her until he was convinced she would sleep through the night.
'At least you have a chance at being normal. He, your father, corrupted me quite badly I would say. But we keep going, don't we? And I'll be there.'
The night would become morning as Dylan struggled to stay awake but was relieved nothing bad had happened.
Never so straightforward
'Hello, David? Yes, can you come over at all? No, I don't actually have the flu. Yes, I'm asking for your help. Look are you going to come over or interrogate me? Great, see you soon.'
The hard part is done now. David would help ease Dylan back into therapy, under the radar just how Dylan likes things. David becoming his main support, re-developing a sturdy friendship. Dylan was there for David when no one else was when David was the freak when
David was sick. He had always been willing and eager to return the favor - More than pleased that Dylan of all people would finally reach out to ask for it.
Dylan was Standing, hands in pockets as he gazed down at the freshly raised ground.
'It wasn't all bad.'
He said
'You taught me to ride a bike. Well, you pushed me down the hill but I suppose it's the same thing.'
Sighing before laying the flowers down.
'I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you d-'
Groaning as he paused, gritting his teeth before taking a breath with the struggle of letting out the storge word.
I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you dad.'
He nodded to himself, patting the gravestone.
'See you around.'
Turning and walking over to David who waited quite a distance away.
'How was that?'
Asked David, smiling as usual.
'Fine, yes, good.'
'Brilliant, so next-'
David rambling on to the point Dylan had lost concentration on the monologue whilst the two headed towards Dylan's Jeep.
'David, David, David.'
Said Dylan shutting up the slightly younger man.
'One thing at a time, yes? What is next on the list and only tell me the next thing not all of them.'
'Right, okay, next is-'
David un-scrunching the piece of paper in his hand to read his own writing with a slight squint.
'To mentor Bea.'
Dylan grumbled slightly, opening the car door whilst David paused a few feet away from his side, looking at Dylan.
'What? What David?'
'Are you ready for this one? Perhaps we should do another first.'
'No, no we have to follow the list in order. That's the right way.'
Dylan getting into the car and waiting for David to join him.
'She is a good Doctor, Dylan.'
'I don't want good I want magnificent which is why I am going to mentor her.'
David nodded, looking at the paper again whilst Dylan started the engine.
'Number four plays more chess. Is that going to be particularly beneficial to your resurrection?'
'I'm not Jesus Christ, David.'
'That would be quite something.'
David flicking his eyes over the list again. This was the routine the pair had gotten into of slowly working themselves through the busy list. In a way this helped David too, it gave him back the friendship he lost and one he needed whilst stopping Dylan from being recluse, helping him stay sober, keeping his head on right. David being the calm, nurturing, soothing, never angry, typically bias and safety blanket that Dylan required, needed, breathed.
'Do you want to talk about number twenty?'
Softly asked David with a gentle expression towards Dylan who was focused on driving.
'Not particularly.'
'It would be good for you to talk about it.'
'David, David, I said one thing at a time. Let's get through the other nineteen tedious tasks first.'
'Well, do you think they would even want to?'
Dylan groaned at David's continuous attempt.
'I'm unsure to be quite frank but that's why I'm doing it.'
'And you're sure?'
'It was Winnicott that said 'It is a joy to be hidden, and a disaster not to be found.' I believe that it is a step in the right direction.'
David nodding, folding away the small piece of paper before tucking it into his pocket. Dropping David home before returning to the boat, standing, looking at the shelf and the glass. The boat will sink.
'Don't be ridiculous.'
He said out loud, resting his fists on his waist. He took the glass into his hand. The boat will sink. Shaking his head as he walked towards the bin, wrapping the glass into a bag before gently lowering it to the bottom. Closing the bin he nodded, curling his lip slightly before returning to his armchair, raising the book from the side table.
'Nothing that has happened to me thus far had been sufficient to destroy me; nothing had been destroyed except my illusions. I myself was intact. The world was intact.'
He read before placing an eye on Dervla who looked over at him from her bed before returning his attention to the book just as his desktop began to ring, beep and whirl. Dylan gritted his teeth slightly, a sigh escaping from each nostril - Standing up, walking over to the computer, placing the book down and taking the mouse to hover over the incoming skype call. Zsa Zsa. It was Zsa Zsa. An immediate fear flooded Dylan as he struggled to focus on the screen. He promised himself a better relationship with his old mentor and yet something still held him back as his mind crashed, hand shaking slightly at the name on the screen as the video call continued to ring but he knew it wouldn't ring forever. He would stop answering, Zsa Zsa would stop calling. A cycle he didn't want to get back into but didn't know how to stop. The call stopped ringing, name disappeared, guilt.
A continuous heavy shadow looming over him until her picture popped up again, ringing once more. This was it, his second chance.
'Hello!'
He said almost panicked as he answered the call, taking a seat instantly knowing if he hesitated for a single moment he never would have.
'De De, are you behaving or do I need to come pick the grass out your teeth?'
She said even before her face had a chance to fully appear on the monitor
'Behaving. Very much so. It's quite boring actually.'
'Thought you liked boredom.'
'We have a symbiotic relationship.'
Zsa Zsa laughed with a huge grin towards the camera in a warm manner.
'Okay alien boy, no need for me to come wedge my heel up your backside then?'
'Definitely don't.'
'Good.'
'Why don't you come over soon? Stay for a week or two.'
'Is this a proposal De De?'
'If it must be.'
'I'll arrange it next time I'm bored of living in luxury.'
'Good.'
'Will I be staying on the couch again this time?'
'Right, I'll be off.'
'Dylan-'
The call went down with the click of a mouse. His mind was drawn back to the glass he had thrown in the bin. His heart racing whilst he focused on controlling it but with struggle. Growing irritated with how he was unable to form a normal breath how could he not be able to breathe, control his own breathing, make it steady, his mind wrapped in thought on how he should be taking in each forced breath with his nose then out his mouth but it spluttered all at once from between his teeth. Racing out of the seat, a hand back inside the bin, taking the small bag, ripping the glass out from inside before scattering to the shelf to place it down again. Slight relief as the looming shadow that teased him daily faded back up the walls, out of sight. Weightlifting from Dylan's shoulders as he took the glass into both hands, lowering it on the shelf, back up the shelf, shuffling it into place just right. Relief.