Chloe walked into her daughter Amy’s dark bedroom and sat on the neatly made bed, after opening the windows. She carefully looked around, with her weak flickering eyes, while breathing through the nasal cannula, because without it, she’d have a hard time breathing alone. Her illness has gotten worse, and her pain hasn’t shown any progress to recede. But tomorrow was always on her mind, for her hope hasn’t wilted yet. One day, I’d be okay, a song that constantly played in her head.

After Chloe inhaled the fresh air into her soft lungs, she scanned the room, and found it being too tidy clean. Everything was perfectly organized, which always made her quite surprised. A bright smile lurked on her face, and she felt her weak heart skip beats. The bed didn’t even have a tiny wrinkle on it. Amy arranged her books according to subject matters, on the small and slim black bookshelf. A desktop computer with a monitor screen sat in the middle, with two wireless speakers on the opposite edges of the study desk. The closet looked spotless, for Amy folded her clothes by colors and sizes. Her shoes were perfectly aligned on the shoe rack inside the closet. There were music band posters posted above the long drawer as Amy mostly loved listening to Hip Hop and Rock N Roll.

When Chloe turned her attention, she saw a well-framed, big photo album on the bed-stand. She opened it and looked through it. The album was filled with unforgettable memories they both shared. When Chloe saw Amy’s sparkling smiles on one of the pictures, she remembered the place she had taken it. It was a place she’d never forget, for they had gone to on a special cruise vacation, mother and daughter together. Suddenly, tears made their ways down to the corners of her red eyes, raging faster than a wildfire and dropped on Amy’s sparkling face. She wiped off the fallen tears and let her fingers linger over her daughter’s blushing face. For a second, she felt her hands shake in fear.

Chloe silently studied everything about her daughter and felt proud of Amy. She thought of herself as a lucky mother because being a teenager at Amy’s age, most of them are trouble makers for their parents. But Chloe felt super about her daughter, for Amy has always been an exception to the rules of teenagers; she was rather a child with a heart of an angel. Chloe often thought that she gave birth to an angel than to a human flesh, because she wondered about Amy’s brave and big heart.

Chloe sighed heavily once more and soaked in all the air in the room as much as her deteriorating lungs could master and stood up to head out. She knew the imminent darkness might’ve been near, yet she refused to close her eyes forever. Not just yet. Since the bad news had broken, she’s been struggling with her diagnosis and refused to go through all the recommended procedures by her doctors.

When she got closer to the exit, she looked outside through the clear window panes and saw the burning flames of the sun. She smiled happily, although she felt an excruciating sharp pain in her stomach.

She’s accepted that maybe science can’t fix everything, so they should then be left to fate.

https://theprose.com/book/2114/the-third-patient-collaborative-writers

Chloe felt her left pocket vibrate, snapping her back to the present. She brushed her graying blonde hair out of her face and reached down her pocket to pull out her cell phone. From the lock screen she could read the short text her sister sent her.

Everything okay? The message read.

Chloe swiped the screen to reply but hesitated. What was she supposed to say to that? Yes? But she isn’t. Amy’s not here and never will be again; the bottom of Naryville Lake and Amy herself saw to that. No? But being here puts Chloe at ease. Being in Amy’s room, trailing her fingers along the light switch Amy herself had used so many times, and drinking in Amy’s signature cherry blossom aroma all over her bedsheets and furniture eased Chloe’s weakened heart. This is Amy; Amy is here.

Amy was here, she reminded herself. Chloe felt her heart leap to her throat, and her chest tightened. She began to feel dizzy. She turned away from the window and placed her oxygen tank back on the bed next to where she would sit. As she began to strategically rotate her body to keep her plugged in to the tank, her eye caught the corner of a dark grey book--the only thing in the room that looked out of place--lying on the other windowsill, semi-hidden behind the lavender curtains.

Chloe picked up her oxygen tank to approach and investigate the mysterious book. Upon extracting it from behind the curtain, she saw it was a journal. Its hematite color branded it as a foreign object amid a room full of soft pinks, purples, and the occasional yellow. Chloe opened the journal and found a messaged scrawled inside the front cover in messy handwriting:

Brandon’s journal. Don’t touch my shit.

