Gemotions

He paced his apartment, the worn rug doing little to soften his footsteps. Each circuit around the living room felt like a tightening of the knot in his stomach. The implications of the mix-up – his treatment plan, his medications, the entire course of his care – were a sickening weight. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, the strands catching on his fingers.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, his voice cracking. The injustice of it all throbbed in his temples. He imagined the other patient, the one whose life had been intertwined with his own by the hospital’s blunder, and felt a strange mix of anger and sympathy. He picked up his phone, then quickly put it down. What good would it do to call his doctor now?