Life can be (a) dream

[Index - Posts - Art museum - Other cool things - Changelog]

April 26, 2026 - The Panacea - Part Two

Isaac felt a growl in his stomach as he walked to work the next day. He didn't usually skip meals. He never felt particularly hungry, but he felt a certain weakness in his stomach if he didn't eat for long enough. It wasn't hunger that drove Isaac to eat as much as his hatred of this weakness. When he turned onto the street of the pharmacy, he imagined that the chihuahua across the street could knock him over if it wanted to.

He checked his watch, saw that he would be almost twenty minutes early, and dragged himself into the nearby cafe for breakfast. He ordered two biscuit sandwiches and a coffee before realizing that every seat in the cafe was taken, and took to eating his sandwiches while crossing the street instead.

When he finally walked into work, he found his boss leaning on his desk. He was a shorter man with a round face, and, as Isaac had come to learn, a very routine-oriented person. He did everything the same way whenever possible. He wore the same khaki pair of pants, and he always walked in at precisely 7:05, and he always would give critiques of people's work right as they started in the morning by leaning over their desks by his elbows. As much as Isaac feared seeing him by his desk in the morning (especially this morning, of all mornings), he was at least happy to always get the worst of the day over with in the morning.

"Good morning, Eric," Isaac said. "Is everything alright?" He started bracing himself for what Eric was about to say. Most of the time, it was something that Isaac never even thought could be an issue. But this time, he knew exactly what Eric would be unhappy with him for.

"Good morning, Isaac. Do you remember the last appointment you had yesterday? I believe her name was... hm... hm! I can't quite seem to remember!"

"Naomi, was it?"

"I believe so. Can you tell me about it?"

"Naomi and her mom came in asking for Dexalof. Her screening answers seemed a bit bizarre, so I talked to her in the exam room. It seems that she was given unprescribed Dexalof by her mom first, which is what even motivated her to come in. She appeared to have an acute case of depression, and I found that she lied on her questionnaire about her suicidal symptoms. According to protocol, I referred her out for psychological help rather than prescribing."

"I believe the protocol you followed is a little outdated. I have a new version here," he said, passing an envelope over to Isaac. "This came out just last week in the mail. I apologize that I didn't get it to you sooner."

Isaac knew that Eric hadn't gotten to what had really bothered him yet, but he failed to understand what this could have been. If Eric only had a new prescribing protocol, he would have simply handed it to him and left. He ripped open the envelope, and made a point of reading it on the spot. "There seems to be something missing. When should we refer out now?"

"Referring out is not part of the protocol anymore."

"But that doesn't make any sense. If, for example, an acutely depressed patient takes Dexalof, their condition tends to worsen. And this says to not screen for other factors at all...?"

"Oh, don't tell me you're of that sort. I know a lot of bad stuff is coming out about Dexalof right now, but none of it makes sense, not at all! I saw a new one last week, something about the suicide rate on Dexalof, but a whistleblower came out just last night and said that they had made up all the numbers. So what risk are you talking about?"

"Don't you remember? When Dexalof had just hit the markets, they warned all prescribers that... oh, it doesn't matter. In what case do we not prescribe?"

"We always prescribe. We keep their screening questionnaire as a safeguard, prescribe the smallest amount to start, and provide more if they need it."

"I've not seen this sort of protocol for any sort of medication before."

"Breaking protocol isn't good practice."

"That is true. I understand."

"Thank you, Isaac. I hope today goes smoother."

"Thank you, Eric."

Eric nodded, turned around, and let Isaac be. Soon after, the first patient came to Isaac's counter. He had heavy, heavy eye bags, ones that reached to nearly the top of his nose. Isaac smelled an almost heavy sweat from him, and he shifted his eyes around rapidly. He asked for a week's worth of Dexalof. Isaac gave him the typical intake form, and waited for him to return. He took long enough that a new patient came shortly after, also asking for enough for a week. She barely could have been in her twenties, and carried a baby close to her chest. He gave her the same form. Ten minutes later, only the young mother had returned. Her form showed that her anxiety levels were high enough for a referral out. Isaac pulled her into the examination room, and the look of panic in her eyes exactly mirrored Naomi's panicked look. The guilt of stressing her out almost made Isaac write her a prescription on the spot. Who was he to deprive them of something that might help them so much? What place did he have to ignore the prescription guidelines? And why was he already thinking of how he could ignore the guidelines?

