The First Case

  "Next!"

  "Yes, come in. How can I help you?"

  "Good day, Doctor. It’s such a wonderful sunny day, don’t you think?"

  "I have to agree with you, it's truly pleasant and warm, a perfect day! Please, take a seat. Tell me your story. Pour your soul out in front of me, feel free."

  "Well, here it goes," began Cedrick, a long-time alcoholic, constantly battling paranoia and trauma that had left deep scars on him.

  "You know, I don't have much to tell you, Doctor. The situation I'm in... it's tough. For days now, I can't close my eyes in peace and get any rest. I can’t soothe my soul. I want to, it’s not that I don’t want to, I just can't. I start thinking too much, and I get stuck in one place. I don’t know what to do..."

  The doctor listened patiently, with a slight smile on his face, encouraging him to continue.

  "Everything happened so quickly, you know. Like everything in life. You’re born, you don’t know. You’re a little kid, you don’t know. You grow up, ready for school, and you go through that hell, but you still don’t know. Then girls come, love, sex, youth, and you're still so young, but you still don’t know anything. You get married, if you’re lucky, have kids, start a family and take care of them, but you're still deeply in the dark. You have no idea, really. Then the kids grow up, and you grow old with them, each one going their own way. Old age catches up, no one visits, and you're still clueless about everything. You just don’t know. And you never find out.

  They don’t tell you that you live every day, but you die once. That life comes, rushes by, and passes like a postman who’s too late to deliver all the mail, with less than half an hour left in his shift. Everything chases you, lurks, misfortunes arrive. It seems like even the sun isn’t on your side. I won’t even mention the moon. I shiver as I tell you this, dear doctor. But you know how it is.

  It just happens, you’re like an actor in the whole story, but actually, you turn out to be just a witness to your own story. It feels like someone else is deciding for you. Where you’re born, who you fall in love with, who you insult, who you look up to like a god, where you get drunk, and next to whom you fall asleep. It’s all so interchangeably random. Sickly untouchable.

  And if you ever dare look back, to see your actions... then, my friend, you’re fucked, sorry for the language. Can I speak casually with you? (The doctor nods approvingly.) And so, my dear doctor, life passes above, around, and through you. It doesn’t ask where you’re going, whether you’re happy, alive, and healthy. It doesn’t care. Because as it gave you life, so will it take it away from you. That something, that someone. Whether with a sickle, a scythe, a machete, a sword, a spear, or bare hands, I don’t know. I just know that I’ve had enough of it all.

  And don’t think I’m telling you this because I have suicidal intentions, God forbid, not at all. I’m just a little confused and taken aback. And here, I’ll tell you why. When, how, and why. You just try to listen well and hear me, as you have until now, my dear friend. Because in the end, we are friends, aren’t we? (Not allowing the doctor to answer, assuming the question was rhetorical, he continued.)

  So, I was at this tavern, it’s called Painful mast, you probably know it, near Samuel’s place, by the Spring Avenue. And there was such a celebration, don’t ask. There were all kinds of music, violinists, drums, everything. Good wine, nice atmosphere, beautiful women. What more could you want, right?

  And it was July, I remember. The 12th or 13th, something like that. Though it must have been the 13th, because it was a Friday, and what kind of disaster struck me that day... You wouldn’t believe it. If a thousand black cats, as black as coal, had crossed my path, I would have been better off than that night. What a hell it was. You won’t even believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway. After all, that's what friends are for.

  I walked in around my usual time, around 6 PM, the sun was slowly beginning to fade, beautiful colors in the sky, what a feast. The place was already packed with people. Not that our neighborhood doesn’t have its share of drunks and partygoers, but the normal folks would say that was when working people were finishing their jobs and heading home tired. And since you know the nature of my work, it wouldn’t surprise you that I choose to relax and unwind at that time, in the cozy tavern atmosphere.

  I had just planned to forget and totally push aside the utter failure of that operation, where I lost a patient due to a burst gallbladder and the subsequent sepsis that caused havoc in his body, when chaos arrived in the already spiced-up mix. As if I needed more drama that day. But life, you know, brings ups and downs, landslides, and the other byproducts of modern society.

  I sat at my usual spot, pulled out some tobacco, called the waitress to order my usual. 'Give me ribs in beans, a cabbage and tomato salad with cheese, a loaf of bread, and a Schweppes Bitter.' She replied, 'Here you go, boss, it’ll be ready in about 15 minutes.'