That explains it, Chloe thought. This journal belongs to Amy’s ex. She recalled one evening in which Amy had informed her of their breakup, which had occurred several months before Amy’s body was found. She knew the police had questioned Brandon, but he had been in rehab for a while, so there wasn’t much that he knew. Strange his journal would be here though, as he went missing the day after Amy’s funeral, which was last month. This meant he must have been here, not in rehab, but how could he have gotten in? The last time Chloe had been here she could have sworn she locked all the doors and windows. What’s more, why would he leave this here?

Chloe turned the page to the actual pages for writing. To her surprise, the very first page was blank. Beside the first page were torn remains from the pages in front of it. Based on the thick bunch of tears, it appeared many pages were torn from the journal. Chloe leafed through the rest of the journal to check that she wasn’t missing anything. All she found was blank page after blank page. As she reached the back cover, however, a loose journal page slid out from inside the back cover and drifted to the floor. Bracing herself, Chloe inhaled sharply and slowly bent over to reach it. Her lungs, knees, and back ached in protest, but she was determined to read whatever may be on the loose page.

Once she had it, she gradually righted herself and sank back on the bed behind her. Sure enough, there was a message in the same messy handwriting as before:

Amy,

What’s it like up there? Seen grandma? I want to tell you I’m sorry I hurt you. Wish you were here so I could tell you in person. I see now what Harvey meant to you. So yeah I’m sorry. If you see grandma give her hell for me. Love you bunny-butt.

-Brandon

Chloe tried hard not to let her hands shake too much as she finished reading. Bunny-butt? Chloe was glad they hadn’t been dating anymore. She read back over his words a second and third time, trying to make sense of them, ignoring the last sentence. What exactly had Brandon done that hurt Amy enough to warrant leaving this letter? Who is Harvey? She wished she had been in more contact with Amy the last couple years, then maybe she would know more about these people.

Chloe’s oxygen tank beeped, and she pressed a button on the side to silence it, jolting her back to the present again.

Chloe fumbled around for her phone. She replied to her sister with, Yes. Be down shortly.

She shuffled across the room and paused at the door. She smiled fondly back at the room before heading downstairs. Opening the front door flooded the house with sunlight and a mild breeze. Chloe shielded her eyes as she stepped outside.

What she did not expect to see was a teenage boy with messy chestnut hair standing on the front lawn. He wore black tennis shoes, khaki pants, and a short-sleeve turquoise polo. In one hand was some kind of smartphone, and in the other a lead pipe covered in some kind of black liquid dangling by his side. When he saw Chloe, his eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect O. He whipped his phone away and jammed it into his pocket.

“Uh...I’m sorry,” he said as he spun on his heel and sprinted off down the street.

Chloe’s eyes burned, and her hands started shaking again. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to chase after the boy, but her heart and lungs screamed for her to collapse and forget today. She felt tears well up in her eyes once more. Not because of the blinding sunlight, not because she had just emerged from her daughter’s room, but because her eyes caught the name tag sticker he wore that his phone concealed before he pocketed it. The name tag read, “Hello, My Name Is Harvey.”

https://theprose.com/post/261458/chapter-2

https://theprose.com/book/2114/the-third-patient-collaborative-writers

On her way to see her sister Jaclyn, Chloe couldn’t help but remember meeting Harvey. Many questions lingered in her head. Who was he? Did he know Amy, and how and where? What was he doing on her lawn? Why did he suspiciously sprint away and disappear when he saw her? What did Brandon mean by, I see now what Harvey meant to you?

She switched off the motor of her mind to think for a second, for she couldn’t fathom what she had discovered. Even though her situation might prevent or limit her mobility, her mind has already begun the quest to find out. For her own sanity, she must find out what he knows. Maybe Harvey has something to tell her, new information he didn’t want to tell the police or everyone else. She hoped that he’d show up again. When she arrives, she’d ask her sister, if Jaclyn has ever seen him before.

