Psycho #5 – Doctors Orders
© S.B. “LullaDIEs”
A Tale of the Terminally Ill:
When individuals are diagnosed with a terminal illness shock, despair, depression, and anger are common responses. In some cases these reactions become extreme and trigger a psychotic breakdown.
‘You have AIDS.’, the test confirmed.
“I’m divorcing you.”, the wife yelled.
“I hate you.”, the kids declared.
Next, the boss would say I was fired, of this I was sure. No one would want to be seen by a tainted doctor. Over twenty years of respect and dignity gone out the window because of one night of poor judgement and a single, lying, whore.
“Two hundred bucks buys you a good time and you can send me on my way after.” the woman promised.
Yeah, right. I thought. I’m stuck with your plague for the rest of my life now. I should have known it was too good to be true.
The test results made me bitter towards the world and angry at God. I was a good man. Flawed yes, but I certainly didn’t deserve to die from such a wretched disease.
I am a good man.
My family abandoned me after I came clean about my actions and illness. I was quickly kicked out of my comfortable home and forced to move into a cheap motel room. I understand my wife’s anger towards me, hell, I would have been angry too, but the disgust on my children’s faces was almost too much to bare. After a few days of utter silence, depression, and overall boredom I tried calling my beloved son and daughter; just to hear their voices. To know they were okay. Both refused to speak to me.
My time spent sitting in lonely silence made me realize just how much I hated everything and everyone, but especially my patients. That’s how I met the hooker to begin with. She’d come in because of a deep cut down her forearm; an accident, she assured us. By time the bloody slice was all patched up we were already making plans to meet at a hotel later that evening.
I was her doctor! I should have known she was a filthy, desease infested, trash pit! It’s not customary to do blood samples with such basic needs though. Her arm was caked in deep crimson, half dried when I saw her, but the bleeding itself had already stopped. It was just a matter of stitches. A blood sample wasn’t needed. I can’t have known, but I should have. Deceitful little wretch.
I began fabricating a plan during those long nights spent in loathsome contemplation. I decided if this disease was going to kill me, then I would take as many patients with me as possible. That’d give them an actual reason to be coming in all the time, instead of injuries caused by stupidity or flue viruses I can’t do anything about. I resented others for their good health, and their obvious desire to be sick so as to avoid work and more.
Surely they deserve the curse more than me.
I applied at two other hospitals in separate towns and hired by both. Why wouldn’t I be? I was the best damn doctor the state had. Hundreds of lives were saved because of my healing hands. Before this… incident, hospitals were practically fighting over me. All I had to do was fib about my current employment status and presto! I was hired within hours.
It was only a matter of time before they found out about my diagnosis though, so I had to act quickly. My plan was so simple, there was no way it wouldn’t work.
Heading into the supply closet of hospital number one, I opened the drawer marked ‘NEEDLES‘. Each one was packaged separately, to insure they were sanitized. I took each package out of the drawer and piled them on a nearby table. Pulling out a chair, I sat down next to them.
I rolled up my sleeve and grabbed one of the neatly packaged needles. Carefully, I pushed the needle up so that it punctured the corner of the clear plastic. Inserting the sharp metal into the vein of my arm, I smiled to myself.
This is going to work.
Pulling the needle out, I used the inside corner of my doctors coat to wipe off any excess red liquid that might show in the bag. I let the needle drop back down into it’s original packaging and inspected my work, searching with piercing eyes for any unwanted residue.
It was perfect. Most nurses and doctors didn’t question a needles integrity so long as it was in the proper packaging. They usually just glanced at it before ripping the plastic apart. They certainly wouldn’t notice the tiny hole with only a glance.
Just perfect. I thought again as I placed the infected needle into a new pile and grabbed yet another packaged one.
Needle number two… Needle number three… Needle number four… Needle number five…
Needle number six… Needle number seven…
Needle 1,659… Needle 1,660… Needle 1,661… Needle 1,662… Needle 1,663… Needle 1,664… Needle 1,665… Needle 1,666…
Needle 3,298… Needle 3,299… Needle 3,300… Needle 3,301… Needle 3,302… Needle 3,303… Needle 3,304… Needle 3,305…
My arm became sore from the constant pricks, but I completed my task none the less. I’d cleared out all four drawers used to store the needles, and had endured thousands of small jabs. The discomfort was worth it though. Soon, I would have my revenge on the community that tossed me away without a second thought, as if I were yesterday’s trash.
The inside of my elbow looked like ground hamburger. My skin was inflamed red, puffy, and rough. The surface was bumpy, adorned with small drops of blood here and there, no doubt from me becoming careless as I rushed to finish the job. Just gliding my fingers across the injury made a sharp sting travel through my arm. I knew I should bandage it, that the risk of infection was high due to the depth of each microscopic wound, but assumed it could wait until I was far away from the crime scene. I let the limb relax at my side as I carefully pulled the sleeve of my doctor’s jacket down over the evidence.
Just as I finished putting the now tampered with needles back in the final drawer, the door to the storage room suddenly opened.
“Oh, hello doctor. How are you today?” the nurse asked as she nearly ran into me due to her haste.
I smiled at her, “Fine thank you. What brings you to the storage room?”
“Flue shot. I need a fresh needle.”
“Oh, well,” I paused as I turned to grab one out of the bin, “Here you go. I’ll just grab some gauze and disinfectant before following you out.”
The nurse smiled and muttered a quick thank you before we turned and left the room together.
Everything’s going just perfect. I thought.
As I walked through the large waiting room with intention to leave, I glanced over to see my wife and both teenagers sitting by a window. I paused in my steps and questioned as to who the appointment was for. The more I thought on it, the more unsettled I began to feel. I swear my white coat was rubbing against my injury, subconsciously making the moment more tense. It might have been a moment of conscious, or maybe a brief moment of guilt. Each of them read a different magazine or book and so they didn’t notice me while I stared. Then I remembered; flue season.
Each year my wife would take the kids down to the hospital and get her immunity shot with them. It was always at my hospital though. She claimed she didn’t trust any facility but that one. Why was she here? Was she so spiteful of me to drop her doctor, the one she’d had since her teenaged days? Was she afraid of me? Avoiding me?
The family’s last name was called, and all three went through the door, back into the examination rooms to get their shots; injections of death. I didn’t stick around after that, and I don’t feel any kind of remorse for it either.
Only two more hospitals to go. I thought as I exited the building and headed to my car. There was no reason to stay at the first facility any longer. I’d done what I set out to do. I would never return to that hospital again either. They could consider this my unconventional resignation.
This one is based on a true story.
©Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton