Of Illnesses And Antidotes

Chapter Thirteen

Pulling the surgical mask off my face, I toss it in the bin and collapse into a chair. The storeroom feels emptier now Marcia has left. Doctor Craig decided it would be better for her if she recovered somewhere else. I couldn't agree more. For an hour or two she didn't move from her chair; she just sat there, silently, staring at the wall with a dull look on her face. She didn't even flinch when I dropped a box of tablets nor did she respond when I asked her how she was. Stupid question, I guess, but nonetheless, she said nothing. She didn't even acknowledge my voice.

I help myself to a cup of water from the dispenser in the corner of the room and open up my medication package. Taking out two, tiny sugar pills, I slip them into my mouth and chase them down with a mouthful of water. I take a second swig then relax back into my chair. Breathing in deeply, I let out a sigh. My eyelids gently close.

Just then, a loud knock slams into my ears. Forcing my eyes open, I catch Doctor Perry popping her head around the door. "Ah, there you are, Naomi."

"What have I done now?" I ask wearily.

"Nothing. Well, at least, I think you've done nothing." She smiles at me and passes over a small, crumpled packet of medicinal tablets. "These need to be checked on the DTM. I would do it myself but an emergency staff meeting has been called. You know how to work it right?"

"Erm-"

"Great, well, I'll see you later." She nods her head and disappears before I get a chance to reply.

I sigh and stand up. "There's always time for learning, I suppose."

Taking the five-yard walk from one side of the room to the other, I pull up a chair next to the DTM. It's a compact machine made up of a moderately sized, hollow black box with a smaller, silver box attached on top. On one side of the black box is a timer in the top-left corner, a round, red button in the top-right corner and a large glass pane that covers a door in the centre. On the adjacent side, a list of instructions is plastered against the metal wall. Peering at it, I read the method carefully.

"Take your drugs and place them in the beaker. If the drug is in liquid form, pour it straight in. If it is a solid, crumble it into the beaker." Opening the bag, I withdraw several sugar tablets. "Where's the beaker?"

Looking through the glass pane, I spy the beaker positioned on a turntable. Opening the door, I reach in and crumble the medicine into the beaker. When all that is left is the stain of white powder on my fingers, I glance back to the instructions. "Add a few drops of dye from the upper container to the drugs."

Using my free hand, I take a tiny jar of blackish dye out of the silver box. Unscrewing the lid, I carefully add a few drops of it to the beaker then return the jar to the box. Shutting the door, I look back to the instruction. "Press the button to start." I press the red button and the machine judders to life, whirring and clicking like some ancient relic that hasn't been used for fifty years. "If testing for toxicity, wait to see if the mixture turns an orange-brown colour. Wait no longer than fifteen minutes. If testing for the time it takes for the toxicity to kick in, watch the time and make note of when the mixture changes to an orange-brown colour. Each minute in the DTM stands for one day after taking the medication."

Frowning, I glance back to the beaker inside the machine. Tiny white particles are still swimming in the gloopy, black dye. I shrug and sit there watching it move slowly inside as the turntable spins around and around. Moments later, the mixture suddenly changes. Its rich, inky shade merges into a dirty amber hue. Startled, I slam down on the stop button and the turntable halts. Opening the door, I remove the beaker and stare into it.