Driving across the short bridge took less than half an hour, but it seemed like forever for Chloe. When she reached the house, she pulled her car in the driveway of a single-family colonial house. Once she shut off the car engine, she sat there for a moment to gather her thoughts and strength. Then, she slowly marched out to head inside. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she saw her niece Jennifer come running towards her and gave her the usual warm hugs. Chloe suddenly remembered how her daughter used to do the same thing, blanketing her small arms around her mother’s waist like a spider web. Chloe felt the nostalgia of having that warmth once again. Although her current life without Amy is mundane, seeing her niece and nephew always brings Chloe back to the sanity of a pure existence.

Jennifer ran inside the house and screamed her happiness from the top of her lung, “Auntie is here!”

Jaclyn smiled, witnessing her daughter’s excitement. She’s like another Amy, a little girl with a pure heart. They’re the two angels in the family.

“Hey sis, how was the drive,” said Jaclyn, squeezing her big sister until she runs out of breath.

”It was too long but fine,” replied Chloe. She then harnessed her breath and sat on the coach. All she was thinking was about Harvey. “Jackie, do you know a boy named Harvey hanging out with Amy?”

Jaclyn shook her head in disagreement. “Who is that?”

”I found this journal in Amy’s room, and it belongs to her Ex, Brandon.” She leaned back on the coach and continued. “Brandon wrote something about him being sorry that he didn’t know what Harvey meant to Amy. And what’s funny is that on my way out the door to come here, I saw Harvey standing on my lawn, but he ran away when he saw me.”

Jaclyn could see her sister was getting madder, she went and hugged her, so that she can cool down. ”Maybe we should talk to him?”

A few minutes later, they changed courses, and Jennifer and Jaclyn sitting by her side, Chloe shifted her attention to little Jennifer. They had cheese and crackers with coffee and tea.

After picking everything from the table, Jaclyn said, “I found a doctor that specializes in rare human genome disorders. I read most of the reviews about him last night and his works look promising, and we should go visit him.”

Chloe has seen many doctors. A lot of them. But her biopsy hasn’t shown any abnormality in her blood or X-Ray screens. Nobody exactly knows what her diagnosis is. She figured that visiting another doctor now makes no difference. She’s lost hopes of living since Amy’s death anyway. But, seeing Jennifer‘s scintillating smiles, she agreed to go with her sister.

The weather was mild, with slightly delightful breezes and lots of warm sunshine. In moments like this, when the weather is so perfect, it was mother and daughter time to go for a walk.

But Chloe now has lost the stamina to do anything, anymore. Every

Sunday afternoons, it used to be a mother-daughter moment, where they used to have a routine wake in the park near their house. They’d run for about a couple miles back and forth, and then stretch, finishing their rituals with yoga. Today, however, Chloe seemed to lose interest in life itself, even the serene and beautiful weather couldn’t convince her to walk alone, without her daughter in the park, for every second she spends alone feels like a century.

Chloe scheduled the appointment while she was still at Jaclyn’s house. Jackie had always been a good sister to Chloe, a great aunt to Amy, a fantastic mother to Jenny and Julie, and the perfect daughter to their parents. In her youth, Chloe wanted to hate her sister for her perfection, but she never could. Jackie was always too willing to help, too genuine in her expressions, and too pure for anyone to hate. Chloe knew her sister would never wish her harm and thought maybe it was time to start listening to her since she often couldn’t even hear her own thoughts anymore.

On her way back home, all she could think about was Harvey. The teenage boy with the chestnut hair. He looked like he’d been cut out of a magazine, certainly an improvement over Brandon, at least he looked it. Still, Chloe felt uneasy about the situation. She and Amy hadn’t been awfully close lately, but she thought Amy would trust her with the name of her new love interest. Yet, she knew nothing. She’d never even heard of Harvey and the words in Brandon’s journal page were unsettling, I see now what Havey meant to you.

