#uhh whoops my hand slipped and wrote a made up tma statement

[cinnamondumz]

Miasma

Statement of Hannah Dean, regarding a sick patient she took care of. Original statement given August 12th, 20XX. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

Statement begins.

My name is Hannah Dean, I work as a doctor at Pearl Garden Hospital. Let’s just get right to it. I don’t know when she was admitted into the hospital, where she came from, who her parents were, nothing. All I knew was that I was to be taking care of her. When I first entered her room, she was sat in her cot and stared right at me. She looked to be around, 13 or 14 years old? Had greasy hair and old bandages around her arms and legs. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice how everything was so… dirty, at first. The walls were stained, the floor was grotty, and the patient herself was overall, filthy. I walked over to her nonetheless and introduced myself, like I always did. I tried to run a few checkups on her, but as soon as I got close I felt a wave of sickness… emanate from her, somehow. I immediately stepped back, and that sickly feeling went away.

Have you ever heard of the Miasma theory? Where diseases are supposedly caused by bad air and such? This patient—I’m not sure how else to explain this. She had… bad air. There was like an invisible ball of gaseous sickness all around her. It made me want to puke. She gazed up at me with an innocent and confused look, and I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. I went back to do a physical exam on her, checking her skin and eyes, looking into her throat and ears, checking her pulse, the usual. It was hard to focus though, the awful feeling of nausea and illness ruminating off of her and right back at me. She was in a rough shape from the looks of it, she could’ve be suffering from a myriad of things. I figured I’d prescribe some acetaminophen, so I told her I would be back, and left the hospital room.

When I exited, I instantly noticed the change in air quality. It was so much more fresh and breathable outside of the patient’s room, despite still being in a building with what should’ve been the same conditions. That’s when I realized the difference in cleanliness as well, the halls had a scent of rubbing alcohol and chlorine, but her room… honestly, was foul. I went to grab the medicine for her when a friend of mine and also fellow co-worker, Wendy Lovett, bumped into me. She was surprised to see me and said that I looked unwell. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she showed me with her phone. I looked like I had a cold or something, but it wasn’t that serious, could just be the long hours getting to me. I mentioned I was getting some medicine for the patient in room 43, but Wendy looked more concerned for me. She told me there wasn’t a patient in room 43. I said that there definitely was one, and that she could come with me to take care of the patient if she really didn’t believe me.

We came back to the patient and Wendy wrinkled her nose as she entered. The patient still sat on that cot. I poured one chewable tablet of the medicine in my hand and instructed her how to take it. I’m not sure why, but she looked a little disappointed when she took it. Wendy walked over to the patient and I could see her face shift from mild disgust to utter repulsion. She must have gotten a little close and experienced that… bad air. Once the patient was done, I gave her a glass of water and Wendy practically dragged me out. She shut the door to the room and told me that patient was not normal. It was hard to disagree with Wendy, there was something strange about her and we both felt sick after being around her. We agreed that I would give the responsibility of taking care of this patient to someone else, probably more capable of dealing with sicker patients. The next day, I asked another doctor, Vincent Roussel, if he could handle the patient for me, as I was feeling ill. He begrudgingly agreed, and I stayed home.

I came back to work feeling much better after that, but I couldn’t help but notice Vincent looked really bad. His usually kept hair was a mess, he had stains all over his shirt, and his glasses were smudged and crooked. I asked if he was okay. Vincent glared at me and told me he was just fine, but judging from his cough and sniffly nose, he was not. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day, until I walked past room 43 nearing the end of my shift, the door slightly askew. Curiosity got the better of me, and I took a little peak inside. The room looked a lot dirtier than I remember, now with insects crawling and flying around the walls and floors. Vincent was now lying in the cot and he looked like a corpse, but he was still alive, the shaky rise and fall of his chest showed that. The patient stood beside the cot, remarkably looking a whole lot healthier, with her hand on Vincent’s shoulder. I think she was saying or whispering things, but I couldn’t hear what. I… I quickly left after seeing that.

Vincent was found dead in the hospital a few days later. The police haven’t found anything about what could have caused his death. I’ve only told Wendy about seeing the patient with Vincent so far, since I doubt the police would find the information helpful. We’ve both been avoiding room 43, even though it’s probably perfectly normal and clean now. That patient… I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since. I hope I never do.

Statement ends.