Unexplainably Itchy
The nurse that just drew your blood came back in, white as a sheet. She's holding a clipboard that is shaking in her pale hands. You clearly have a concern, but she's standing at the farthest part of the room. It was routine before this. She was even a bit snarky about taking blood. She'd claimed to be a pro. But now, she's typing as fast as she can with her fingers trembling, eying you suspiciously all the while. You look down at your feet, the shame heating up your face. You had started to ask if you did something wrong or if everything was okay when she'd first come back in, but her reaction when you opened your mouth to speak shut you up instantaneously.
"Doctor will be in shortly," she mutters quickly before racing out of the room.
You are now alone. The itching hasn't stopped. You look down your arms and legs at the various patches of skin that have been scraped thin by your fingernails. A friend had suggested that this was not healthy and you needed to see a doctor, but now, it seems like you should've stayed home and just put on mittens to keep from scratching rather than come in. People on pamphlets on the wall beside you daunt you with their devious smiles. Do you have constipation? Are you feeling like your emotions are uncontrollable? Have you been suffering from forgetfulness? Your eyes scan the pamphlets looking for one that has your symptoms. No itching, no incontinence, no mysterious sensations running up and down your back only at night. You lay back on the thin paper of the hospital chair and wait.
The door opens and you sit up to see a very disturbed doctor, looking at your charts. You smile at her, but she ignores you. She looks at your charts and asks some routine questions but never gets close to you. After a few formalities and niceties, you speak up.
"What's wrong with my blood?"
"Huh?"
"That nurse. She was acting all weird after she took my blood."
"Oh, we had a burn patient get wheeled down a couple of minutes after she did the blood work. Third-degree burns. Terribly sad."
"So, what's wrong with me?"
"It's just a parasite. I'm ordering you these anti-parasitic drugs, and I'd like to see you back in a few weeks."
"Parasite? What parasite? How did I get a parasite?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, what parasite is it?"
"It's called the vampire worm. It burrows in your skin and travels at night. It's not as bad as it sounds, I assure you. Just take this drug and you'll be feeling better."
"Oh, well, thank you."
She sets the prescription on the chair with your clothes, smiles briefly, then steps out. All the pain and anguish you've been feeling has been cured in a matter of minutes. You redress, grab the prescription, and walk out. You pass a break room where a couple of nurses are calming down the nurse that did your blood. You catch a few snatches of what the's said but her sobbing makes her voice thick and you can barely make out any words. You look at the prescription again as you leave. Though you are still itchy, something just doesn't feel right about what the doctor said, well hadn't said. You wave to the lady at the front desk who validated your parking and walk out into the garage.
You check to see if you have a signal since you forgot to tell your mom that you actually came. You start to, see google's icon, and instinctively click on it. Your fingers anxiously type "vampire worm" and you take a deep breath. Something had really shaken that nurse, and you knew that whatever it was would probably ruin your life. But, after a few seconds of mental preparation, you click the search button. A bevy of results come up, but as you search, you notice a lack of your symptoms. You then try to search for the medicine but only a bunch of Russian results come up. Before you can put them into a search engine, a gruff person bumps into you and interrupts you.
You put your phone away and go to your car. You look at the prescription again, biting your lip, and start your car. You have no idea where to go next, but you know that things are not adding up.