Amy’s death had been ruled a suicide. Chloe had urged police to look into it. She suspected Brandon or one of his sketchy friends from rehab, but since Brandon had turned 18 the day after Amy’s death, police dismissed his disappearance. The young man had a right to check himself out, according to his paperwork, so he did.

What she never imagined was that it was a pact between Harvey and Amy that had brought about the tragedy. Harvey had been photographing the home with his phone when Chloe came out and she was right to feel the urge to chase him down, but she wouldn’t know that for a while. In the meantime, she focused on staying alive as much as she could.

Harvey arrived home. Who ever saw a teenager now who wasn’t completely captivated by the little screen in their hands? But Harvey wasn’t looking at his phone the way gossiping or dramatic teenagers would. No, he was looking at it as if studying something.

“If you keep staring at that phone like that, you’re gonna go blind, Harvey,” his mother said as she walked around her distracted son in the kitchen with a hot pot of soup. “How was your day?”

“Huh?”

“I said if you keep staring at that phone, you’re gonna go blind and how was your day?” She repeated, mildly annoyed as she set the pot on a trivet.

“Oh, yeah, good,” said Harvey without looking up.

“Harvey?” she wiped her hands on her apron.

Harvey didn’t seem to hear and keep looking at his phone as if it held the meaning of life itself.

“Harvey Johnson, I am talking to you!”

“Yeah, ’ma. I said it was good.”

“Will you put the bloody phone down?”

Harvey shifted the phone down a couple of inches to make eye contact with his mother for the first time since he arrived and only briefly.

“What is it, ’ma?”

“How are you really? I know your friend -- ”

“I said I’m fine, ’ma!” and he lifted the phone to his face again. He started for the stairs, “I’ll be in my room.”

Macy sometimes wondered if she’d been too much of an enabler to her children. Harvey’s older brother was in college, but never called home or answered his parents calls anymore. They only knew he was doing well because of social media. His little sister was non-verbal, but other than that a completely normal child. Autism had been ruled out, but she was 10 years old and the only thing about her speech that had changed since her birth was that she no longer wailed when she was suffering discomfort. Now she just pouted.

The most seemingly-normal of the Johnson children was Harvey. He was a handsome boy and always seemed to have a new girl on his tail, but the last one, Amy, had apparently killed herself and Harvey hadn’t batted an eye. Macy herself felt terribly about it, but Harvey had refused to go to the funeral and pretended he’d never even met Amy.

When Macy heard rumors that Amy’s mom suspected foul play, her stomach churned. She loved her son, but there was an unsettling coldness about him, as if he had no idea what it was to have human emotion. He could feel pain, but he didn’t seem to realize when he was causing it. Or he didn’t care.

https://theprose.com/post/262170/chapter-5

https://theprose.com/book/2114/the-third-patient-collaborative-writers

https://theprose.com/challenge/8377

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Six thousand breaths of air later, Chloe sat in Amy’s room again. Why did she have to die? Why did she have to be taken from this world - because Chloe could not believe she had committed suicide? And, who was Harvey? Why had she never met him?

So many questions, too many questions... and not enough time. Her lungs had months. Maybe days. She’d be dead within the year, that much was sure. Not nearly enough time. Not enough time to find the truth, to convince the police there was more to her death. Not enough time. There was never enough time.

How to find the truth?

Her watch beeped. It was time for her doctors appointment. Should she tell, of what was on her mind? Or should she stay silent? Fear of being labeled insane kept her quiet. She went in, she came out.

Hope was what she needed right now. Hope was what she needed.

And, just like that, she ran into Harvey.

“You knew Amy?” Chloe asks in a hoarse voice. Harvey looks up as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Y-yes... who are you?” Chloe does everything in her power not to glare.

“I’m her mother.” He awkwardly bows.

“I’m sorry about what happened to her. I wish I could....”

“Wish you could what?” He stops suddenly, as if realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wish I could have saved her. Before she... took her life.” Chloe is hit by a sudden crippling burst of pain, making her double over. accompanied by her anger. SHE DIDN’T COMMIT SUICIDE!! Of this she was sure. But, the question was, how could she prove it?

