Redheart did not want to go through that door.
Already, she’d dealt with a patient crashing from a cider overdose, futilely chastised an idiot teenager who’d broken his forelegs doing a stupid stunt on a dare, cleaned up an overflowing bedpan, had another patient vomit on her, and had her lunch break cut short by a patient suffering from diabetic shock. Her legs ached from being on her hooves for hours on end, her stomach rumbled, and despite her vigorous scrubbing with antiseptic, bitter odors still lingered on her hooves.
But nothing she had faced today could be worse than what was waiting for her behind that door. With a sigh, she reached up and adjusted the nurse’s cap atop her mane, smoothed out her snarled bangs, and settled her weary face into a mask of positivity, clutching the clipboard to her chest as she nudged the door open with her head.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Tone?” Redheart asked in a chipper tone that she barely recognized as her own voice, entering the room with a practiced, eased smile.
The expression on her face did not match the patient’s condition. Clear Tone lay in the bed, his breathing slow and raspy through the breathing tube inserted up his nostrils. His form was shriveled and worn, his wrinkled pale blue coat clinging to his bony frame. His head had been shaved bald, and his green eyes, which were almost covered by cataracts, struggled to focus on Redheart.
“Not bad, nurse,” he rasped, his face convulsing in a grotesque imitation of a smile. “Just a bit of...bit of a twinge in the chest.”
“Did you sleep well last night?” Redheart asked, glancing down at her chart for the latest information on the former music teacher’s condition.
“Yes, thank you,” Clear wheezed, then suddenly began coughing hard, his entire body racking with every violent hack. He gasped in pain, clutching his chest.
“Oh, here, let me help,” Redheart cried, dropping the chart and rushing over to the metal tree next to Clear’s bed. Carefully sorting through the bags of medicine, she found the pain medication and carefully increased the dosage. A trickle of semi-transparent liquid ran down the plastic tubing and into Clear’s foreleg. He settled back into the bed, his gasps quieting into deep breaths.
“Thank you, nurse,” he rasped, blinking slowly.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Redheart said, but Clear Tone was already snoring softly. Redheart maintained her smile for a few moments until she was sure that he was asleep, then allowed the mask to drop as she retrieved the chart from the floor. Her eyes slowly traveled down the latest report, detailing the prognosis of Clear’s battle with the recurrent lung cancer. At the very bottom was a single word, stamped in red letters. A word that Redheart dreaded above all others.
“TERMINAL.”
Swallowing, Redheart slowly backed out of the room, allowing the patient to continue sleeping peacefully. If the report was accurate, then he had less than a month of borrowed time left before the cancer overwhelmed him. Redheart closed the door quietly and slowly walked down the hallway, her head held low.
“Red?” a tiny voice called out. Redheart looked up to see Snowheart approaching, her nurse’s cap tilted an angle atop her head and an expression of concern splashed across her features.
“Are you all right?” her colleague asked. Snowheart looked every bit as tired as she herself felt. Redheart detected the faint odor of pine needles and figs from her perfume.
“I’m just tired,” Redheart sighed, wiping her brow with her foreleg.
“You’re going to have to hold on a little longer, sweetie,” Snowheart told her softly. “I need your help with these meds.” She gestured to a cart behind her, full to the brim with bottles and bags of pills, all of them with complex names on their labels that swam in Redheart’s vision. A low groan escaped her.
“Look, it’s not that bad, right?” Snowheart said quickly. “And with your help, we can get it over with sooner, right?”
Redheart looked at the cart, over the rainbow assortment of pills. There was enough there to start a small pharmacy, and she was already overdue a break. Snowheart gave her a wide-eyed, teeth-gritted look of pleading.
“Okay,” Redheart nodded slowly.
Snowheart sighed in relief and started pushing the cart down the hallway. “All right, let’s get started.”
Forty minutes later, Redheart trudged back down the hallway with the slow shuffling gait of a B-movie zombie, complete with moaning. She could barely feel her hooves, her back ached like a minotaur had used her like a floormat, and her head pounded like a drum. Even her tail hurt, and she had no idea why.
Without knowing quite why, she found herself wandering towards the reception lounge. The little room was fortunately empty at this time of night; the low green couches were bare and the receptionist was at her place behind the desk, currently flipping through a fashion magazine. The fluorescent lights dangling from the ceiling were still faintly humming, the faint but noticeable flickering exacerbating Redheart’s oncoming migraine. Through the glass doors, she could see the snow dancing in the blustery winds, cast stark white by the lamplights against the blackness of the night sky.
Tossing her nurse’s cap onto one of the tables, Redheart collapsed onto one of the hard, green couches, sinking into the cushions. Every one of her limbs ached; even breathing seemed to take an effort.
Exhaustion eroded away her emotional dams. Burying her head into the mattress, in between the hooves that still reeked of body fluids and soap, she began to cry quietly, her tears staining the green fabric. Hope abandoned her, flushed out of her system by her tears.
