I thought marrying my dying patient was a kindness. After her funeral, her sister handed me a box with my name on it. Before I finished reading, I was forced to defend myself against an accusation that could end my career.
I was 30, with a medical degree, a white coat, and loan payments that still made my stomach tighten.
Becoming a doctor was all I’d ever wanted.
My parents couldn’t help much with tuition, so I’d studied all week and worked weekends.
By the time I met Alicia, I thought the hardest part was behind me.
Becoming a doctor was all I’d ever wanted.
She was 18 and the funniest person on the oncology floor.
Even exhausted from treatment, she could make a nurse laugh while changing her bedding.
“Doctor Lucas, you know smiling is free, right?”
I tried to keep a serious face.
She waited until I lost.
She was 18
I’d known her six weeks when she caught me checking a loan reminder.
“Bad news?”
“I worked weekends through medical school. Still paying for it.”
She made a face.
“They should give you a refund for that handwriting.”
***
Then the medication stopped working.
On Tuesday, the attending told her family she likely had about three days.
Afterward, I hesitated outside her room.
I had no new treatment to offer, and I dreaded seeing her look to me for one.
Instead, she asked me to sit down.
The medication stopped working.
“I have one last wish.”
“What is it?”
“I want to marry you.”
I thought she was joking. She smiled weakly.
“Come on. I don’t want to show up in heaven as an unmarried woman.”
“Alicia, I’m your doctor.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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