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Doug Eiffel hates hospitals.
For one thing, everyone has to wear shoes at all times. Who wants to be in a place like that? He hates the cruel irony of life and death so close- people experiencing such different emotions should be given their own space. He hates the over-sanitation, the blank cream-colored walls, the people who can come and go as they please while others are bound there for the rest of their lives. He hates the fact that it took him away from Hawaii, from his home, to San Francisco, where the rain is cold and the windows are glass.
When his mom sat him and his siblings down to tell them the news, he just thought she had figured out about the fork in the dryer. He wasn't really paying attention. But when the word "cancer" hit his ears, he was taken by surprise. He tried to pay attention after that, but his mind was so shocked, so in denial, that he only caught a few words- tumor, brain, dad, moving, sorry. He registered crying, panicked questions, and shouts of outrage, but all he could comprehend was his younger sister falling in his lap, sobs shaking her shoulders, and his own vision blurring, from tears and from mind-numbing pain.
His dad slipped away from him slowly, by inches, so he knew there was no hope. Doug was always his favorite, and his mom was slipping away from the world in the hands of grief, so Doug was his father’s leader, his tether to reality. Doug knows how it feels to be strong, to be a leader to someone in that kind of pain.
Doug Eiffel hates hospitals. Rural Hawaii doesn't have them, and Doug is so grateful. He sees enough of his dad's ghost in his dreams- his struggle to speak, his loss of mobility, his waning diet, the medication erasing his identity, his increasing amount of time spent sleeping, until his consciousness slipped away for good- he doesn't need it haunting his waking hours.
The medical bills took away everything they had. The remaining money went to their moms drinking and, eventually, Doug's smoking. How ironic, that the cancer he hated so much led him to what is probably the most carcinogenic activity known to man, but you can't think about that too much when you're high on nicotine and marijuana.
Why couldn't they just let him go? It would have been easier for everyone, it would just be over, in the past, out of the way. No pain, no debt, no replacing the oxygen in your lungs with smoke until you can't breathe, but who needs to breathe, it's a waste of energy, a waste of space and resources. Who needs Doug? He couldn't help his mom or dad, and his sister has other siblings to help her recover. He's just a waste of oxygen.
When command offered him the spot, he took it faster than you might think. Good pay, more money for pizza and drugs- cigarettes and booze and god knows what else. And there's no oxygen to waste in space. So much room, you can't feel like you're wasting it, you feel small, unimportant, and quite frankly, he never wanted to be important to anyone or anything ever again.
The news of the Decima hit him hard. It reminds him that everyone is vulnerable, especially him, even though he tried for so long to act invincible, as though if he tried hard enough it would become reality, and he would never be hurt again, because Doug has hurt enough for the rest of the world.
He wants to shield himself from the world- no, he wants to shield the world from him. He wants Minkowski to hate him, so it won't hurt when he inevitably disappoints her. He wants Hera to let him go, to be cold, so he can't leave her like he left his sister, and how his mother left him.
Doug Eiffel hates hospitals.