The doctor studied my test results and urgently called for the head of the department.
“How long have you been troubled by this?” asked the physician, carefully pressing on Marinas abdomen.
“About two weeks. But the sharp pain started three days ago.”
Vera frowned as she made notes in the file.
“Have you noticed any yellowing of your skin or the whites of your eyes?”
Marina blinked in confusion.
“Is there any? I hadnt noticed…”
“Just slight, but its there.” The doctor set down her pen. “We must arrange an ultrasound and further tests immediately. Can you stay for them?”
“Yes, of course. Ive no lessons this afternoon.”
The next two hours became a blur of examination rooms, blood samples, and waiting. The ultrasound showed an enlarged liver and an unusual mass, which the doctor mentioned cautiously. “We must wait for all the results.”
Marina returned home exhausted. More than the pain, the uncertainty troubled her. Twenty-five years of teaching literature had taught her to value clarity and precision.
The flat felt empty. Her daughter, Sophie, had left to study in another city, and her husband had moved on five years ago, taken up with a younger colleague. Only Whiskers, her faithful tabby, remained, leaping onto her lap, demanding attention.
“Well then, old friend, shall we have tea and revisit Dickens?” she asked, scratching behind his ears.
The evening passed in a haze of distractionmarking essays, watching her favourite drama, ringing Sophiebut her thoughts always circled back to the pending results.
The next morning, Vera called herself.
“Marina, you must come to the clinic today. The results are in.”
Her voice held a tension she tried to mask with professionalism. Marinas heart sank.
The office was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock. Vera shuffled papers, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Marina, your liver function tests and bilirubin are severely elevated. Combined with the ultrasound findings…” She hesitated. “I think you need a specialist consultation at the county hospital. Ive already spoken to the head of gastroenterologytheyll see you tomorrow.”
“Is it… serious?” Marinas throat tightened.
“I dont wish to alarm you prematurely, but yes, theres cause for concern. Hospitalisation may be necessary.”
The next day, Marina sat in the stark waiting room of the county hospital. The grey, post-war building loomed with endless corridors and the sharp tang of antiseptic.
A young doctor, introduced as Dr. Oliver, was thorough and kind. He asked about her symptoms, habits, family history, and studied the results carefully.
“Your work must be stressful?” he asked, scanning the reports.
“Yes, I teach literature to sixth-formers.”
“And when did you last take a proper holiday, without marking or lesson planning?”
Marina smiled faintly.
“I fear never. Even summers are spent preparing for the next term.”
Dr. Oliver shook his head and continued reviewing the results. Suddenly, his expression changed. He reread a page, cross-checked the numbers, then excused himself, taking the file with him.
Marina sat alone, her pulse thudding so loudly she swore it echoed down the hall. “It must be bad if he fled,” she thought, fighting panic.
Minutes later, the door swung open. Dr. Oliver returned with an older physician, his beard neatly trimmed, his bearing calm.
“Dr. Whitmore, head of the department,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand. “Please, lets discuss your case.”
He reviewed the results intently, then peered over his spectacles.
“Tell me, Marina, are you on any regular medication? Herbal remedies, supplements?”
“No, just the occasional painkiller for headaches.”
“Nothing new recently?”
She paused.
“Well… there were these liver capsules. A neighbour recommended them. I took the course, but they didnt help, so I stopped two weeks ago.”
Dr. Whitmore and Dr. Oliver exchanged glances.
“Do you recall the name?”
“Something like LiverAid, perhaps. I might still have the box at home.”
Dr. Whitmore leaned back.
“You see, Marina, your case is unusual. Some markers suggest severe liver damage, yet others dont align with typical presentations. We suspect drug-induced hepatotoxicity.”
“From those capsules?”
“Possibly. Even approved medications can provoke adverse reactions, especially over-the-counter remedies taken without consultation.”
A stab of guilt pierced her. She had bought them on a whim, never thinking to ask a doctor.
“What now?” she whispered.
