Yellow Lines

Chapter 19 - The Bad

Jerry and I took a seat behind the doctor's desk. The room was small and built for three to four persons to occupy it comfortably. It had a shelf with some books, a blood pressure machine, and some other devices used for rapid testing. The walls were mint green and white. I cleared my throat and waited as he sifted through his papers.

He was about to speak when his phone rang. He spent two minutes on the call and then called the front desk to tell some girl named Mary to not send anymore calls through. All that time, my patience thinned. Delaying my ill fate was making me short-circuit. I fidgeted uncontrollably, and Jerry had to hold my hand.

"Alright, Ms. Clarke, how are you today? How are you feeling?"

Was he for real? How could he ask a stupid question like that knowing damn well I looked like shit? Not to mention, the bad news I was about to receive. "Honestly, I feel like shit. So, can you please get on with my bad news so I can feel even worse?" I blinked.

The doctor shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I apologize for the delay... However, since our last meeting, have you experienced any of the problems you've described?"

"Uh... No, not really. Only a headache recently when I received some unexpected news." I hadn't even noticed my symptoms disappeared.

"Ok. That is good to hear." Dr. Dorn scribbled on his notepad, lifted another paper, and scribbled again before looking up at me. "The headache is probably an aftereffect and shouldn't be a problem in the near future."

"So, what's the problem? Am I dying of cancer? What is the cause of all of this mess happening to me?" I was practically peeling the skin off the back of my hand.

"Was happening. You are no longer having them."

My jaw tensed. "What is the problem?" I gritted out.

Dr. Dorn pulled out another form and notes from an envelope and spread it across his desk. He then handed me an envelope which I quickly took out.

"What's this?" I asked, eyeing at the mumbo-jumbo. None of the things on the paper I could understand.

I handed the empty envelope to Jerry who sat there patiently listening and waiting.

"Ms. Clarke, the medication you took as prescribed by this Dr. Fitza caused your trauma," the doctor explained.

I raised a brow. "What?"

"Comfophizamine, also known as B-Lign A, is the name of the drug Dr. Fitza prescribed for you. We ran a test on a sample given to us by Mr. Geronimo."

I looked at Jerry. I didn't know he gave them a sample. I just thought he had shown them the bottle.

"It was banned in 2003 for showing high levels of blood, stomach and uterine toxicity," he continued.

What the fuck was I hearing? Even Jerry's eyebrows almost touched his hairline.

I stood and paced the small room. "That's way over a decade ago, doctor."

"Yes, I'm not sure how she could prescribe you the drugs as it is only available for testing in the UK."

What the fuck? "That bitch!" I screamed. I wanted to choke something. Anything.

"You should have completed the medication prescribed from Grenada. You would have been fine," Dr. Dorn continued.

Dr. Fitza and Mrs. Steino. Those wretches. "I don't understand because a pharmacist gave me the medication at the hospital."

"I don't know, Ms. Clarke, sometimes doctors may enter the pharmacy area to verify drugs. She may have switched them," he shrugged.

"That snake."