Perhaps I'm making a mess of this in my head, he thought. I don't think the prescription is appropriate. Isn't that all? He blinked, and found that his hands had moved without his control again. He had taken out a referral form and attached a flier for family support without realizing. Was this becoming instinctual so fast?

He had braced himself for a poor reaction that he did not receive. She seemed to be happy to be given any sort of support at all, and even thanked him for talking to her individually. As she piled gratitude onto him, he felt his body relieving its tension. Was doing his job always this stressful?

As he followed her out into the waiting room, he found that the first man had fallen asleep. His clipboard balanced between his right arm and the chair rest, and his left arm had flopped over into the other chair altogether. He woke him up with a gentle tap on the shoulder, gave him a pack of peanuts from his own lunch and a bottle of water, and asked what the matter was. He confided that he had lost his job just a week prior, and had fallen into such a state of despair that other interviewers thought he must have been on drugs. Isaac gave him the address of a food pantry across the street. This man wasn't as visibly happy as the new mother was, but he didn't look mad by any means.

His next three patients asked for refills. He declined each one, pointing them towards a concerning detail in their intake forms, and blamed himself for not catching it as they first visited. By his seventh patient, he had taken to lying altogether about the efficacy of Dexalof, and referred them out to almost random places.

Eric came to his counter next. It was rare to ever see Eric check on him while he worked. Usually, he'd only visit before the store opened, after it closed, or rarely during his lunch. He crossed his arms on the counter while leaning forward, and gave a wry smile.

"How is today going, Isaac?"

"Fantastic," he replied, matching his gaze.

"I wanted to ask if I could get a prescription of Dexalof. Just a week's worth. I've been feeling demotivated when I come home."

"Oh? Here's the intake form. Sorry to make you go through it, but I don't want to not follow procedure and have it bite us later."

Eric didn't sit down while he filled out the form, and filled out boxes seemingly at random. He marked every line asking for every detail with a dash, and pushed the form towards Isaac. He looked over the form briefly before scanning it into the system, to which Eric laughed.

"You don't need to even look at that now, Isaac. Remember? We just prescribe now. Don't worry about this form."

"I can't help it. It's instinct. Give me a second, and I'll have it ready for you," he said, and turned around to count out a bottle's worth. When Isaac came back, Eric's card and insurance were already on the counter.

"There's something I forgot to tell you this morning. When Dexalof sent out the new prescribing guidelines, they also sent a letter with something interesting. They want to analyze what areas and patients have the most demand for Dexalof, but figured they could share this information for each store individually. Out of the kindness of their hearts, I suppose! But I don't think it's working right, since we're supposed to have a live feed of the statistics per store. Nothing has shown at all today."

"That's strange." Isaac knew his voice was on the verge of trembling. He fought it as best as he could, and forced himself to keep speaking. "Where can you see that?"

"Let me pay first, and I'll show you."

Eric paid, and took him to the desktop in the back of the store. The program was already open. It was still spinning while processing the most recent form, and finally spat out information of the Dexalof prescriptions of the day. Only Eric's prescription showed.

"That's strange. Either the program doesn't work, or there's been no prescriptions today besides mine."

"It must be broken. I can reach out to them and ask."

"There's no need. I know you're lying already. Everyone who comes into the store is walking out with some sort of flier or paperwork that I've never seen in my life."

"There must be some sort of misunderstanding--"

"There is not. Clean your desk."

