MY BROTHER JUST KEPT STARING AT THE CEILING AFTER THE DOCTOR LEFT THE ROOM
The doctor folded his chart and cleared his throat, that awful sterile smell clinging to his jacket.
My brother just stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent light buzzing faintly above us. The air felt colder than usual, seeping under my skin.
I wanted to scream, to grab the doctor and demand he say something else, anything else, but my voice caught in my throat.
It was a tight, painful knot of fear and disbelief that choked off everything I wanted to say.
He finally turned his head slowly, his face pale and drawn, eyes wide and empty. “It’s worse than they said on the phone, isn’t it? Just tell me.”
His voice was barely a whisper against the hospital’s hushed quiet, yet it echoed in the small, sterile room like a shout.
I couldn’t bring myself to lie, not to him, not now. “Yeah,” I choked out, the word feeling rough and foreign on my tongue. The tears I had been fighting finally started to prickle my eyes.
Looking at him lying there under the stiff, white sheets, I didn’t see the tough guy he always pretended to be. I just saw the scared kid I grew up protecting, the one who hid behind me during thunderstorms.
Outside the window, the city lights seemed distant and uncaring. A sudden, sharp beep came from the monitor beside the bed, startlingly loud in the silence.
Then another beep, faster this time, followed by a frantic, rising tone that filled the room with dread. The air seemed to shrink, getting thick and heavy, pressing down on my chest.
As I reached out to grab his hand, trying to offer some comfort, the nurse burst through the door without knocking, eyes wide with unconcealed alarm.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…Her eyes snapped to the monitor, then back to my brother. “Code Blue!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the silence. More nurses and doctors flooded the room, a whirlwind of blue scrubs and urgent voices. I was pushed aside, a useless fixture against the wall as they clustered around the bed. Tubes were checked, bags were adjusted, and hands worked quickly over my brother’s chest.
His eyes were still wide, fixed on the ceiling, but now a flicker of panic warred with the emptiness. He seemed to be struggling for breath, a silent, desperate fight I couldn’t join. The frantic beeping of the monitor became a soundtrack to my terror. I felt my own chest tightening, mirroring his struggle, and I gasped for air that felt thin and suffocating.
Someone shouted orders; a machine was wheeled in. I wanted to scream, to ask what was happening, to tell them to fix him, but the knot was back, tighter than ever. Tears streamed down my face, hot and useless. This wasn’t the scared kid hiding from thunder; this was a man fighting for his life, and I could only watch.
Slowly, mercifully, the frantic tone on the monitor began to change. The beeps became less erratic, settling into a more steady rhythm, though still faster than before. The rush of staff around the bed began to subside, their movements still urgent but no longer desperate. They had pulled him back from the edge, at least for now.
The doctor from before, looking grim, adjusted a line. The nurse who had first burst in gave a small, shaky sigh of relief. The room was quiet again, but the silence was different. It was heavy with the recent struggle, thick with adrenaline and the lingering scent of antiseptic and fear.
My brother’s eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow but steady. The pale colour hadn’t left his face, but the look of wide, empty panic was gone. I moved tentatively back towards the bed, my legs shaky. The medical staff were doing quiet checks, writing on charts. I reached out again, my hand trembling, and gently took his. His skin was cool, but he didn’t pull away. He just lay there, fragile and exhausted, the battle won for this moment, but the war still far from over.