Láthos

Written by Rebecca Carlyle

Why are doctor's offices so white, she wondered. To prove it was sterile? As if the strong disinfectant stinging her nose hairs wouldn’t be enough. She sat in the vinyl-covered chair that was for patients and let her eyes move from one labeled cabinet to the next; gloves, needles, patient robes, the list went on to words she wasn’t sure what they meant. 

The door opened and a middle-aged man dressed in a white doctor’s coat came in. More white she noted. It was everywhere, the floor, the walls, the door, the cabinets, she was surrounded by the pristineness of it all. 

“Hi, Meena. How are you doing today?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. A general greeting that he didn’t really want an answer to. He knew how she was, he was holding her file.

“Well. I’m here, so I could be better.” 

He ignored her deadpan stare. 

“That was a joke.” 

“Of course.” He didn’t even give her a slight smile. “So we asked you to come in because we want to discuss your test results.” 

Right. Straight to the point then. 

“You’re on the young side to be experiencing these numbers and we’re concerned about what that could mean for you.” 

He clearly hadn’t read her medical history at all. She’d been anticipating these results honestly. Things had been good for a few years now and she was about due for some harsh reality. She’d seen her blood results on the online patient portal. With her heart thudding in her throat she had started thinking of all the small things that could actually be symptoms. But were they actually? Or was it just a placebo effect? Either way, it was expected at some point and it just so happened to be sooner rather than later. 

“I’d like to rerun the test. But I want to make sure we make a few lifestyle changes first to see if that will improve your numbers” 

We. Interesting word choice.  

“Like what?” 

“Do you use any supplements, pills, or protein powders? You’ll need to stop all those.” 

“I don’t take any.” 

“Right. Okay. You’ll need to avoid certain kinds of medications and pills. Like ibuprofen, Motrin, Aleve, or anything where the technical name ends in a ‘-fen’. I can have a full list printed for you before you leave today. But they can be really hard for your body to process.” 

“Not a problem. I haven’t had anything with a ‘-fen’ in years. I made that adjustment a long time ago. Anything else?”

“Yes, you’ll need to drink more water every day. You should be getting a liter of water per day.” 

Meena lifted and shook the water bottle she held, indicating where there were ounce markers and time goals written on the semi-clear plastic. 

“Right, well. Would you object to us drawing your blood today then?” 

She shrugged her shoulders in response. “Why not. It’ll only take a few minutes anyway.” 

“Great. I’ll send in the phlebotomist then. We should have the results for you tomorrow. And we can go from there.” 

He left the room without so much as a ‘have a good evening’ and she was alone in the stark white room once again. It wasn’t even a fun shade like pearl or eggshell. It was boring, in your face, white. She moved to the patient table with the paper pulled across its entire length. Of course, the white paper was covering the only spark of color in the room. Not like burnt orange was really an improvement on the room—she would’ve covered it as well. 

She let her eyes rove around the room again, this time taking in the wall hangings. There was a Snellen eye exam test hung on the wall in front of her. She held a hand over half her face and read the letters from lines five and six to herself. Yup, her vision was just fine. Above the small sink on the countertop was a sign asking employees to wash their hands and then instructing them on how to wash their hands. She was slightly concerned that grown adults who had MDs needed to be told how to rinse, lather, scrub, and rinse once again. On the wall above the chair, she had been previously seated in was a framed photo of the caduceus. The background was plain white and the Hermes staff with the two snakes entwined about it were navy blue. Was it just her or did the photo ripple beneath the glass? 

The door swung open again. This time a young woman in rosy pink scrubs swept into the room. 

“Hello there. I’m Grace, I’ll be drawing your blood today.” 

Meena smiled at Grace and automatically rolled up the sweater sleeve on her left arm past the elbow. 

“Can you just confirm your name and date of birth for me, please?” 

“Meena Harris. November first, 1990.” 

“Ohh. Do you like having your birthday so close to Halloween?” 

“Sometimes.” Meena was born at three am, the hour when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest. She wasn’t sure if she wished she had been born on Halloween or if she considered herself lucky to be born at three am the day after. 

“Oh! Your veins are so tiny! May I see your other arm?” 

Meena pulled up the sleeve on her right arm and held her elbows close to each other in front of herself, presenting them to Grace for inspection. She knew Grace would wind up using the arm that Meena had held out to her first. 

“Wow. Both arms have such tiny veins. Well, let's go ahead and use your left arm. Here, prop your arm on this pillow for me, please.” 

