Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway seemed to throb in rhythm with Clara's temples. She leaned against the cold, sterile wall, the back of her head aching with a dull pressure. Years of back-to-back shifts, the relentless demands of her nursing job, had slowly chipped away at her resilience. Now, even the simplest tasks, like reading her own name on a chart, felt like scaling a mountain.

She’d just been called in by Dr. Ramirez, who looked concerned. He gestured towards a manila folder, his expression grave. “Clara, there seems to be a mix-up with your records.” A wave of nausea rolled through her, making her stomach feel heavy.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice sounding raspy even to her own ears. The doctor explained, his words blurring into a meaningless hum. The records belonged to someone else. Someone…with a different prognosis. Clara felt a strange dissociation, as if she were watching herself from outside her body. This couldn't be happening. Not now.