There were so many sick, so many dying. All she could do was delay the inevitable. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.
She barely felt the sudden chill wind from the outside kissing her skin as the doors opened. Soft hoofsteps tapped on the carpet, and she sensed a presence beside her. Wiping her eyes, she looked up. Through the tears, she saw the blurry shape of a pony standing over her.
“D-do you need help?” she asked, swallowing and sitting up.
“Do you recognize me?” the pony asked, tilting his head.
Redheart blinked and looked up. The visitor was a tall, skinny unicorn with a pale blue coat. His lime green hair was styled in a long curly mane and tail, and his eyes were the color of a dusk sky. His cutie mark was a golden compass.
A vague memory stirred in Redheart’s memory, but not clear enough for her to be certain. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”
The unicorn smiled. “It’s all right, it was quite a while ago. My name’s True North.”
The name penetrated the fogs of Redheart’s memories. “Yes, yes I do remember you!” she cried. “It’s been...oh, wow, how long has it been…?”
True North’s smile widened. “Twelve years. Twelve years that I wouldn’t have had if it wasn’t for you. “
Redheart remembered the incident as clearly as it had happened yesterday; it was a cold, snowy night, just like this one. A sickly, almost skeletal preteen unicorn colt with shadowed eyes and a slow shuffling gait, had been brought in for an allergic reaction. While he was waiting for treatment, his heart had stopped and he had collapsed out of his seat onto the floor in front of a startled lobby. Redheart had immediately begun CPR on him, continuing until her forelegs ached and her own heart throbbed painfully in her chest, but she had saved his life. The relief that had flooded her body when the youngling had finally opened his eyes with a startled gasp as if waking up from a terrible dream was euphoric.
“How have you been?” Redheart asked, taking the stallion’s hoof in both of her own. The hoof was no longer as small as it had once been, but it was every bit as warm, and she held it just as gently and warmly as she had twelve years ago.
“Much better,” True North smiled, seeming to take comfort from her touch. “I’ve been taking better care of myself; I haven’t had another allergy attack in years!”
“You look wonderful,” Redheart said, and it was true; True North stood tall, walked quickly and smoothly, and met her smile with a bright, alert smile.
“Thank you,” True North nodded. “It’s all thanks to you; after you saved my life, I started taking better care of myself. I started playing soccer; that helped a lot, and it helped me make some friends.”
“That’s wonderful, dear!”
“One of those friends became my wife,” True continued, looking back behind him. “And now, we have a daughter. C’mon out, dear.”
A tiny pair of lavender eyes peeped out from behind True North. A small white unicorn filly with golden locks of hair was clinging to True North’s tail, staring timidly up at Redheart.
“Well, hello, dear,” Redheart greeted her, crouching down to the filly’s eye level. “What’s your name?”
“Spark Dancer,” the filly shyly replied.
“And how old are you, sweety?”
“It’s okay, hon,” True reassured his daughter. “I told you about Nurse Redheart, remember?”
Spark looked back and forth between her father and Redheart before answering. “I’m four years old. I want to be a nurse when I grow up; just like you!”
“That’s great!” Redheart cried. “I bet you’ll be a wonderful nurse.”
“I want to save ponies’ lives, just like you saved my daddy!” Spark chirped, hugging her father’s leg.
True North smiled at his daughter before turning back to Nurse Redheart. “I was passing by, and I was thinking of you,” he said, blinking and reaching up to wipe at his watering eyes. “I just wanted to let you know...none of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for you. So I wanted to find you and say...thank you. Thank you for everything.”
A great euphoria ran through Redheart’s body, from her chest all the way to her exhausted, aching hooves, and she felt joyful tears flowing from her eyes. She reached up and hugged True North. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” she sobbed quietly.
True North hugged her back, holding her as gently and warmly as she had once held him. “I bet you don’t get told that enough,” he commented.
Redheart hugged him for a few moments longer before pulling back. “I’m sorry, I really should get back to work.”
“It’s all right, I understand,” True North nodded. “You go save some lives, make ponies healthy. Wave goodbye, honey.”
“Bye-bye!” Spark waved at Redheart as she followed her father towards the doors.
“Bye-bye, honey,” Redheart waved back, standing and watching until the stallion and the filly had disappeared from sight. She paused for a few moments in the lobby, watching the snow continuing to dance outside as though in joy, then turned and walked back down the hallway.
Her stomach still grumbled with hunger, her hooves still throbbed with every step, but a joyful, relieved smile was planted on her face. This was why she had become a nurse. And even though she could not always save everypony, the ones that she could save were the ones that made all the difference.
Author's Note
Being a nurse is a difficult, often thankless job, where you are exposed to people when they are at their worst. Yet so many people owe their lives and health to the men and women who set themselves to this task.
This Christmas story commissioned by Crystal Wishes is dedicated to nurses everywhere, and as a thank you to all that they do in service of others. I hope that you all enjoyed.
