Laughter Is The Best Medicine CH7

>The clock counts down with agonizing slowness as you fidget in the hospital bed.

>Pinkie Pie, who hadn't left your side, lays a reassuring hoof on your hand, giving you the biggest smile she could muster.

"What's wrong, Pinkie? Your hoof is shaking, don't tell me you're nervous!" You laugh, trying to dispel your anxiety.

>"That's your hand that's shaking, not my hoof," she sighs.

"Oh, right."

>The uncomfortable silence returns, with Pinkie remaining uncharacteristically silent, as trying to restrain herself.

"Come on Pinkie, say something! I've got myself to worry about, I don't need to be worrying about you as well," you chuckle, ruffling her puffy, pink mane.

>"Sorry, Anon," she cries. "I'm just so pent up and worried and-"

>You silence her with a finger to the lips before she can become hysterical, and you bring her in for a gentle hug.

"It's going to be fine, Pinkie. I promise."

>"Pinkie promise?"

"Pinkie promise. Besides, it's just surgery on my legs. It's not like I'm getting a heart transplant or anything like that."

>"Don't say that, you'll jinx yourself!"

>Before another bout of hysterics come on, Redheart enters the ward.

>"You alright, Anon?"

"I'm doing fine. Better than Pinkie, that's for sure."

>"We're going into the operating theatre in ten minutes. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

>Redheart nods before turning to Pinkie. "Sorry, but you won’t be able to look on. You're more than welcome to come back once the operation's over though."

>"Alright then," she accepts glumly. "Make sure nothing bad happens to him, okay? Please?"

>Redheart chuckles in response, before shaking her head.

>"Pinkie Pie, we're doctors. That's our job," Redhearts giggles. "Anyway, I'll be back shortly. I'll let you two share a moment of peace."

>Redheart departs abruptly, leaving silence in her wake.

“There’s still an issue we haven’t discussed,” you say, as Pinkie cocks her head in confusion.

>”What is it?”

“I’m not going to be in the hospital forever, and especially not once the accelerated healing kicks in.”

>”You’re going to need somewhere to stay,” Pinkie says, her eyes widening slowly as she catches on to your implications.

“Exactly.”

>”Well, you can always come and stay with me! We’ve got plenty of room!”

“Pinkie, you’ve already told me where you live and in all honesty, I don’t think the Cakes can handle another guest.”

>”Trust me, it’ll be a-okay!” Pinkie reassures you, her enthusiasm invigorated by the prospects of you moving in with her. “We can make it work if we try, and I just know the Cakes would love to have you stay with us!”

“I hope you’re right.”

>The next few minutes pass in a much more comfortable silence, Pinkie contently nuzzling your hand in affection.

>You down upon your casts in bemusement, thinking about how short a time they had adorned your legs.

>It was long enough though, and you were appreciative of the magical procedure you were about to go under. If only medicine back home could benefit from the wonders of magic…

>The ten minute mark comes quickly, and the rattling of a stretcher soon reaches your ears.

>A few seconds later, Redheart and a number of other unfamiliar nurses wheel the awkwardly small stretcher in.

“Well, it’s time to go. Wish me luck, Pinkie.”

>”We don’t need luck!” Pinkie exclaims. “I know you’re going to be fine!”

“That’s the spirit!”

>You offer a final, reassuring smile to Pinkie before she’s ushered out of the ward.

>Slowly and carefully, you are lifted from the hospital bed which had confined you for weeks, and gently lowered onto the awaiting stretcher.

>Due to the size difference between you and the expected occupant of the stretcher, your head hangs limply off the top of the wheeled platform.

>Your legs thankfully remained supported, and after a thorough check to confirm your stability, the doctors begin to wheel you out of the ward.

>It doesn’t take long to reach the operating room, and soon you find yourself facing upwards towards the glare of the overhanging lamp.

>”Take this and breathe deeply,” Redheart commands, placing a rubber mask with a tube over your mouth.

>You’d seen enough medical dramas on TV to know what follows next, and you brace yourself for a blackout.

>As your lungs fill with anesthesia, your vision begins to darken, your senses dulling to the world. Before you can even realize it, you’ve passed out, darkness enveloping you…

 

(Pinkie’s POV)

“In hindsight, maybe Anon was right,” you mutter nervously to yourself as you enter Sugarcube Corner.

>Living with the Cakes was cramped enough as it was. And Anon would require a lot of time, space, and bits to accommodate.

>As you climbed the stairs, the implications and responsibilities of Anon living with you and the Cakes began to sink in.

“What if they say no? Then what will we do? Where will Anon go?”

>You ask these questions out loud, pacing up and down the corridor anxiously.

“What if the surgery goes bad? What if he’s stuck in the hospital forever? What if he never gets better?”

>”Pinkie?”

>You jump in surprise, wheeling round to face Mrs Cake.