Meena slid the sleeve back down to her wrist and then placed her left elbow on the pillow Grace had set on the tray table beside her. She watched as the phlebotomist tied a stretch band around the bicep, creating a tourniquet, and then sanitized the flesh in the crook of the elbow. 

“I’ll only be taking two vials today,” Grace said as she attached a small needle to a tube holder. “You’ll feel a small poke, ok?” 

Meena couldn’t watch. She never could. Something about watching the cold steel pierce her skin gave her the heebie-jeebies. She stared at the caduceus instead, the rod seemed to glint under the glare of the fluorescent light and the top of the rod was angled to look like a hilt with leather strapping on the handle. It rippled again. She blinked, thinking maybe it was her imagination and she just needed to clear her mind. But when her pupils refocused on the photo the realistically feathered wings were fluttering as if the entire symbol was in flight. She realized this was causing the rippling effect. The wings were like waves that started from the rod and worked their way out to the tips of their feathers. She could almost feel them tickling her skin.

A gasp escaped from her lips at a sharp prick in the soft skin of her elbow. From here she could watch the rest. The first vial was inserted into the tube holder and her blood rushed to fill it to the very brim. The crimson was a vast contrast to the white surroundings, drawing the eye to it if she hadn’t already been watching. The second vial was swapped out for the first one and it too was filled in a moment. Then that one was plucked from the tube holder and Grace was holding a cotton ball against the crook of Meena’s elbow, where the needle was violating her skin. With pressure on the cotton, Grace pulled the needle out and disposed of it in the biohazard container on the wall. 

“Can you hold this here for a moment?” 

Meena put a finger on the cotton, holding it in place and putting pressure on the small bleed. She looked back to the caduceus. The wings had stilled, but now the two serpents were wriggling in their places wound around the rod. Their scales gleamed as they moved against the glinting rod, but now that Meena was looking at it properly, the rod with the hilt was actually a sword. The sharpened tip dripped slowly, she could almost smell the metallic scent of blood filling the air—perhaps her own?

“You can let go now.” 

Grace had a small square of gauze ready and a stretch of medical tape dangling from a finger. Meena tossed the cotton in the trash can while Grace dressed the pin-prick-sized hole in her skin. She knew the adhesive would cause tiny, pink, itchy bumps later, but she didn't say anything. She watched Grace smooth a label onto each vial, then hold them out so that Meena could read them. 

“Please confirm the spelling of your name and date of birth.”    

“Yup and… yup.” 

“Great. Then we’re all set.” 

Grace smiled at Meena as she stood up and opened the door, taking the tray with the vials full of Meena’s blood with her on the way out. She paused in the doorway. 

“The exit is down the hall that way and to the right.” 

Then Meena was alone in the room with the live caduceus. She pulled her sleeve back down and then put on her peacoat, it was cold outside being the end of fall. Out of habit, she checked her phone before tucking it into her jeans pocket, no new messages, no missed calls. She draped her black faux leather crossbody bag over her head to rest across her chest, and then checked to make sure all the pockets and compartments were zipped and latched. Everything was secured and the room was once again an almost unblemished white with just the wrinkles on the paper where she sat as a telltale sign that anyone had been there at all. 

She began to leave the room but stopped just before the door—her eyes going to the caduceus one more time. Slithering snakes sparkled back at her. She stepped closer to examine it better, her nose only centimeters from the glass. The midnight ink lay flat on the parchment, as one dimensional as it should have been the whole time. 

Meena blinked her eyes a few times and waited, one… two… three… So it was just her imagination. Relief rolled through her shoulders, spine, and down through her fingertips and toes. Tears swelled in her eyes, hope flushed through her veins. Those numbers would be fine.  She began to turn away, to leave this ostentatiously white room for once and for all. 

Then from the corner of her eye, she saw something in the frame move again. Her brown irises bore in the picture and waited. Both snakeheads came alive, their beady eyes gleamed, and forked tongues hissed at her. She watched in startled fascination as the blood at the tip of the sword began dripping once more and the wings beat out a rhythm.

  The entire picture had come to life this time. She stepped towards it, holding a finger out to touch it, wondering what it would feel like against her skin. Just as her finger was about to touch the glass a snake's head swiveled to face her head-on with: jaws wide, terrifyingly sharp fangs bared. It slipped through the glass aiming to catch her in its maw. Meena snatched her hand back, tucking it to her chest, and hustled from the room. 

“Did you need help with something?” Grace had appeared beside her. 

“No, no. Everything’s fine,” Meena replied, slipping past Grace without meeting her gaze.