And, how could she survive the process?

“Ma’am, are you okay?” She gives a curt nod.

“Fine,” she rasps, standing upright again and starting to walk home. “I’m fine.” She can feel his eyes on her back as she walks off.

Amy, Amy, who is he? Why are you dead? Who... who killed you? The word dead and the word killed linger in her head like a migraine. So much pain. What to do with it?

Home was cold and empty without her daughter, so she went back to her room. Amy would be back.. she’d be back... she wasn’t dead... she was.... at college, at college, that was it. She’d be.... back.

“Mama, mama, don’t cry,” Amy says, putting both arms around Chloe. “It’s college, I’ll be back...” Tears streamed down Chloe’s face, uncontrolled. Her sight was trapped in a memory, but her mind was in another time, in the future, where her daughter would never come home from college.

“I love you.. Amy,” her voice says. “I love you. Be safe. And remember... I’ll always love you.”

Amy nods, with the innocence of a five year old, the maturity of a forty year old, and the ebullient joy of being on one’s own.

“Yes, Mama. I’ll be back to visit soon!”

She’ll be back, thinks Chloe. She’ll be back.

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https://theprose.com/book/2114/the-third-patient-collaborative-writers

On a breezy Monday morning, Chloe found herself waiting in the office of Dr. Kyle Wiseman, a top rare disease specialist on the East Coast. She wasn’t hopeful; she just wanted to make her sister happy.

The Sunday before, Chloe stayed over at her sister’s house. It’s been a tradition when that happened, she made dinner for the family. And later at bedtime, she would read and tell the kids bedtime stories. She’d tell them scary stories that she and her sister had heard from their childhood years. Her nieces and nephew love her lasagna, but mostly prefer listening to her reading and telling them amazing stories. They’d be cuddling and hiding under the bed-sheets, but attentively mesmerized and immersed in her stories. When their adrenaline subsides, they’d all fall asleep soundless throughout the night. She has ways with kids, and her sister always tells her that.

Amy also never slept without her mother’s bedtime stories, even when Chloe traveled on a business trip. She read her daughter via video conferencing or over phone calls; Amy’s books were always packed in her suitcase, in case she ran out of new stories.

Chloe arrived at her sister’s house around four o’clock in the evening to cook dinner. Her recipe was always simple. But her family thought that she has magic to make her cooking taste so delicious and delightfully mouth-watering. She told them there was nothing special that she would do. She would make the ground beef sauce, and when the beef is fully cooked and turned brownish, she‘d add half a pound of chopped red onions, fresh tomato, garlic and a hint of basil and rosemary leaves. She only emphasized that the secret for the perfect lasagna lies on how much sauce and cheese is put between the pasta layers. And of course, she said, “You add love to that recipe, the perfect meal would be served, just-in-time.”

They woke up early in the morning.

Kindred University Hospital is located on the outskirts of Philadelphia, just off I-76 West, in King of Prussia. It sits on one-hundred acres of land and is the top two healthcare providers in the world, which specializes in abnormal psychological and rare genome disorder treatment.

Due to morning rush hour and a deadly multi-car crash accident, the road was blocked. So, the drive took Jaclyn about two hours to their destination. If Jaclyn hadn’t insisted on leaving early, they’d have missed it. The ambulance and fire trucks couldn’t even pass through until the traffic was halted and redirected about three exists behind.

The ride was quieter than usual, although the two sisters often share everything with each other. Chloe seemed lost in her own world thinking about Amy. Jaclyn has tried to keep her sister sane, since the bad news. An FM Classic Rock radio station was softly playing Amy’s favorite songs, which shredded Chloe’s heart like claws of a beast, for the songs added fuels to her burning pains.

Once they exited the highway, she pulled into the vast complex facility, although it was hard finding the actual building. After circling around a couple of times, they had to ask help from the hospital security guard, who then took them to the office. They parked the car in the public-parking outside, the main entrance. Then, they walked inside, passing the revolving door. The receptionist area was located directly in front of the main entrance, on the main floor. Jaclyn And Chloe went directly to the information desk.

