Page 3 of Psychotic Obsession
We sit at a large, dark, oval-shaped table, paperwork covering nearly every inch of the wood.
No one looks at us as we take our seats.
No one speaks, not even when the doctors and students walk in and greet those they already know. Across from us, two others drop down into their seats. Young men, maybe around their mid-twenties like me and Gabriella. They're well-dressed and look confident. One of them pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose while reading from a sheet of paper, and I have to look away before anyone thinks I’m staring.
I cross my legs at the knees, placing my folder in front of me and opening to the front page.
"Did you bring all of the—" Gabriella stops as soon as the door opens, silence filling the room.
The specialist doctor we were waiting for enters in powerful strides that make my spine tingle. To say I’m terrified is an understatement, but I can’t show it.
I clear my throat, grabbing everyone's attention. This is the third time I've stood in a meeting like this and fought for this child's life. Maybe this meeting will actually be positive and I won’t be shut down for not having their same level of experience.
"Thank you for coming today," I announce, painting a confident smile on my face.
I begin by discussing with a few of the staff about other patients here in the hospital, how their treatment has impacted their quality of life and my exact reason for reaching out.
I try to keep my chin up, my back straight the same as Gabs', as I address the doctor at the head of the table, Doctor Blythe. He wants to say a few words regarding my research, and my palms sweat as he stands from his seat.
He clears his throat to grab everyone's attention. "This is quite a peculiar case we've been looking into for some time. Remarkable work you've done here." I remain passive, waiting for the blow to land like I've been expecting. He tells the room of my work, my achievements in such a short time, and nods to me before taking his seat again. "I believe each of you havestatements to make over the next few days before Miss Dermot’s arrival."
Wait, no.
"Oh, sorry," I say before he can continue. Everyone looks at me. "Aren't we looking into the information before instructing the patient to travel here? It would seem unnecessary if she were to come all the way from Scotland, only to be told the trials aren't compatible with what she needs? She's currently wheelchair-bound, and arrangements need to be made regarding her stay."
Dr. Blythe nods. "I know that. Please have the patient brought here by Friday. I've had a specialist look into her case, and he believes there is a strong match."
"They think she is compatible?"
"Yes," is all he says in reply, his eyes challenging me.
I sit back on my chair, crossing my legs under the table as Gabriella shifts beside me.
As usual, I’m the last to know. I'm relieved but pissed I've been here for four days and not once did he email me or come to my office to tell me specialists agree on a match.
Blythe continues, "I have asked two assistants to join the team." He points to the two young men across from us, both their heads buried in their notes. "Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Lapsley have been part of my team for three years, researching genetic mutations and pathogenic variations."
The one with pale eyes lifts his head, giving a nervous wave. The other keeps reading his paperwork as if there isn't a room full of professionals discussing a little girl's life. He licks the tip of his thumb to turn the page, dark brows furrowed deep behind the frames of his glasses.
"In front of you, if you haven't looked through them yet, are all the details needed. A copy of the enrollment, the specifics of the trial, the possible costs, side notes, and a section for your own, if needed. And Aria…" His eyes find mine over his glasses."As you are the one who set this up and the listed primary worker on her case, I'd like to speak with you tomorrow at noon, just to go over some extra details."
To take control, you mean. Which is fine–he is more experienced, with a good twenty years on me. I’m just a girl in my early twenties, still breaking my way into the field, but my age shouldn’t make me feel useless the way it does when people talk down to me.
"Thank you," I reply with an enthusiastic smile, ensuring I make eye contact with each person in the room–except the guy in front, still fully focused on his paperwork.
"Everyone, if there are any concerns or any questions, you are welcome to direct them to Aria, as she likely knows more information on the patient than anyone."
The doctor from Great Ormond across from me clears his throat and stacks his pages. "How long have you been working on this case? From what I've heard, you’re very new to the department, a lab worker only two years ago. Am I correct? You’re certainly one of the youngest I've worked with."
Sigh.
Being in my twenties sucks sometimes.
Gabriella is the same age as me, and she never gets comments like that.
But I refuse to back down, especially with this case.
"My age is of no concern," I reply in the gentlest tone, trying not to piss anyone off. "I?—"
