I'm gonna kick your ass. Yeah, I'm gonna --

If you had told me 'Love is Blind' a year ago I would have told you that love hadn't seen Alex Karev. Not that I loved him, because really I don't think I even had time for such a complex emotion, but I know a year ago that I was seeing things in him that no one else saw. You can't be blind to that and at the same time seeing the truth in him. No one saw it though, or at least not at first.

Hell, even at times I couldn't see it. He'd take these innocent gestures that could have bordered on endearing and then cap them off with a crass remark. It was like holding your hand while you crossed the street, and then smacking your ass on a job well done for not getting hit by a car. That small backhanded compliment thing, that I guess he just doesn't even notice.

So love isn't blind, I think it's just confused on what exactly you want. Because I thought I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a surgeon, a damn good one too. I was going to be professional, and get recognized for all my work and my efforts. I was going to make it.

Love just didn't get the memo. Now that was a year ago, and Denny I know you didn't want me writing about Love and Alex in the same post, but trust me this today post gets better, and you know that now things are a bit different for me.

Denny Duquette was a patient, which no offense to him was already a strike against him. I wasn't supposed to become involved with my patients. In fact surgeons are top of the list for not getting too emotionally involved with their patients. We hold their lives in the balance constantly, and having too much emotion, is a career killer. Compassion is good, and caring leads to an excellent bedside manner. Involvement... that leads to emotions. Emotions can put a hinderence in almost anything you want to do surgically. The percentages seem graver when you are emotionally involved, because that seventy-five percentage of success suddenly feels more like a one in four chance that they'll die. So really, you aren't supposed to get attached to your patients.

Denny Duquette was a stubborn man though, and all that good old Southern charm just wore me down, and eventually I knew that there wasn't anything that could help me. I had fallen for him, and let me tell you if Love is blind, it has not seen the way Denny looks at me. Hell it hasn't laid eyes on me since I found Love, because if Love had seen how happy he made me? It would have to find a new cliche to toss around.

Love can't be blind to everything, it can't shut it's eyes to what you feel, because it's love. Love opens your eyes, and makes you see things that you never thought you'd want to look at.

Even if Love was blind, I wouldn't believe you for a moment, because I know it's seen me recently, and there's no looking away from it.

I don't scare easily. Not like that horror movie scare though, because that's another story. I mean the heart in your throat wondering just what's going on type scared. The kind where you think that this could be it, this could be the end of everything you had been clinging to.

My pager went off, and almost all the pages have different codes, and all of them have patient names attached to them, just so that when you get the page you know exactly where you need to be going to. When my pager went off that afternoon I was scared. I probably shouldn't have let myself even get to that point, but by then it was already far beyond anything I could have stopped on my own.

Denny had gotten his LVAD, and it was going to help bridge the gap between the day to day, and when he would finally get his heart. He needed the LVAD, and I knew it, but at the same time it was a lot of risk to take. Sticking by his choice, and his attempt at trying to make his life a bit easier to manage I admit I panicked when the code came to her pager. It was Denny, and something was wrong.

A million things raced through my mind, malfunction, arrest, anything and everything that could go wrong might have gone wrong. I found him with a nurse at his side and that look of stubborn frustration on his face. He had pushed too hard, too fast. I tried to not show that concern, that scared look that I might have lost him in the time it took me to get to him. I knew he didn't need it, he didn't need me worried about him anymore than he already had to deal with.

He had fallen though, and it scared me that it happened, probably more that he let it happen. He knew the LVAD wasn't going to make things better, that it was just meant to make things easier on him. He fell and all I wanted to do was to help him get back up, I wanted to help him see that he wasn't alone.

That night the line that I knew I had been dancing around, the line between patient and doctor blurred beyond recognition. I was going to be there for him, and not because I needed to be there, but because I wanted to be needed. I was going to stay by his side that night, not because I wanted him to feel better, or not to feel alone, but because I knew he wasn't alone anymore, that no matter how many times he fell, I wanted to be there helping him get back up.