”Welcome to KUH, may I help you?” Said a perky receptionist on the front-desk.

”Yes. We’re here to see Dr. Kyle

Wiseman,” replied Chloe.

“Last name, please?”

”Stark, Chloe Stark.”

The receptionist looked for, and found Chloe’s name in the hospital system, and the appointment was set for 10:30 AM.

”Please, take the second elevator to the fourth floor. His office is down the hall, on the left.”

”Thank you,” both said and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

When they got off on the fourth floor, the squeaky-clean floor was quiet. It felt like an asylum than a hospital. A door leading to the doctor’s office was locked, so they had to buzz the bell, and they were let in afterward. Once they passed the hall, they found the office labeled: Dr. Kyle Wiseman, MD.

They were greeted by the doctor.

“Please come, and have a seat,” said an older man with dark hair in his fifties. “I’m Doctor Kyle Wiseman. You must be Chloe Stark, and nice to meet you.”

“Nice meeting you as well,” replied Chloe.

She sat down, arching her back on the comfortable sofa.

“I studied your medical history, and I think we have some hopes for you,” Kyle said, straight to the point. ”We’ve completed some clinical trials on rare genetic disorders. The results have been promising and we’re also waiting on a few more to be completed in the next month or so. Once that is finished, you should be able to continue with your trial treatments.” He continued, “We just need to do some blood work to make sure that everything is in order.”

Chloe’s heart leaped, hearing the good news, although she wasn’t sure of anything.

”What’s really wrong with me though,” she asked, wondering, why her doctors didn’t refer her sooner if she had this option before.

“Well, genome disorder is very uncommon. But, it happens very rarely like your case. Your diagnosis shows what we’ve been studying for so long now. Basically, there are certain genes in our body that overproduce foreign enzymes. These substances then attack our organs. Sometimes it could be passed on genetically, but sometimes they are caused by a type of virus that triggers them. I ’ve read that you often travel outside the states. It is possible that you might’ve encountered this virus from another country. But we’re going to introduce a new helper-virus into your system to stabilize your lungs. The new virus enabler will slow down the fast-spreading attacks by cleansing the bloodstream.”

Chloe felt vibrant and relieved. She thanked her sister for bringing her to come and see Dr. Kyle. After she finished the blood work, she made the appointment immediately for her treatments to start. Then, they left the hospital to go home.

On their way back, they began planning about the future for Chloe and the bright lights ahead. Suddenly, her mind was clouded in sadness, for Amy’s image sparked on her face. Then Brandon and Harvey‘s names nagged her senses. Chloe still believes that angels don’t sabotage their lives and commit suicide. Amy was such an angel.

The test seemed promising, and maybe when this helped her cure her disease, she would be going after the person responsible for her daughter’s murder.

Amy tucked a section of her golden hair behind her ear. She picked at her turquoise nail polish as she gazed around the room. The counter beside her chair displayed a small, black laptop, standard first aid supplies, extra long cotton swabs, and the blood pressure cuff a nurse had used moments ago. The beige walls were accented with a few framed pond photos. A heavily-cushioned chair with white paper lining sat in the middle of the room. The only noise to be heard was the low hum of the overhead lights, aside from the occasional tick of another piece of nail polish getting chipped off. Amy hoped the doctor wouldn’t need a physical exam today. At least, not one that would warrant changing into a gown.

Before she could finish her thought, however, the door to her left opened, and a middle-aged woman with rust-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail smiled and greeted Amy as she entered the room. Although Amy already knew who she was, she could still spot Kay Wiseman, MD embroidered on the woman’s white coat.

“So, Miss Amy,” said Dr. Wiseman as she sank onto a stool beside the counter. “How have you been lately? How’s your mom?”

Amy folded her hands to stop herself from picking at her nails during conversation and replied, “Oh, well, you know, still going. Last I saw, she now has this oxygen thing that she carries with her everywhere.” She glanced at Dr. Wiseman’s sympathetic grimace and continued, “It helps her walk more, but she still has trouble getting around and stuff.”

