Gemotions

The waiting room was filled with the usual symphony of sniffles, coughs, and the metallic tang of disinfectant. She sat, ramrod straight, on the hard plastic chair. The nurse had, in a voice dripping with patronizing sweetness, suggested she just “follow the protocol” until they figured out the mix-up. Wrong. This was her health, her life, not some bureaucratic game. They'd diagnosed her with a severe peanut allergy. She’d always loved peanut butter, and now they wanted her to stop?

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it back. Her shoulders were rigid, and her jaw was set.

“I’m not taking *any* medication,” she stated flatly, addressing the blank space in front of her. "Or any advice."

The nurse cleared her throat, clearly caught off guard.