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There are days when it hits Baizhu harder than others. Not always right away, but often in the middle of the day. A simple flare up of pain and in the back of his mind, he starts spiraling even as he keeps up an appearance of calm with a smile on his face for Qiqi and his patients.
But there are days when it hits him that there’s no cure. There will be no end to his condition, to freedom or relief or cure. That he will deal with this for the rest of his life, no matter what he does to keep himself healthy or stop flare-ups from happening.
And it’s not fair. He knows how childish of a thought that is. Life isn’t fair and Baizhu knows that better than most.
But there is just something so… heavy , to look at yourself in the mirror and realize how young you are and how few years you’ve lived and how many more you have to suffer .
And it’s not…well…
It’s not fair .
Not fair to look out the window and see Liyuens his own age, living their lives pain free and happy while he has days when the pain wakes him and he cannot function the rest of the day.
Not fair to feel drained, exhausted, weak because of the pain that, though it lives in one place, affects his entire being and thus, his energy for the entire day.
Not fair that no one will ever understand what he’s going through. Will understand something on a very very surface level, but will never understand how he truly feels. They’ll sympathize, sure, but none of theme have to live with the agonizing reality that the only escape is death and Baizhu is too much of a coward, afraid of death and more pain, to seek that exit.
Yet.
Changsheng always knows when he has those days. Though she’s never confirmed it, Baizhu suspects she can tell in the morning when he wakes, even if he doesn’t get struck by the thought until later. She always clings closer to him, soothes him through the day, prompts him to rest between patients when his thoughts get darker.
She convinces him to stay in bed on the really bad days, when the pain is so bad that he can’t get out of bed anyway. She gets him everything he needs, with the help of Qiqi who, for all she is sweet and gentle, never seems to understand why their routine gets thrown off.
Baizhu suspects but has no confirmation, but he thinks Changsheng must have explained something to Qiqi, maybe explains it every day, or even wrote it in her little book, but when the snake returns with his meds from the bathroom, Qiqi is always close behind with a glass of water held carefully in her tiny hands.
Once he takes his meds and settles back down, she climbs into bed with him and curls up. She never says anything or asks any questions. Maybe because Changsheng has already explained it, maybe because she already knows, or maybe it’s something else that Baizhu could never hope to guess.
On bad days, he’s thankful she doesn’t ask questions. Thankful that she contents herself with simply being there, lending her presence, as she pours over her little book. The only question she ever asks is who he is but she has been with him long enough that it’s now a simple, “Dr. Baizhu?” that doesn’t require anything more intense than a simple nod.
Changsheng talks to him sometimes. She never expects answers though and always knows when the pain is so bad that he can’t stand the sound of someone else’s voice.
Sometimes he has pain that he can still function through. Doesn’t mean he wants to, but he can. Somewhat. Changsheng always advised him against it. She knows he doesn’t want his patients to see that he’s hurt and sick too, and sometimes, even if his pain isn’t bad enough to stop him from working, he can’t stop himself from freezing, holding his breath, or anything to survive through the few agonizing waves that hit him.
Then there’s also the matter of how being on his feet, while in pain, makes him exhausted. Being in pain makes him exhausted, but it’s worse when he’s using up what little energy isn’t sapped from the pain.
On the days he can be up despite the pain, but Changsheng refuses to let him open the pharmacy, Baizhu sorts herbs and cleans and does anything he can to stay out of bed despite how painful the exhaustion is because laying in bed isn’t going to do anything but make him feel worse.
Qiqi follows him very closely on those days, clinging to his robes when he’s doing something she can’t help with, either because she can’t remember how or because she’s too short or simply because Baizhu is just too tired to help.
She’s close on his heels, little fingers curled in his pants or robes and eyes staring up at him, as if watching and waiting to help, should something happen. When he has to stop and breathe through the pain, Changsheng curls a little closer and Qiqi presses against his leg.
Silent reminders that he isn’t alone. Physically, at least.
Because no matter how much they care for him, they’re just like everyone else.
They sympathize. But they will never understand.