The Second Chance

It was Wednesday evening around 9:00 pm when the ignorant, stuck-up doctor walked into my home at the Hopeful Hospice.

"Oh, goody! Room service."

"No, Mr. McAllister. Meet your new nurse, Mila."

A spunky, twenty-something brunette with sparkling, pale blue eyes entered, draped in the traditional scrubs. She obliviously bounced along, humming whatever song was blasting through her earbuds. Once she looked up, twinkling violet lights refracted from her eyes. This shattered the icy ambiance a certain disassociated doctor had created.

He furrowed his brow in frustration. "Mila, take those godforsaken things out of your ears!" She flailed her arms sporadically to make them disappear as quickly as she could. "This is Chance McAllister. He's been with us for quite some time, so take good care of him." He then turned and left, as the traditional time reserved for patient empathy had run up.

Mila pulled her hands from her pockets and greeted me with the friendliest of smiles. "Hi, Mr. McAllister. I'm sorry to keep you, but since I'm just clocking in, I have to take your vitals one last time. Is that alright?"

I couldn't reach the bed's control panel fast enough. "Of course, Mila. Thank you for caring enough to ask. You are one thousand times kinder than that elitist associate of yours back there." She let slip an adorable giggle. It was deliriously infectious, but I would never even think of telling her that for one simple reason. I could never live life as a burden on her mind, and no matter how much she had reminded me of my long lost Elsa, my lips would eternally be sealed.

"Okay, Mr. McAllister. I'm going to need to take your blood pressure, so just lie back and rel—Aaah!"

She tripped over the various machinery as she attempted to grab the cuff. "Be careful!" When she stood back up, an aroma reminiscent of vibrant cherries bathed in luxurious amber prickled my senses. If things didn't change soon, I was going to have to ask her to leave.

"Aww. Thank you, Mr. McAll—"

"Call me Chance, Mila."

"Well, Chance, thanks for your concern, but I have to ask. Why are you so much nicer to me than Dr. Clark?" She stood at my bedside.

Before I could even comprehend how to respond, my head erupted like it was being stuck on a spit. "Me-lugh—..." My mouth gaped open and everything went black.

I reopened my eyes, but was shocked to see I was in a completely different room. I felt healthy, and young, and not at all like myself. However, I didn't take time to think and instantly picked up the nearest phone.

After five distended rings, a sniffling woman answered, "H-H-Hopeful Hospice, this is Mila. How can I help you?"

That voice warmed my soul as it had when I last saw her. I honestly didn't know what to say. So, I started with...

"Hi, Mila. It's Chance."