Nurse Patrick Preston

( Sometimes, there just was no warning, and now it was all coming in a rush before he had a chance to do anything about it... )

All muses referenced with permission and are from the princeton2nyc universe


Word Count | 460

4.3.1. What do you mean, ‘it didn’t hurt’?

It was times like this that Pat thought he’d never get used to having Multiple Sclerosis. The stages of grief following his diagnosis had long since past; acceptance had come eventually, but acceptance didn’t mean you couldn’t get downright fucking pissed off by the disability at times.

He reached over to tug the tea-towel off the rail on his oven, making sure his other hand remained over the sink. Blood was seeping at a rapid pace from a large gash right across his palm and dripping in to the soapy dishwater making the bubbles turn pink. “Fuck,” he swore, screwing his face up in aggravation. He’d managed to get blood smeared all over the kitchen bench, too, and his brand new Dolce & Gabbana shirt was going to be stained from a smear right across the expensive label. The cut was going to need at least six or seven sutures to close it, not to mention they were probably going to want to jab him with a tetanus shot ‘just to be on the safe side’. He really should be glad it didn’t hurt. He couldn’t even feel a sting and all that did was bother him more because he knew it was going to be a one way ticket into hospital again for yet another week hooked up to a goddamn fucking IV line. The story of his life these days. He practically had his own fucking bed in the hospital.

(  He heaved a sharp, pissed off sigh as he tucked the towel around the wound to try and staunch some of the bleeding... )

drcampbell referred to with permission


Word Count | 578