“Oh! Hi there, Mrs Cake! How are Pumpkin and Pound today?”

>Your forced grin showed through your façade of cheerfulness, and Mrs Cake gives you a concerned look.

>”It’s clear as day that something’s wrong, Pinkie. Is it to do with your little friend?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. Maybe.”

>You take a deep breathe, before babbling an explanation to Mrs Cake.

“Okay, so Anon’s gone in for surgery and hopefully he’ll be walking soon but he’s going to need a place to stay and I said he could stay here!”

>Mrs Cake narrows her brow, regarding you curiously.

“I couldn’t just say no! He’s got nowhere else to go, what else can I do for him!”

>”Pinkie, we really don’t have the room for another family member,” Mrs Cake sighs. “We’re barely managing as it is.”

“Please? Pretty please?” You beg. “I can make it work, I promise!”

>A teary face is enough to break Mrs Cake’s staunch assertion.

>”Fine, Pinkie. I’ll talk it over with my husband, and see what can be done. No guarantees, though.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

>You envelope Mrs Cake in a hug, which she reluctantly but warmly returns.

>”Now that’s out of the way, don’t let me catch you with a frown on your face, understood?” she demands with a half serious tone.

“Yes, ma’am!” you respond enthusiastically.

>”Great! Now be a dear and tend to this afternoon’s batch of cupcakes, would you?”

“On it!”

>You soon find yourself lost in the therapeutic bliss of lazy afternoon baking, Mrs Cake’s words having calmed your anxieties.

>Maybe you should throw a party for Anon once the operation is done. He might protest at the prospect of Pinkie Pie parties, but it’d be criminal not to celebrate a success like that.

>Although, you do remember the time when you had a tooth removed due to dental decay. You didn’t come down from the painkiller high for hours…

>Maybe it’d be best to give Anon some resting time. Just for the night.

 

(Anon’s POV)

>The familiar beep of the heart-rate monitor greets you as you awaken from your artificial slumber.

>Through your groggy vision and dimmed light of the ward, you spy the wall mounted clock, and groan at the time.

“Bah, three in the morning…” you mutter, annoyed at your early awaking.

>A dull, persistent pain emanates from your legs, which were now thankfully free from their casts, and you attempt to move them.

>The searing pain that courses through them quickly changes your mind, and you let your legs lie there unmoving.

>In hindsight, it was dumb to expect perfectly working legs mere hours after surgery.

>Time passes slowly as you stare up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, before the boredom overtakes you.

“Hello?” you call out, hoping for a response.

>The brisk sound of hoofsteps approaches and Redheart herself appears, her eyes laden heavy with tell-tale tiredness.

“Up this late? Don’t you ever sleep?” you chuckle.

>”Not when I’m needed,” she retorts, offering a tired smile. “I figured you’d be waking up at some point tonight, and so I made sure to be here for you.”

“Thanks, Redheart.”

>She sits herself in the seat next to you, giving you a strange look of satisfaction.

>”I’m sure you want to know how the surgery went, yes?”

“I’m guessing it went well if the casts are staying off.”

>”Well, from the initial observations, the spell seems to have worked. Of course, we’ll have to keep you here until you’re fit to walk, and to make sure none of the unintended side effects kick in.”

“Side effects?”

>”You’re aware of the dangers of attempting magical surgery, yes?”

“Well, I knew it was dangerous, but not any specifics.”

>Redheart sighs.

>”Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, but…”

>She pauses for a moment.

>”There’s a chance – a small chance, mind you – that the healing factor will accelerate beyond control or repair.”

>You imagine that scenario, before shuddering.

“So it’ll pretty much turn my legs into giant tumours, right?”

>”Something like that. In such a scenario the option would be… amputation.”

>You’d laugh at the irony if it wasn’t such a horrifying prospect.

>”But, that’s not likely to happen.”

>You nod.

“So, when can I expect to be out of here?”

>”A few weeks, give or take.”

“Alright then. I can work with a few weeks.”

>You chuckle, before the pain in your leg flares up.

“Damn, it’s really beginning to annoy me. Is it meant to be hurting?”

>”We’re accelerating your bodies’ natural healing abilities. A bit of pain isn’t surprising.”

“It’s more than a bit,” you say through gritted teeth. “Will it hurt this bad for the next three weeks?”

>Redheart offers you a sympathetic smile.

>”We’ll make sure it doesn’t. Is the discomfort unbearable?”

“No, I can cope with it.”

>”Alright then,” Redheart says with a tired sigh. “I’m going home now. There’s still a doctor on night shift, so help is here if you need it.”

“Night Redheart. And thank you.”

>She offers you a final smile before departing, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

>The next few weeks were definitely going to be tough, that’s for sure.

>No doubt you’ll be relying on Pinkie’s company even more-so…