  I had planned not to drink alcohol that day, because of my usual crazy behavior whenever I pour ethanol into my stomach, but my luck was terrible... She didn’t even make it a meter and a half from the table when I called her back and ordered three liters of red wine, on top of everything else. She laughed and nodded her head.

  The wine arrived first, and what could I do, to respect the liquid, I started to toast. One glass, second, third. Nothing was enough for me. And yet, everything was too much. After the sixth, the food arrived, but by then, I was already tired of life. My mind was filled with images of my 'failed attempts at healing,' meaning patients who didn’t survive the operations.

  You know me, Doctor, I have a steady hand. It’s that higher power that decides every time, pulling them out of this burning hell we live in, if this can even be called life. You know, sometimes I think all of this is just one long dream where after death, a person wakes up and is happy, loved, proud, at peace. But let me get back to my story.

  I'm drinking, the music blaring around me, all those beautiful notes reaching my ears. I’m feeling good, warm inside, whether because of the music, emotions, or alcohol, I don't know, but it feels good. Everything is sweet, you know how it is. And then something unusual happens.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Someone walks into the tavern, someone you don’t expect – my former colleague from the hospital, Dr. Novak. He was dressed in an old, faded jacket, with a cap barely covering his now thinning gray hair. He looked around, as if searching for someone familiar, his face a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

  When our eyes met, I got chills. So many years had passed since our last encounter, since that terrible argument that ended our friendship and collaboration. I remember that day as if it were yesterday – the words were harsh, the pride immense, and we both believed we were right. After that, no calls, no messages, no apologies.

  ‘Cedrick?’ he said, approaching my table with a hesitant smile. ‘Is it really you?’

  I was stunned. I looked at him as though he were a ghost from the past, but I nodded. ‘Novak... sit down, please.’

  He sat down, placing his worn-out bag beside the table. We didn’t speak for a few moments. Both of us drinking from our glasses, the silence between us almost tangible. Finally, Novak sighed and spoke:

  ‘I didn’t think I’d see you here. Are you still practicing medicine?’

  ‘No,’ I replied shortly, trying to sound calm. ‘I stopped a few years ago. You?’

  ‘I’m still in it,’ he said softly. ‘But it’s not the same. Things have changed.’

  I looked at him carefully, noticing the small wrinkles on his face, traces of years of stress and difficult decisions.

  ‘I remember the day you left,’ he continued, his voice full of bitterness and sadness. ‘I couldn’t stop you, and I knew we were losing the best surgeon on the team. And all because of… us.’

  ‘Us?’ I repeated, not hiding the sarcasm. ‘It wasn’t just my fault, Novak. We both failed.’

  A silence fell over us, and the tension between us took me back to the past – to the operating room, to that moment when words were sharper than a scalpel, and emotions were uncontrolled. The patient survived, but our friendship did not.

  ‘You know,’ Novak spoke after a long pause, ‘it’s been a long time, Cedrick. I’ve thought a lot about it. And you know what I realized? Most of the time, it’s not about who was right. The real question is how foolish we were for not listening to each other.’

  His words hit me. They were harsh, but honest. I nodded, recognizing the truth in them.

  ‘I remember,’ I said, running my hand over the table as if trying to grasp something invisible, ‘one night when we were working together. You were exhausted, and I accused you of not being focused. Back then, I was convinced I knew everything. Now… I’m not so sure anymore.’

  Novak smiled, but his smile held no triumph. ‘And I accused you of being too cold, of caring only about results. Maybe we were both a little right.’

  As the conversation went on, we began reminiscing about better days—those when we shared the same passion for our work, stayed up until dawn together, saving lives and laughing at the absurdities of hospital life. We talked about the patients who changed us, the tragedies that shook us, and the moments when we felt invincible.

  ‘Do you remember little Anya?’ I asked with a smile. ‘The girl whose heart we operated on?’

  Novak chuckled, now more relaxed. ‘Of course. I’ll never forget how she drew us that strange picture and said we were her superheroes.’

  The laughter finally broke the icy wall between us. Slowly but surely, we were burying the hatchet—one laugh and one memory at a time.

