"And this is the one that's gonna help?"
"Well - help is a word we try not to use here." The nurse said cheerily. "You're part of the fourth quadrant group of patients, which means that all of these treatments are on the very outer edges of science."
Flynn winced as the needle jabbed into his shoulder, before the nurse applied the patch directly over the injection site. He'd need to keep the patch on for at least a week.
"And what about the others who have tried this treatment?" He asked.
The nurse paused for a moment in the process of putting away the needle, before finally sliding the empty syringe and vials into the case and the tip into the trashcan.
"Well, Mr. Devers, I won't lie to you - none of the other fourth quadrant patients have shown any reaction to this particular treatment, but like I said. This is a process. You'll have to bear with us while we cycle through new treatments."
Flynn fought to contain the sigh. It was the way of the world after all. It was hardly the first time he'd heard that message from a healthcare professional. He shrugged his shirt back over his shoulder and did up the buttons in the front.
"Hey - at least you're still doing well. Not a lot of patients that come through here can work out like you do."
Flynn grunted again. It wasn't easy, staying in shape, but he'd kept it up, despite the fact that his body was starting to feel like it was falling apart. The aches had increased steadily over the past year, and he was contemplating scaling back how much he went to the gym.
Well. Hopefully this would work.
The staff at the hospital waved him goodbye as he made his way out the door. Most of them recognized him by now, especially the ladies at reception, since he'd been coming here every week or two for what felt like ages now, even if it was just over a year and a half.
The injection site burned something fierce, and Flynn kept rolling his shoulders to try and ease some of the pain. Maybe that meant it was working? It was easy to be hopeful on the first round of treatments. By the time he'd been entered into the fourth quadrant (treatment resistant, experimental therapies), he was starting to get a lot more realistic about his prognosis.
To his surprise, by the time he pulled out of the lot, he was feeling something. Hunger, mostly. That was its own reward, he supposed. Still, he'd mostly just been feeling slightly nauseous for weeks, so he decided to indulge his desires.
Flynn's favorite burger joint was conveniently located between the hospital and his house, and he pulled into the drivethrough a short while later, whistling as he rolled the window down. He had forgotten how nice it was to just feel hungry.
Though he did have to admit he seldom felt this starved.
"Welcome to Lightningburger, where all our meals come to you lightning fast." The voice droned out of the speaker.
"Yeah, I'll have a cheeseburger, and an order of fries. Oh, and a large chocolate shake."
Flynn paused for a moment as his stomach grumbled.
"Uh, actually make that two of each, please."
"Anything else?" The employee sounded bored.
"Some hashbrowns?" Flynn said, surprising himself.
"Sure thing. Pull around please."
His stomach grumbled again as he pulled around. The moment the mouth-watering aroma of the bags entered his car, Flynn had a hard time stopping himself from chowing down right away.
Rather than driving home, he pulled into one of the parking lots and destroyed one of the bags of food right then and there. He eyed the second bag speculatively, sipping on one of the chocolate shakes.
Nah, better to save it for home. He kicked the car into gear and threw on a some driving music. The ten minute drive went by in a flash, and by the time he pulled into his apartment building's driveway he was already picking at the fries from the second bag. The second burger vanished down his gullet between the entryway and the kitchen, and the rest of the fries were gone a moment later.
The last dregs of the milkshake burbled at the bottom of his straw and Flynn stared down at the styrofoam cup with a nonplussed expression on his face.
What the hell? He had just eaten two full Lightningburger meals... and he was still hungry. Flynn glanced around the kitchen. He had a little bit of leftover pasta and meatsauce from the night before...
Flynn hummed a little tune to himself as watched the pasta bowl spin in the microwave. He'd found a couple of burritos in the freezer, which was a nice find, and he was currently chowing down on a couple rolled up tortillas smeared with peanut butter and bananas. Maybe after he finished the pasta, he'd be full. Maybe.
After the pasta, he worked his way through the burritos, a frozen Indian food instant-dinner, a bowl of yoghurt with granola, two more bananas, two jerky-sticks he'd found in the back of his pantry, and half a can of cashews.
Flynn burped and rolled his shoulders again. Thankfully the burning sensation was starting to cease, and the endless void in his stomach was... well, it wasn't gone, but it felt better? Maybe after some icecream, Flynn thought to himself as he pulled the Ben and Jerry's out of the fridge.
An hour later, and Flynn finally felt like he'd made some appreciable progress. Anything that was edible in his fridge was now inside of him, and to his surprise he didn't feel stuffed at all. He just felt sated, in an appropriate way. The way he'd normally feel after a properly sized meal, not the... twenty thousand calories? Thirty? That he had just packed away.
Still - he felt pretty good all things considered. Flynn didn't really think it had anything to do with the shots, medicine never worked that quickly, but at least in this case it wasn't hurting.
A comfortable drowsiness settled over him as he sat back on the couch. It was almost like the time he'd accidentally grabbed two pot brownies instead of regular brownies from his friend Mark's party. He'd sat down on his couch and just felt like he was melting backward into the cushions. He felt a little bit like that right now, like he was just sliding backwards into a comfortable, endless abyss.
***
Flynn snapped back awake to the blaring sound of a lawnmower just below his window. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them of sleep as he tried to organize his thoughts. It was light out. Good.
Lawnmowers? Ah. They did that every week. He rolled his shoulders, and was surprised by the fact that it felt pretty good. He'd started moving a little differently over the past year, trying to avoid the pain that was starting to seem inescapable. Except now it seemed he had escaped it, at least temporarily. He shuffled to his feet.
Phone.
Flynn's hands groped around until he found it on his couch. He mashed the side buttons ineffectively for a few seconds before he realized it was out of juice. That didn't seem right. Did he forget to charge it? Or...? What did he even do yesterday?
The pile of food wrappings and boxes in the trash clued him in as she shuffled through the kitchen. Oh right. He'd been so hungry. And then... he'd fallen asleep.
And the apartment building did lawncare on Wednesdays, which meant he'd slept overnight.
Flynn finally made it to the bathroom, and pulled down his sweats before sitting down on the porcelain throne. The first piss of the day felt downright orgasmic, a perfect release of tension that seemed to sweep away the rest of the sleepiness.
Wait a second. The apartment building did lawncare on Thursdays, not Wednesdays. What the hell? He'd been to the clinic on Tuesday...
Flynn stumbled over his sweatpants in his haste, kicking them aside as he ran towards his office. He plugged his phone in, but the battery was completely drained, so he booted up his laptop.
Thursday, May 20th, 2027.
Two days? That wasn't possible. Thank god he'd been off work this week for treatment... but still.
His eyes flicked over to the calendar.
Ah shit.
The care coordinator was supposed to come by... in five minutes.
Shit shit shit shit.
