chapter six
To: reidoliver@gmail.com
From: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
Subject: Re: Hear me out
Reid - I'll keep listening. I promise. Whatever you need to say.
I'm listening.
-
They came in every couple of days, always in the early hours of the morning. 2:14am. 5:22am. 3:39am. Luke wondered whether Reid ever slept, and briefly considered that maybe it was the sheer exhaustion that let him express himself so openly. He wanted to reply to tell Reid that he should be taking better care of himself, but he couldn't bring himself to. He rarely ever responded, he didn't need to. The point of the emails that Reid sent from his shitty apartment wasn't to instigate conversation. It was just the only way he knew how to include Luke in what was happening to him. And maybe to the same extent, the only way he knew how to deal with it himself.
August 22nd, 3:02am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: I don't know what day it is.
This is so god damn exhausting. I'm up all night, scouring the internet like some uninformed idiot. Like somehow the answer that medical school didn't give me will jump out and I'll be able to save her.
September 1st, 1:11am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: Not thinking properly.
I had a moment today where I resented Grace for even contacting me. How fucked up is that. If she had never let me know, I wouldn't know what this feels like. This desperation. It took me twenty five minutes, twenty five minutes to fall in love with that little girl and if I'd never had those twenty five minutes I'd never have what feels like a giant boulder in my stomach.
But if I'd never had those twenty five minutes, I'd never have had the last six months either.
I don't know which is worse.
September 18th, 2:59am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: I miss you.
Just so you know.
I miss you.
October 10th, 11:11pm.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: Bad day.
She's getting worse. These doctors, they look at me like her family and not like a colleague. Because if they looked at me like another doctor, they wouldn't give me those sympathetic eyes. You know, the ones I never quite mastered. The ones that say “I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do” - they'd look at me with those eyes that say “Oh well, on to the next one.”
Because it's true. As a doctor you can't let yourself get invested in your patients. They're all numbers. Patient X is a number, not a person. It's how I look at mine, with few exceptions. Except that Elizabeth isn't patient 235629, she's Elizabeth.
She's my child and if one more of these idiots looks at me like they've done all they can I'll scream.
I can't tell whether this experience will make me a better doctor or a worse one. I don't think I care either way.
October 26th, 12:12am
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: the first day.
I don't think I told you when you were here. What it was like when I met her the first time.
I think I just knew. Seeing her, I just knew she was mine. And she looked at me like I was an alien. At that stage, I must have looked like one. I went straight to the airport from Katie's, waited six hours for the next flight to New York and came to the hospital before I did anything else. I hadn't showered in over 24 hours and I hadn't shaved in even longer.
Grace introduced me as a doctor. Not as her father, which I'm not sure if I resented or was grateful for. Either way, when we finally told her the truth she giggled and said she already knew. Apparently she'd found a photo in her mothers things and was just waiting for us to tell her. Smart kid, right. Must be genetic.
After that, we were inseparable. But she didn't take to me as quickly as she took to you. Which reminds me, what did you whisper to her that day? She refuses to tell me. She talks about you all the time though. I printed a photo of you and stuck it to her wall in the hospital. I think she might have a crush on you.
I can't blame her.
-
Luke doesn't sleep much either.
October 26th, 12:21am
To: reidoliver@gmail.com
From: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
Subject: Re: the first day
I told her I wore pocket protectors too.
We're a perfect match.
-
By late November, Luke had a special folder on his desktop filled with hundreds of emails. All about Elizabeth. All about Reid. From the mundane (She doesn't like the colour beige. Who doesn't like the colour beige, is it even a colour?) to the dramatic (Her heart is failing. I wonder whether she got that from me, her faulty heart.) Luke read over them time and time again when Reid felt too far away, when things were getting him down and he wanted to settle the sadness in his bones.
And for the most part it did.
Until November 22nd, 12:46am.
From: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
Subject: Re: Hear me out
Reid - I'll keep listening. I promise. Whatever you need to say.
I'm listening.
-
They came in every couple of days, always in the early hours of the morning. 2:14am. 5:22am. 3:39am. Luke wondered whether Reid ever slept, and briefly considered that maybe it was the sheer exhaustion that let him express himself so openly. He wanted to reply to tell Reid that he should be taking better care of himself, but he couldn't bring himself to. He rarely ever responded, he didn't need to. The point of the emails that Reid sent from his shitty apartment wasn't to instigate conversation. It was just the only way he knew how to include Luke in what was happening to him. And maybe to the same extent, the only way he knew how to deal with it himself.
August 22nd, 3:02am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: I don't know what day it is.
This is so god damn exhausting. I'm up all night, scouring the internet like some uninformed idiot. Like somehow the answer that medical school didn't give me will jump out and I'll be able to save her.
September 1st, 1:11am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: Not thinking properly.
I had a moment today where I resented Grace for even contacting me. How fucked up is that. If she had never let me know, I wouldn't know what this feels like. This desperation. It took me twenty five minutes, twenty five minutes to fall in love with that little girl and if I'd never had those twenty five minutes I'd never have what feels like a giant boulder in my stomach.
But if I'd never had those twenty five minutes, I'd never have had the last six months either.
I don't know which is worse.
September 18th, 2:59am.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: I miss you.
Just so you know.
I miss you.
October 10th, 11:11pm.
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: Bad day.
She's getting worse. These doctors, they look at me like her family and not like a colleague. Because if they looked at me like another doctor, they wouldn't give me those sympathetic eyes. You know, the ones I never quite mastered. The ones that say “I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do” - they'd look at me with those eyes that say “Oh well, on to the next one.”
Because it's true. As a doctor you can't let yourself get invested in your patients. They're all numbers. Patient X is a number, not a person. It's how I look at mine, with few exceptions. Except that Elizabeth isn't patient 235629, she's Elizabeth.
She's my child and if one more of these idiots looks at me like they've done all they can I'll scream.
I can't tell whether this experience will make me a better doctor or a worse one. I don't think I care either way.
October 26th, 12:12am
To: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
From: reidoliver@gmail.com
Subject: the first day.
I don't think I told you when you were here. What it was like when I met her the first time.
I think I just knew. Seeing her, I just knew she was mine. And she looked at me like I was an alien. At that stage, I must have looked like one. I went straight to the airport from Katie's, waited six hours for the next flight to New York and came to the hospital before I did anything else. I hadn't showered in over 24 hours and I hadn't shaved in even longer.
Grace introduced me as a doctor. Not as her father, which I'm not sure if I resented or was grateful for. Either way, when we finally told her the truth she giggled and said she already knew. Apparently she'd found a photo in her mothers things and was just waiting for us to tell her. Smart kid, right. Must be genetic.
After that, we were inseparable. But she didn't take to me as quickly as she took to you. Which reminds me, what did you whisper to her that day? She refuses to tell me. She talks about you all the time though. I printed a photo of you and stuck it to her wall in the hospital. I think she might have a crush on you.
I can't blame her.
-
Luke doesn't sleep much either.
October 26th, 12:21am
To: reidoliver@gmail.com
From: lukesnyder@thesnyderfoundation.com
Subject: Re: the first day
I told her I wore pocket protectors too.
We're a perfect match.
-
By late November, Luke had a special folder on his desktop filled with hundreds of emails. All about Elizabeth. All about Reid. From the mundane (She doesn't like the colour beige. Who doesn't like the colour beige, is it even a colour?) to the dramatic (Her heart is failing. I wonder whether she got that from me, her faulty heart.) Luke read over them time and time again when Reid felt too far away, when things were getting him down and he wanted to settle the sadness in his bones.
And for the most part it did.
Until November 22nd, 12:46am.