  Then, unexpectedly—a crash! The tavern doors burst open, and a group of men in black jackets stormed in, five of them, all with expressions that promised trouble. They were clearly looking for a fight. As soon as they entered, their presence was felt by everyone—it was like a cold wave washing over the entire room. The men were bulky, clearly eager to display their strength, and had no patience for anything else.

  The largest of them, tall with broad shoulders, headed straight for our table, glaring at me. His eyes burned with hatred, and each step he took echoed in the silence of the tavern.

  ‘You!’ he shouted, pointing a finger at me, drawing everyone’s attention. ‘Do you know who you operated on a month ago? My little brother! You didn’t save him!’

  At that moment, the tavern fell into complete silence. No sound of clinking glasses, no chatter—nothing existed except the tense atmosphere. All eyes were on me, everyone watching as though waiting for something to happen. As I tried to stay composed, I could feel the sweat slowly trickling down my forehead, my heart beginning to race. All the things I’d tried to forget—the difficult surgeries, the mistakes I’d endured—now came rushing back.

  Novak stood up quickly, instinctively protective. He placed himself between me and the man, raising his hands in a calming gesture. ‘Guys, please, let’s stay calm,’ he said, trying to sound composed, though his voice carried a clear tone of concern. ‘Nobody here had any intention of—‘

  ‘I don’t care what you intended!’ the tall man shouted, cutting Novak off. His voice was so filled with rage that his words felt like blows. ‘You’re the reason my brother’s dead!’

  The tavern was utterly silent, but I could hear the dull thud of my heart. Gazes shifted between Novak and me as if everything was playing out in slow motion. The men stood ready to escalate, their eyes filled with violence, waiting for any signal to unleash it. And I… I knew what it meant to be attacked without any chance of defending yourself. I knew what loss felt like—the moment when you’re put in a position where you can no longer control anything.

  Just when it was clear the confrontation was inevitable, a sharp, decisive voice rang out.

  ‘The police are on their way!’ shouted the waitress with all her might. Though she was a small woman, the courage in her eyes overshadowed the entire situation. ‘If you don’t leave immediately, you’ll end up behind bars!’

  Her words struck like lightning. The men froze for a moment, as if realizing the situation was crossing a line they didn’t want to breach. They stepped back, evidently deciding it wasn’t worth the risk of greater consequences. They gave us one last threatening glare before turning and leaving the tavern, leaving behind a silence heavier than any words could have been.

  The tavern was in chaos. Some people retreated to the corners, others remained frozen in shock. Here and there, whispers about the incident could be heard, but everyone knew things wouldn’t be the same again.

  Novak and I exchanged a glance. We didn’t say anything, but the look between us said it all. It was a look that carried not just fear but sadness—a sadness for all we’d lost and for all that had passed. That moment changed everything—there was no going back. Whenever I thought about it, I would remember that moment and realize that nothing would ever be the same, not between us, not in the world we once thought we could control.

  As I walked home later that night, I realized something: life is unpredictable, chaotic, often unfair. But despite everything, it holds moments that make us pause, reflect, and learn.”

  And here I am again, doctor. Maybe none of it happened by chance. Maybe it all led me to this moment—to tell my story, to be heard. Because you know what? I might still know nothing, but one thing I do know for sure—talking sets the soul free.

  Doctor Enhaus looked at Cedrick seriously, still puzzled by his story about the surgery.

  "Wait, wait... But what surgery are we talking about? The one you mentioned before entering the tavern. You’re not a surgeon anymore. What’s this about?"

  Cedrick looked down, then slowly raised his gaze and answered with a gentle but slightly sad smile:

  "That surgery..."—he paused for a moment as if deciding whether to continue—"that surgery wasn’t just physical. It was something much deeper, doctor. At that moment, when the gallbladder ruptured, something inside me died. It was as if my entire world... died. After that, I just couldn’t go on. Maybe I couldn’t be a surgeon anymore because, in truth... I couldn’t heal—not even myself."

  Doctor Enhaus stared at him, baffled by the answer, but Cedrick simply shrugged. "Sometimes, doctor, things inside you break, and it’s much worse than any surgery. That’s when you know something is lost forever."

  Cedrick stood up slowly and left the office without a word. The doctor remained, pondering his words, wondering what that "surgery" truly meant—real or metaphorical.

  Cedrick stepped outside, and once again, the sun greeted him with its warm rays.