The doctor glanced at my test results and urgently called the head of the department.
«How long has this been bothering you?» she asked, carefully pressing on Marinas abdomen.
«About two weeks. But the sharp pain started three days ago.»
Dr. Emily frowned as she scribbled notes in the file.
«Have you noticed any yellowing of your skin or the whites of your eyes?»
Marina blinked in confusion.
«Has there been? I didnt notice anything…»
«Very slight, but its there.» The doctor set down her pen. «We need to do an ultrasound and run more tests immediately. Are you free to do that now?»
«Yes, of course. I dont have any lessons this afternoon.»
The next two hours blurred into an endless procession of procedure rooms, blood draws, and waiting. The ultrasound showed an enlarged liver and some kind of growth, which the doctor described vaguely as, «Well need all the results before drawing conclusions.»
Marina returned home exhausted. More than the pain, it was the uncertainty that weighed on her. Twenty-five years of teaching literature had taught her to value clarity and precision.
The flat was quiet. Her daughter, Sophie, had moved away for university, and her husband had left five years earlier for a younger colleague. Only Marmalade, her loyal tabby, remained, leaping onto her lap for attention.
«Well, old boy, shall we have tea and reread Dickens?» she asked, scratching behind his ears.
The evening passed in half-hearted distractionsgrading essays, watching her favourite detective show, calling Sophiebut her thoughts kept circling back to the pending test results.
The next morning, Dr. Emily called herself.
«Marina, you need to come into the clinic today. Your results are in.»
There was a tension in her voice, thinly veiled by professional calm. Marinas heart sank.
The office was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. Dr. Emily shuffled papers, avoiding direct eye contact.
«Marina, your liver enzymes and bilirubin are significantly 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 went dry.
«I dont want to alarm you prematurely, but yes, theres cause for concern. Hospitalisation may be required.»
The next day, Marina sat in the waiting room of the massive, grey-brick hospital, its endless corridors reeking of disinfectant.
A young doctor introduced himself as Dr. James. He was thorough, asking about symptoms, habits, family history, and reviewing her test results.
«Your job must be stressful?» he asked, flipping through the reports.
«Yes, I teach A-level literature.»
«And when was the last time you took a proper holidayno grading, no lesson planning?»
Marina smiled weakly. «Im afraid thats never happened. Even summers are spent prepping for the new term.»
Dr. James shook his head and kept reading. Suddenly, his expression shifted. He reread a page, cross-checked other numbers, then stood abruptly.
«One moment,» he said, taking the file and stepping out.
Marinas heart pounded so loudly she was sure it echoed in the hallway. *This must be very bad if he ran off*, she thought, fighting panic.
Minutes later, the door opened. Dr. James returned with an older physician, distinguished by a neatly trimmed silver beard.
«Dr. Edward, head of department,» he introduced himself, shaking her hand. «Lets have a chat.»
He scrutinised the results, then peered over his glasses.
«Marina, are you on any regular medication? Herbal remedies, supplements?»
«No, just the occasional painkiller for headaches.»
«Anything new recently?»
She hesitated. «Well, these liver detox capsules… A neighbour recommended them. I took a course, but they didnt help, so I stopped two weeks ago.»
The two doctors exchanged glances.
«Remember the name?»
«Something like LiverPure, maybe? Ive got the box at home.»
Dr. Edward leaned back. «Heres the thing, Marina. Your results are unusual. Some markers suggest severe liver damage, but others dont fit the typical pattern. We suspect drug-induced liver injury.»
«From those capsules?»
«Possibly. Even approved supplements can cause rare reactions, especially when taken without medical advice.»
A pang of guilt hit her. She *had* bought them on a whim.
«What now?» she asked quietly.
«Further tests. Id like to admit you today.»
The four-bed ward was clean but datedpeeling paint, squeaky beds, NHS-issue furniture. Her roommates were two elderly women and a girl in her early twenties.
«New arrival?» asked one, introducing herself as Margaret. «What brings you here?»
«Liver trouble,» Marina said vaguely.
«Oh, join the club!» Margaret chuckled. «Gallbladder out last year, now I turn yellow if I so much as look at butter. And our Vera heres got autoimmune hepatitis.»
The evening passed in chatter. Marina learned everyones medical historiesand half the wards gossipfrom Margaret, a fount of information.
«Dr. Edwards a gem,» she confided. «Twenty years heading this department, respected by all. That young Dr. James, thoughbit of a slacker, but sharp as a tack.»