“That’s too bad,” Dr. Wiseman replied. “Yeah, my uncle, who I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, is involved in a lot of research on your mom’s disorder. I understand how it could be tough to see.”

Amy nodded.

Dr. Wiseman inhaled sharply and changed the topic. “Well,” she said, “let’s get to it then. So it looks like you’ve been having some high pulse rates lately?”

Amy nodded again and began to describe her symptom. For the last week or two, anytime she checked her pulse, the rate was almost always in the 80s, and once or twice it was in the 90s, even at rest. As she spoke, Dr. Wiseman nodded occasionally and typed on the laptop. She asked Amy about chest pain or shortness of breath, which Amy denied.

“I see,” said the doctor when Amy had finished. “How long has this been going on, you said?”

“Just in the last week or two,” Amy replied, “but I’ve felt extra tense for the last few months, so...I don’t know if that’s, you know, got anything to do with it.” She picked at her nail polish again, ignoring the increasingly-visible pile of turquoise flakes on the black tile floor.

“Have you been having difficulty coping with your mother’s diagnosis?” Dr. Wiseman asked.

“What?” Amy blushed in embarrassment. “N-no, I’ve been fine with that. Mom’s disease, it...it is what it is.” More turquoise chipped off.

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From under her concerned brow, Dr. Wiseman looked Amy up and down. She’d been increasingly uncomfortable with the secret she was forced to keep from Chloe because of the HIPPA laws. Amy had come to her as an adult and had a right to her privacy.

When she met her for the first time she recalled thinking what is the beautiful, blonde, vibrant, though somewhat sad young woman doing in my office? When Amy went on to explain Chloe’s condition and her concerns about the genetic component Dr. Wiseman knew why the last name sounded so familiar and could now guess why she was in the examining room.

On that first visit, Amy explained, “My mom has a rare genetic disorder that is attacking her lungs. Your uncle is working with her and trying to help her. I felt that I should get tested. Maybe I have it too. Or maybe I could be a match if someday she could get a transplant.” Dr. Wiseman complied with Amy’s request for testing and ordered all the necessary blood work. They scheduled a follow-up visit for 2 weeks later when Amy would be back from college again for a break.

Amy entered the waiting room on that day with trepidation and a sense of relief. She was, of course, scared, and nervous, but at the same time, she was glad the waiting and thinking and hand wringing could end. She signed in at the desk and sat in one of the vaguely comfortable waiting room chairs. Once, her name was called she considered bolting out the glass door and never coming back. Instead, she followed the nurse into an office and not an examining room. Dr. Wiseman came in, said hello and sat at the desk. Amy felt her leg twitching up and down as her foot was trying to expend her nervous energy as quickly as possible. She willed it to stop and made eye contact with the doctor.

Without opening her folder, and with her hands placed on top of it she looked Amy in the eye and told her the bad news.

“Amy, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. Your tests came back positive for the genetic component of the same disorder as your mom,” said Dr. Wiseman. She instinctively rose from her seat and came around to console her, but in her typical stoic manner, Amy rebuffed her advances.

Now Dr. Wiseman was seeing her on a “check-in” basis. Amy was asymptomatic except these little pulse rate spikes. However, she was worried about her change in demeanor. She seemed withdrawn and depressed.

“Amy, how are you coping? I may be wrong, but you seem depressed. Do you have anyone to talk to about all of this?” the doctor asked.

She looked up from under the fringe of impossibly long lashes that framed her beautiful blue eyes. A slight grin tickled the corners of her mouth as she glanced off to the right not really seeing that empty corner of the office.

“Yes ma’am, I have someone to talk to. He understands exactly what I’m going through. He is a great friend and someone I can trust with everything. He will always keep my secrets. Harvey is the best. He will stick by me no matter what,” Amy told her.

