My hips weren’t what they used to be. They creaked with every move and I had to rely on a walking aid to move. Business doesn’t get easier with age either…
“Grandma, please,” Rachel pleaded not for the first time. And it wouldn’t be the last. I knew this child too well for that. “You have to take your health more seriously. If the doctor says–”
“The doctor is a fool,” I said, harsher than intended. She meant well after all.
“You’re a fool if you don’t trust doctors.”
I squinted at her. “You should never trust a doctor, child. They’re all crooks like insurance salesmen. Only you know the salesman is one.”
“And the doctor? What is he trying to sell you? Your health?”
“He’s try–”
“Enough Gran.” Rachel became exasperated. “You’re going to the Doctor and take whatever he prescribes you.”
“And if not?” I asked, trying to keep my face blank. Sometimes you have to show a little defiance to the young folk otherwise they’ll think you’re already dead.
“No Sunday walks anymore,” she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. She knew she got me with the Sundays. I spent so much of my life without family, that I started craving it with age.
“Fine,” I said and tried to sound defiant. “But you drive.”
Although I wished I could keep her away from this as far as possible, I relied on her. Only weeks ago she took my keys away, saying I was too old to drive. Her increasing interference also meant I needed to change my schedule. If I wanted to make things right, I needed to act now before Rachel’s concern turned into outright control over my life. She was young and foolish and I was tired of lying.
I gathered my purse and double checked everything was in place before I let Rachel help me into my coat.
The doctor’s waiting room was packed with people. Old people, young people, sick people and the one’s merely pretending to be. And just like everyone else, despite my appointment, they let me wait for over an hour. The colorful walls had pictures of landscapes and cheap paintings of modern art. Everything stank of sweat and disinfectant. It was the most depressing place to spend the morning.
When my name finally crackled through the barely working speakers I made my last slow march into the doctor’s office.
“Ms. Harrington,” Doctor Burt said in a cheerful voice. “How are you feeling today?” He motioned me into the chair opposite of him, without offering me a hand. I settled down and placed my purse on my lap.
“Doctor,” I said quaveringly. “I feel a little lightheaded today. I think it’s the anticipation of death.” His brows danced on his forehead to the music of money. To some people, death was more lucrative than life.
“Nah, nah, Ms. Harrington. Why think about these dire topics?” He rose from his chair and moved swiftly around the table. “Let me take your vitals first, then we see what we can do about your giddiness. All right?”
My hand slipped into the purse and took a firm grip around the pleaser. It was my favorite tool. Small, inconspicuous and nearly untraceable. When the doctor lifted the sleeve of my dress to measure my blood pressure, I slapped my hand on his upper leg. I knew it was riddled with varicose veins, so a puncture wouldn’t stand out between the knots of disease.
“Oh my, Ms. Harrington,” Dr. Burt said surprised. “Are we naughty this morn–”
The speed of impact certain drugs have always fascinated me. Finding the right one for the right person was the challenge. Dr. Burt took a step back, his eyes narrowing. He grabbed the table behind, tried to stabilize his swaying steps. It started with dizziness. I caught him before he could knock his head somewhere. He looked surprised at my speed and strength then confused why his legs suddenly crumbled underneath him. I lowered him gently on the floor. He stared at me wide eyed. Fearful.
I leaned closer in. “It was Dr. Martin,” I whispered. “It was him who wanted you gone.”
His mouth tried to form a word, but the paralysis had already kicked in. He could hear, he could feel, but neither speak nor move.
“Why?” I said with a gentle smile. “There are only two doctors in town who share all the patients. Without you, he can have them all.”
He was crying now. A noiseless realization that the oath the two doctors, all doctors, took was broken. Do no harm.
I kneeled next to him until the spark in his eyes vanished. A last solace before I cried for help.
His death would be diagnosed as heart attack. Me witnessing him die was tragic, but no one suspected an old lady with a bad hip of malfeasance. And Dr. Martin? He would accredit me with perfect health, so Rachel wouldn’t need to worry about me on our Sunday walks.