Morning brought another round of tests: blood draws, another ultrasound, X-rays. After lunch, she was summoned to Dr. Edwards office.
He spread papers across his desk.
«Sit down, Marina. After reviewing everything, Im confident this is drug-induced hepatitis. Those capsules contained a compound known to rarely cause liver toxicity. For most, its harmless, but in your case…»
«So its not… cancer?» she whispered, voicing her deepest fear.
Dr. Edward shook his head.
«No, no malignancy. The ultrasound showed reactive changesreversible with treatment.»
A weight lifted. Marina choked back tears of relief.
«So Ill be alright?»
«You will,» he smiled. «But its a strict regimenno more self-prescribing, understood?»
Back in the ward, Margaret pounced. «Well? Whats the verdict?»
«Liver damage from those detox pills.»
«Blimey, I tried those once!» Margaret gasped. «Did nothing for me.»
«Lucky you. My liver clearly disagreed.»
That evening, Dr. James arrived with a treatment plan.
«Hepatoprotectors, vitamins, IV fluids. And *no* fried breakfasts,» he warned.
«Doctor… why did you look so worried during my first appointment?» Marina asked.
He flushed. «Your results showed combinations we usually see in… graver conditions. I called Dr. Edward because hes seen more cases like this. He spotted the drug link straightaway.»
«Thank goodness,» Marina sighed. «Id already drafted my will.»
«Part of the jobhope for the best, brace for the worst,» he said wryly.
In the next bed, Vera sniffled.
«Whats wrong?» Marina asked.
«Nothing,» the girl wiped her eyes. «Its just… they told me mine was *nothing* at first. Now its chronic. Forever.»
Marina sat beside her. «But treatable?»
«Treatable, yeah. Just… Im twenty-two. I didnt plan on being a lifelong patient.»
«At least youll take better care of yourself,» Marina said gently. «Ive only just learned that lesson.»
That night, Marina lay awake, reassessing her lifethe job that consumed her, the daughter she saw only on holidays, the dreams perpetually shelved for «later.»
*Maybe this is a sign*, she thought. *Time to reprioritise.*
By morning, the pain had dulled. Cautiously, she pressed her sidetender, but no longer sharp.
After breakfast, she called Sophie.
«Darling! No, no, Im finewell, in hospital, but its treatable… Yes, liver issues… Listen, remember how we always talked about Cornwall? Lets go this summer. The minute Im discharged, well book it.»
The next fortnight flew by. Marina befriended her wardmates, especially Vera, whom she mothered instinctively. Dr. Edward checked in daily, nodding as her numbers improved.
«Youre on the mend, Marina. One more week, then outpatient care.»
Dr. James visited often, lingering to discuss Hardy and Austen. On her last day, he found her in the hospital garden.
«Mind if I join you? Discharge tomorrow?»
«Yes, finally.»
«Ill miss our literary debates,» he admitted. «Not much room for Dickens in ward rounds.»
«Nor for me,» she smiled. «I never thought Id find a kindred spirit here.»
«Perhaps we could continue? Purely platonic, of coursebook talks over coffee…»
«Why not?» she laughed. «Ive suddenly got free time.»
At their farewell, Dr. Edward shook her hand.
«Take care, Marina. Healths the thing we value most when its gone.»
«Ill remember. And thank you. If you hadnt recognised»
«All in a days work,» he said simply. «Glad it wasnt worse.»
Home welcomed her with Marmalades indignant purrs. She wandered through the familiar roomsunchanged, yet *she* was different.
Digging out an old photo album, she found snaps of Sophie building sandcastles in Brighton. She opened her laptop, typed «Cornwall, June» into the search bar.
Then she called the school, requesting unpaid leave till terms end. The headteacher spluttered but agreed.
That evening, Marina penned a proper letterink on paper, the way she hadnt in years. A letter to Sophie about love, second chances, and the fragile gift of time.
*Sometimes life sends a wake-up call in the form of a doctor urgently summoning his superior*, she wrote. *I thought mine was over. Turns out, it had only just begun. She sealed the envelope, placed it on the hallway table, and stepped outside to watch the sunset paint the sky in hues of amber and rose. Marmalade wound around her ankles, purring as if he, too, sensed the quiet shift in the air. For the first time in years, the house didnt feel like a museum of what once was, but a home brimming with what could still be.