With that, the appointment was over and Amy left. Of course, Dr. Wiseman couldn’t know she’d never see Amy again.

https://theprose.com/book/2114/the-third-patient-collaborative-writers

https://theprose.com/post/263672/chapter-9

The nurse checked Chloe‘s vital signs; Her pulse rate, body temperature, and blood pressure were normal. Even her respiratory rate was much better compared to the last time she had a check up. Finally, her blood was drawn for further analysis. By now, she’s tired of giving blood in every visit, although she knew that it must be done, if she’d to get help in finding the cure for current predicament.

Asides the weakness of her lungs, she appeared in good shape. No other health alarming problems were identified. Once all that was done, Chloe was prepped for her clinical trial treatment.

The nurse left the room, and closed the door behind her, leaving Chloe inside. Chloe then lied down on the examination table, and waited for the doctor. Hope was dancing in her head, a successful outcome, when everything would be completed.

As her back touched the white table cover in the examination room, she remembered Amy’s smiles. She wished Amy was around, now at that moment and hold her arms, and with her angelic smiles, make her mother feel like a superwoman, not this mobbing and weak mother she appeared to be. She’d never felt so weak and insignificant like this in her entire life. She couldn’t avoid thinking that illness wears down anybody to nothing.

Few minutes later, Dr. Kyle walked into the room.

“Hello Chloe, how are you feeling today?” He extended his hand for a handshake. With his clean shave, he looked 15 years younger than his age. She felt old comparing herself with him.

“Everyday is a struggle doc, but I’m fine.” She replied.

“I think you’re going to be just fine,” he exclaimed calmly and enthusiastically. Then, he began checking her medical chart. His eyes penetrated every line on the medical record like a laser. Chloe was watching every moment he made. Suddenly, she felt her heart bouncing, a sudden anxiety shooting inside of her.

“I do not see any red flags, except for your lungs, of course,” he smiled, joking with her. She smiled, too. She needed that sudden outburst smile shining in on her face. Then he continued, “But, it looks like you’re good to go for the treatment. So, let’s get you ready okay,” he tapped on her shoulders, when he finished reading.

”Doc, besides myself, how many other patients have been tested on this drug?”

He looked into her eyes. He’s heard and seen patients panic or change their minds at the last minute. Some of them would just lose hope. Others would fear going through the treatment entirely. He’s always tried calming them down first, to ease their nerves and erase the last hint of doubts their instincts and weak bodies fought.

“Well, we’ve conducted many experiments on non-humans. Some were done randomly as well as in a controlled environment. Even though the experiment is still on its infancy stage, our success rate has been promising as we continue to see much progress in every test. Now, you’re the third patient, a real human patient to try the new drug. On one of the previous patients, we identified some side-effects, because her body completely rejected the drug and we immediately discontinued her treatment. But we were lucky that the clinical trial worked on the second patient.“ He paused and watched her reactions.

She processed the information he just uploaded onto her fragile mind. She was hesitant, but when she thought about it, what other choices did she have? She gasped for some air and said, “Well doc, let’s get over with it then.”

“You’re going to be fine. I promise, okay!” He smiled and tapped on her shoulders.

She nodded and sat back.

Few minutes later, two nurse practitioners came to the room and took Chloe to an isolated room for her treatment to begin.

“We”re going to sedate you so that we can inject the drug directly to your lungs,” one of the nurses said. The nurse then put an air mask on Chloe’s mouth and saw her close her eyes. Then, the nurse opened a small vial bottle of the trial drug named Miracle that’s been tested to regenerate human cells, and filled a syringe with 15 milligram of liquid medicine. She then inserted the tiny needle into Chloe’s ribs.

Until Chloe would gain consciousness, the nurse left the room.

Few minutes later, Chloe woke up and looked around. The nurses and Dr. Kyle were standing by the bedside. She watched them, as they exchanged words, though she couldn’t read their lips.

“Welcome back Chloe,” said Dr. Kyle. “We’re going to keep you here for a 24 hours observations.”

Chloe felt the bright room light burning her eyes, so she signaled him, nodding and closed her eyes.