Page 13 of I Can't Even

The last thing I wanted to do was follow the doctor, seeing as I had illegal substances in my pocket that needed to be disposed of, but his insistence that I follow him had my feet reluctantly dragging myself in his direction.

We arrived in the young mom’s room who’d been plaguing my thoughts all morning.

She’d come in with a raging infection in her breast from mastitis, and I knew that she’d waited so long because she couldn’t afford to pay.

Yet, she was so sick and lethargic this morning that when an ambulance had been called on her behalf, she’d had no other alternative but to follow their orders because she couldn’t argue.

She’d been too out of it.

“All right, Ms. Melina,” the doctor said as he swept into the room. “The results are in. You have a very bad infection that I’m worried might be antibiotic resistant. So I’m going to prescribe you this medication…”

The doctor went on to explain a few more things, and I listened with half an ear.

“On this medication, you’ll have to pump and dump,” the doctor said with a bored tone.

“But… how will I feed my baby?”

Dr. Peter Brewn shook his head. “Honey, I’m not sure how you’re going to do this. I do know that if you don’t take this medication, you might die. This infection is wicked.”

I liked Dr. Brewn. He was a great doctor to work with.

But sometimes he didn’t see the bigger picture.

Like, it wouldn’t matter if this mother survived if she couldn’t feed her baby.

“But if I can’t feed her my milk…”

“We’ll provide you with some formula. I’ll have Ellodie here run up to the postpartum unit and steal some.” Dr. Brewn grinned.

I would do that for her… after I got rid of the stuff burning its way through my pocket.

“She’ll go do that now,” he said. “And we’ll get you started on this IV medication.”

I took the chance to dash out of the room, running toward the closest bathroom that wasn’t on the unit itself.

The moment I was in the bathroom, I slammed and locked the door.

Once by myself, I immediately grabbed for the drugs in my pocket and started dumping them into the toilet.

I’d taken the drugs from the gang patient’s room when he left to go get an X-ray.

I knew I shouldn’t have done it.

Truthfully, I should’ve called the cops.

But I didn’t because to call the cops for the drugs, I would have to give up the cash, and I wasn’t super excited about doing that.

After it was all dumped, I went to the sink and washed my hands very, very well, then flushed the toilet with my foot.

My hand went back into my pocket, and I felt the roll of money there, making my heart race even more.

I needed to get rid of it. Fast.

When I’d started doing this a few months ago, it’d been a way to get the director to take the crime that was happening down in the ER seriously.

Then when he’d all but ignored it, I’d decided that if I had to, I’d pay for the stupid security myself.

And I’d done it by stealing some money here and there from people who didn’t deserve it.

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