**Diary Entry 5th June**
The doctor studied my test results, then immediately called for the head of the department.
«How long have you been unwell?» she asked, carefully pressing on Emily Carters abdomen.
«About two weeks. But the sharp pain started three days ago.»
Dr. Charlotte Bennett frowned as she scribbled in the file.
«Have you noticed any yellowing of your skin or eyes?»
Emily blinked in confusion. «Is there? I hadnt noticed…»
«Slight, but noticeable,» the doctor said, setting down her pen. «We need to arrange an ultrasound and further tests immediately. Can you do that today?»
«Yes, of course. Ive no classes this afternoon.»
The next two hours were a blur of hospital corridors, blood tests, and waiting. The ultrasound showed an enlarged liver and an unusual mass, which the doctor described vaguely: «Well need to wait for all the results.»
Emily returned home exhausted. It wasnt just the pain troubling herit was the uncertainty. Twenty-five years teaching English literature had taught her the value of clarity.
The flat felt empty. Her daughter, Sophie, was away at university, and her husband had left five years ago for a younger colleague. Only Whiskers, her faithful tabby, greeted her, leaping onto her lap for attention.
«Well, old boy, shall we have tea and reread some Austen?» she murmured, scratching behind his ears.
The evening passed in distractionsmarking essays, watching telly, calling Sophiebut her thoughts kept circling back to the test results.
The next morning, Dr. Bennett rang herself. «Emily, you need to come in today. The results are in.»
Her voice carried a tension she couldnt quite mask. Emilys stomach dropped.
The consulting room was quiet, save for the ticking clock. Dr. Bennett shuffled papers, avoiding direct eye contact.
«Your liver function tests are significantly elevated, as is your bilirubin. Combined with the ultrasound…» She hesitated. «Ive referred you to a specialist at St. Thomass. Theyll see you tomorrow.»
«Is it… serious?» Emilys throat tightened.
«I dont want to alarm you prematurely, but yes, theres cause for concern. Hospitalisation may be necessary.»
The following day, Emily sat in the stark waiting room of the old brick hospital. The endless corridors reeked of antiseptic.
A young doctor, introducing himself as Dr. James Whitmore, was thorough and kind. He asked about her symptoms, habits, family history, then scrutinised her test results.
«Your job must be stressful?» he asked, flipping through the file.
«Yes, I teach A-level literature.»
«When was the last proper holiday you tookno marking, no lesson planning?»
Emily smiled weakly. «Im afraid theres never been one. Even summers are spent preparing for the next term.»
He shook his head and continued reading. Suddenly, his expression changed. He reread a page, cross-checked the numbers, then stood abruptly.
«Just a moment,» he said, taking the file and stepping out.
Emilys pulse hammered. *If hes rushing off, it must be bad.*
Minutes later, he returned with an older consultant, silver-haired and composed.
«Dr. Richard Hartley, head of gastroenterology,» the older man said, shaking her hand. «Lets have a chat.»
He studied the results, then peered over his glasses. «Emily, are you on any regular medication? Herbal supplements, perhaps?»
«No, just the odd paracetamol for headaches.»
«Nothing new recently?»
She paused. «Well… these liver capsules a neighbour recommended. I took a course, but they didnt help, so I stopped a fortnight ago.»
The two doctors exchanged a glance.
«Remember the name?»
«LiverVital, I think. Ive got the box at home.»
Dr. Hartley leaned back. «Heres the thing: your results suggest severe liver damage, but some markers dont fit the typical pattern. «I’ve seen this before,» Dr. Hartley said quietly. «Herbal supplements like LiverVital can contain undeclared pyrrolizidine alkaloidshighly toxic to the liver. Its not cancer, Emily. Its poisoning.»
Relief washed over her, dizzying and sudden.
«With immediate withdrawal and supportive treatment, the liver can regenerate,» he continued. «Youll need close monitoring, but if we act now, you have an excellent chance of full recovery.»
Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched Whiskers favourite mugthe one shed used every morning with her tea, unaware.
That evening, she sat on the sofa, the empty capsule box on the table, and whispered to her cat, «Were going to be all right, old friend. Were going to be just fine. She called Sophie the moment she hung up from arranging her follow-up appointment, her voice steady but soft with emotion. The next morning, she poured the remaining capsules down the sink, watching the water carry them away. Weeks passed with rest, gentle walks in the park, and books left unreaduntil one sunny afternoon, she found herself laughing at Whiskers mischief, sunlight filling the flat, and for the first time in months, she felt truly present.
