Page 66 of Heart of the High King
Chapter 28
“How do those new braces feel?” Dr. Suricata asked, walking in with her human consultant, Doctor Brady Park.
A week ago, Rafferty had received a pair of braces that went from his foot up to his knee. They’d been handcrafted and built with a combination of hardened basilisk hide, dragonskin, and enchanted metal. “They feel great,” Rafferty replied.
“That’s wonderful. I can’t believe how fast you’ve gotten yourself into that wheelchair,” Dr. Suricata responded.
“I wanted that catheter out, and I did physical therapy in Nashville. Dr. Odocoileus just wouldn’t let me try anything outside of being in bed.”
“Mean,” Mortis said. Rafferty smiled at the wolf and ruffled the fur on his head. There might not be much going right in his life, but at least he had a friend.
“Are you ready to try the walker tomorrow?” Dr. Suricata asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Do you mind if we have a seat?”
“Go ahead,” Rafferty replied. When their faces grew solemn, he was sure he was about to be handed more bad news. Sitting there, he petted Mortis while he waited for whatever blow was next. The last ten and a half months were nothing but a series of devasting events, and the one thing Rafferty had succumbed to was the death of any hope for himself. It hurt too much to wish for the impossible, so he’d shut that part of his brain off. Aleksander was unattainable and when he’d accepted that, it was as if a part of his soul had withered away. That did not mean he was surrendering his fight. The years he had left would be purposeful, and he was going to work hard to get some control of his life. It would just be accomplished without the light that had fueled him.
Dr. Suricata and Dr. Park both grabbed chairs and dragged them over to where Rafferty sat in his wheelchair. Once they were facing him, Dr. Suricata offered him a small smile. “I want to commend you on your courage and ability to work hard. It’s very rare to find a patient with your kind of determination.”
“I agree. When I first saw your file, I wondered how you could even be alive,” Dr. Park added.
His face burning with their praise, Rafferty ducked his head. “Thanks.”
“I promised you when you arrived that we would only have honesty between us. I want to make sure that you want the raw truth no matter the circumstances.”
“Dr. Suricata, I don’t like mystery.”
“Okay, well…as you know, we’ve spent the last fourteen days doing a battery of tests. You know I found some troubling things on a few, which is why I added more just a few days ago, including biopsies. We’ve finally got the results and have a clear picture of your state of health.”
“It’s not good, is it?”
She shook her head slowly. “Dermot, you have cancer, and it’s everywhere. It started in your pancreas and has metastasized both locally to the surrounding blood vessels, liver, stomach, and distantly to your lungs. That, coupled with the damage to all your organs that you already sustained, means you’re not a candidate for surgery.”
“Normally, patients would start palliative chemotherapy, but the issue for you is that you’re neither dragon nor human. We have no idea how to accurately determine the correct dosage of the drugs. That means we either play it safe, and do it at low levels that might do nothing to lengthen your life but add a host of what might be uncomfortable side effects. Or we go for broke and quite possibly kill you outright.”
Rafferty was so stunned, he couldn’t quite process the news. Convinced he would at least have a few years to make what he survived meaningful, Rafferty hadn’t offered any details on what happened to him, but he didn’t intend to hide forever. Determined to be strong enough to get out of the hospital, his plan had been to go from there. “So…I can’t be treated?”
“There are some human drugs we can try that will promote healing. It would be stronger than what we prescribed for your hips, and that may help. But the reality is, your diagnosis is very grim,” Dr. Park said.
“How soon before I die?” Rafferty managed. Unable to even cry, he sat in his wheelchair so proud of what he’d accomplished, and it was for nothing.
“At best, you might get three to six months,” Dr. Suricata answered softly. “And I’ll be honest, that’s optimistic given your overall state of health.”
“It’s going to be important moving forward that you’re open with us about new symptoms and that you give us a clear idea of how much pain you’re in. We can’t treat you if you keep things to yourself. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that it hurts and the one thing you shouldn’t do is force yourself to suffer needlessly,” Dr. Park added.
“I already take a mountain of pills.”
“You’ve been skipping some of your pain medications,” Dr. Suricata argued.
“They make the fatigue worse.”
“Your body needs rest because it’s doing its best to cope with everything that’s going on inside you. Pay attention to what signals you get and obey them,” Dr. Park retorted.
“Do you have any questions for us, Dermot?” Dr. Suricata asked.
Rafferty shook his head and shrugged simultaneously. With no idea what to think or how to handle his imminent demise and the solace of the man he loved denied to him by his loss of hope, he simply sat there stupidly. Out of nowhere a surge of rage swept through him, and he knew that the one thing he would not do was surrender without taking down the men who’d destroyed him and his dreams. “Can you call the Reverent Knights and ask them to meet with me?”
