Chapter 112

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Chapter 112: Clashing Clinics

Jon's Perspective

I woke up feeling... well, not good exactly, but definitely less terrible. My fever had dipped down enough that I wasn't drenched in sweat for the first time, my throat no longer felt like I'd been gargling gravel, and—perhaps the biggest miracle of all—I could breathe through one nostril. Just the one, but I was counting it as a hard-earned win. Despite the slight improvement, my whole body still felt like it was moving through molasses, and I estimated I was operating at about 60% of my usual capacity. It was time to stop being stubborn and admit the obvious.

Over a slice of toast and a cup of tea I couldn't fully taste, I looked at Gloria, who was already up and bustling around the kitchen like a one-woman hurricane. "Hey, Gloria," I said, trying to sound casual. "I think I should go see a doctor today. Just to be on the safe side, you know?"

Without missing a beat, she looked up, nodded, and said, "You're absolutely right." But then she dramatically raised a finger into the air, as if she were about to deliver a prophecy. "But not just any doctor. I will take you to my doctor. Doctor Hernando Suárez. The man once saved my cousin's life with nothing but an avocado and a prayer."

I paused, mid-sip. "Was your cousin choking on the avocado?"

Gloria gave me an incredulous look. "No! Don't be ridiculous. He was cursed."

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

Minutes later, I found myself in the passenger seat of Gloria's compact car, a bottle of water in hand, while Ghost—our ever-vigilant cat—held down the fort at home. Gloria, meanwhile, was already multitasking at a dangerous level: navigating city traffic while initiating a video call with Doctor Suárez on her phone. She propped the phone up on the dashboard with the kind of flair usually reserved for reality TV hosts, as if we were driving to an impromptu guest appearance on a Colombian talk show. The cheerful chime of the video connection sounded off as I resigned myself to whatever surreal experience was about to unfold.

At the Clinic

By the time we got to the clinic, I was already regretting everything.

I sat awkwardly on the crinkly paper that lined the examination table, trying not to sneeze or cough too violently, lest I crumple the whole thing like a burrito wrapper. Gloria stood nearby, clutching her phone like it was a sacred relic, her expression intense as she spoke rapidly in Spanish to Doctor Suárez, who now occupied most of her screen.

The door creaked open, and in stepped the actual, real-life, physically present doctor—a man in his forties with weary eyes and the posture of someone who'd seen too many things in too few hours.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Klein—" he began, offering a friendly-enough smile.

"Speak louder!" Gloria barked before he could finish. "Doctor Suárez can't hear you from there!"

Dr. Klein blinked, confused. He glanced at the phone, then at me, then back at Gloria. "I'm... sorry?"

"This is my family doctor," Gloria said proudly, lifting the phone a little higher, as if that would improve reception. "He's from Colombia. I trust him more than anyone here. He says you need to be tested for internal wind."

Dr. Klein paused, trying to interpret whether that was a real medical term or a badly translated folk curse. "Internal... wind?" he repeated, clearly baffled but doing his best to remain professional in the face of escalating absurdity.

Gloria nodded gravely and pointed to my feet. "And also, he says you must rub garlic on the feet. It draws out the fever. Very effective."

Dr. Klein looked like he'd just walked into a bizarre med school hazing ritual. "I'm not going to do that," he said slowly.

"That's okay," Gloria replied cheerfully, rifling through her oversized purse like a magician. "I will!"

And just like that, she produced a Ziploc bag full of peeled garlic cloves—as if it were the most natural thing in the world to carry around. To his credit, Dr. Klein didn't run for the exit. But he did turn to me, visibly questioning all of his life choices.

"Would you maybe prefer to... wait in the lobby for a bit? Just while we sort this out?" he asked gently, like someone approaching a feral animal.

I gave him a tired look. "I am the patient," I muttered, my dignity eroding by the minute.

The Dual Diagnosis

Eventually, some kind of cosmic mercy intervened.

Gloria, overhearing something about billing discrepancies from the front desk, marched off to investigate—her loyalty to financial justice only barely edging out her garlic therapy campaign. With her temporarily distracted, Dr. Klein seized the moment. He quickly ran through the proper examination, took my vitals, and—bless him—prescribed a sensible mix of antibiotics, over-the-counter cold medicine, and a mild steroid to help with the inflammation.

I took the prescriptions with both hands, as if receiving a sacred scroll. "Thank you," I said. "And... sorry about all that. She really does mean well."

Dr. Klein chuckled and waved it off. "Honestly? I've had worse. One time, a guy brought a rabbi, a yoga instructor, and his dog into the exam room. You're not even top ten."

I laughed, or tried to, but it came out as a cough. As we left the exam room, Gloria was already back, triumphant from her mission to correct the billing, and still glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"I told you garlic works," she said brightly, eyeing me up and down. "You already look better!"

I held up the bag from the pharmacy. "It's probably the antibiotics kicking in."

But she waved me off like I'd just said the moon was made of cheese. "No, no. You didn't even need bloodletting like my Uncle Pedro. That was a situation."

I didn't have the energy to argue, so I smiled and nodded. "Yep. Garlic works wonders."

She patted my cheek like I was a proud child who had finally come around. "See? My baby is learning."

Later That Evening

Back home, I sank into my chair like it was a life raft.

Jay looked up from the couch as Ghost leapt into my lap, tail flicking, eyes watchful as always. "How'd it go?" he asked, handing me a bowl that smelled significantly better than any medicine I'd taken that day.

"I survived," I said, my voice a little hoarse but functional. "Barely. Gloria held a remote consultation, traumatized the clinic staff, and nearly turned me into some kind of garlic-infused stew."

Jay didn't even blink. "Sounds about right."

I peered into the bowl. "Wait... is this your version of Gloria's healing soup?"

He shrugged. "More protein. Probably more effective."

Ghost purred and nuzzled my side. I took a sip of the steak soup, let the warmth spread through my sore chest, and let myself finally exhale. Maybe I'd gone to the clinic expecting one doctor and ended up with three. Maybe I'd been prescribed antibiotics, folklore, and possibly spiritual intervention. But I was on the mend.

And in this house, that was pretty much all you could ask for.