The Gift of Death

You trot into the hospital room, smiling, "How's it going, Mrs. Peterson?"

The old mare smiles back, "I'm doing well enough, other than this blasted rash on my back. It's been driving me nuts for a week."

You float a stethoscope out of your saddlebag and hook it around your neck, "We'll check that out for you." You gently run a hoof over her back, and lean in to inspect the patch of red, puffy skin, "I'm going to take a skin sample, and draw some blood. Then we'll get Dr. Tenderhoof in here to take a look as well."

She winces as you touch the area, and nods, "Go for it. Can't be worse than having a broken bone set." She laughs weakly.

I smiles reassuringly, "Nothing like that. A little scrape and a prick, you'll barely feel it." You float over a cotton swab, and carefully scrape it over the rash, then drop into into a labeled bag, "Halfway done," You comment to the shivering mare. You put the bag aside and float over a syringe, feeling over her flank for a vein, "Mrs. Paterson, have you lost any weight?" You ask, concerned at how bony she feels.

She chuckles, "Quite possibly. I haven't quite been feeling up to eating since I got the rash."
You nod, "Pain can cause loss of appetite." You find a vein and start to draw blood, "I'll ask Dr. Tenderhoof to weigh you. We don't want you to lose your stunning figure."

Mrs. Paterson laughs, "I think you're the only pony to compliment me in a good twenty years. My sweet Gorgie use to say that when I took a second slice of apple pie."

You melt a little at the story, beaming at her, "Gorge was always looking out for you. I'm sad I never met him." You pick up the swab back and blood vial, "I'll see you next time," you say, and trot out of the room.

You trot into room, trying to smile, "How are you doing today, Mrs Peterson?" You start setting up the iv stand, hanging the bag of clear fluid and inserting the tube into her brand new catheter.

She smiles back weakly, "The catheter is annoying. It gets so itchy and I can't even scratch near it." She stares at the bag, "I thought that it would be yellow, or glowing green. Not look like water. Must be why it has so many warnings. You don't want to accidentally drink poison."

"We keep them in a special locked room. I've never heard of a chemo bag mistakenly being used as a saline one," You say, turning a knob. The fluid starts dripping down, slowly flowing into the old mare.

She barks out a laugh, "Of course you'll never heard. They wouldn't just tell everyone, Oh hey! We accidentally poisoned this foal! Woops!" She shivers, and lays down carefully.

You giggle, "I suppose they wouldn't say that. Nurse Redheart will be back in a few hours to unhook you." You check over everything one last time, "Ring the bell if you need anything," You say, and trot out of the room.

You trot into the room, "Hello, Mrs. Paterson." You try not to stare at the near bald mare, "Lovely weather we've been having lately, nice and warm."

She presses a button, and the hospital bed slowly raises her up to a sitting position, "The weather is well enough, though having the window open is a breath of fresh air." She laughs at her joke, and starts to cough.

You offer her a cup of water, which she greedily downs, "Careful! You don't want to laugh your self to death." Your joke falls flat as you start to sniffle.

"Enough of that. No crying on my behalf. I may not be at the peak of health, but I'm certainly not dying. This stupid cancer is just putting up a useless fight. I'll beat it, just like I beat that tribe of timberwolves that wanted to take over my farm." She puts the cup down on the stand beside her, foreleg shaking with the effort.

You smile and hook a bag onto the iv stand, "You always were an optimist." You turn the knob, and watch the drug slowly drip down, "Your the first patient I've ever had to do chemo with. I was hoping I'd never have to use this knowledge. At least you tell the best stories in Ponyville." You sit beside the bed, smiling.

"That's because I'm the oldest! Granny Smith was still in diapers when I was running the biggest vineyard in Equestrian history. Her parents asked me to come and check over their setup, to make sure it was done right! And don't get me started on that gal who does the cherries in Apple-whats-it-called." She grins, looking more alive than you've seen her in months.

"What did she do?" You ask, settling into listen to her story.

You trot into the room, trying not to cry, "Good morning, Mrs Paterson." You sit down beside her and grab her hoof, "I just got off the phone with Dr. Cobalt in Caterlot. She has an experimental treatment that might cure you. We can get you there in a special train car by this evening, so we'll start getting things ready as soon as you sig—"

She smiles at you, having mustered up the strength to put her hoof over my lips, "You always try to go above and beyond for me." She let her hoof settle back down, and coughs, her withered body shuddering, "But we both know that even if this newfangled treatment works, it would only give me a couple more years at best. I've been in and out of the hospital for more than eight months. I'm so tired. Everyone I've loved has died, and I've gone on and on and on."

You try to speak up, to protest, but she silences you with look, "So you won't go to Canterlot."

She shakes her head slowly, "I want to die in my hometown, where my children, and their children, and their children's children did. I want to die on my terms, and I want you to help me."

You stand up, shocked, "Mrs. Paterson. I can't do that! I took an oath! An oath to do no harm"

She laughs bitterly, "What's more harmful, forcing me to live for years until I die, strapped up to dozens of machines, or helping me end the pain." She reaches for you, and you sit down, holding her hooves, "Please. Let me go out with dignity. I've had a long, satisfying life, and I'm ready to rejoin my family."

You stare at her, tears rolling down my muzzle, "I. But." You look down, you look at her bony, fragile forelegs, at her patchy coat and bulging veins, "Alright. I'll do it." You float a few syringes out of a cupboard and inject them them into her iv line, "It won't be long now, Mrs. Paterson."

She smiles and settles herself into the bed, "Call me Jubilee." She whispered, looking off into the distance, "Oh Gorgie, I'm coming home."

"Goodbye, Jubilee. Thank you for all the stories." You press your hoof to her neck, and feel nothing. You hug her and cry.