Isaac cleaned with a bitter feeling. What should have been shame turned into undirected anger. He was mad at Eric, at Dexalof, at the store, at his job, at his patients, at all doctors, at a random passerby simply picking up a bottle of cough syrup! But, as Eric led him out the door and took his key, his anger morphed again into pride. For a moment, he imagined the Earth to be a boulder, and that he was balanced on his own little boulder on top of the Earth. From there, he could see all that everyone needed. If they just had a bit more support, and if they just had someone listening to them, then there would be no need for any of this at all. He could see all, and he could help all, if only he knew how and the world would let him! But he then thought of his painting, and the boulder began to crack. The man that couldn't finish a single painting could save the world? He lost footing as the boulder started to turn into dust. When he thought of how long he'd have to last on his meager savings, the boulder finally disintegrated altogether, and he fell, fell, fell, far past the boulder and past the Earth, falling into his own little pit of misery and despair.

The smell of pastries dragged him out of his pit. He was in front of the same cafe that he had gone to that morning. He ignored that he had lunch in his bag, telling himself that he'd certainly make his lunch into his dinner. He sat in the cafe for some time, trying not to think of anything, and only sipped on two cups of coffee the whole while. He was the only one who sat by himself. Mothers, and kids, and businessmen, and coworkers on lunch, and students with their friends, but no one by themselves. He couldn't bear the situation anymore. He waved over the waitress and forced her to take his card on the spot rather than waiting for another five minutes so he could leave as quickly as possible.

He thought of the boulder and Dexalof as he walked home. He eventually couldn't bear to think of this, either, and thought of nothing at all. He felt each crack in the ground as he walked, and he hated how uneven it felt on his feet, and was so driven insane by these cracks that he walked back to a crack to make sure both of his toes dipped into it equally as much before continuing on.

His obsession with the cracks on the sidewalk was suddenly broken by a girl's singing. She was at the same spot that the old raving man had been the day before. He sat down at the bench to listen to her sing.

It wasn't clear what she was singing. He could only make out a quarter of the words, but he still found it beautiful all the same. She had her eyes shut for most of her performance, and swayed with every other beat of her song. He thought she must have been a panhandler at first, but her clothes looked clean, and her hair was in pretty, black braids. Indeed, she didn't have a case, or a hat, or anything at all to collect cash with!

He waited until the end of her second song. It seemed to be something about a woman that fell in love in a forest. Her pitch was so high that he was able to ignore the screeching and muttering around him. He finally got up to leave as she breathed and drank half a bottle of water, but saw that her eyes had landed onto his face. He forced himself to smile at her. She immediately smiled back, and called him over.

"Were you listening to me? Were you, weeee-ere you?" Her eyes lit up.

"I've not heard singing in a very long time. I didn't mean to make you nervous."

"I'm happy! This is the first time anyone's ever stayed to listen. Well, tell me what made you listen, won't you?"

"I don't know. I left work a little early." He realized that he didn't mean to lie, and corrected himself. "I left work for the last time, actually. I don't have anything to do, so I thought I would listen for a little."

"Oh, I've not been working for a little either. I thought it was horrible until the second week. Maybe it'll be the same for you." She stopped to straighten out her braids, and looked at Isaac with an expectant look. "Do you want to know why I was singing?"

"Sure, I wouldn't mind. Why?"

"I just need to complain a little. It's because of that stupid yelling man and the speaker he always brings here! That's why!" She paused again, giving Isaac the same expectant look.

She seemed reliant on questions to talk. Was she shy? She certainly didn't seem shy. It didn't make sense, but Isaac figured there was no harm in indulging her. "Tell me about the yelling man," he prompted. "I think I saw him yesterday."

"It was certainly the same person. The one that yells about God and hedonism, no?" Isaac nodded, and she continued. "I wouldn't mind him if I didn't live in that apartment up there," she said, pointing up and to the right at an older looking apartment with walls of cracked bricks. "All I've heard at night for the past week is this old bastard! He comes at five at night, and yells and yells until one, two, sometimes three in the morning. His stupid voice makes me want to throw something! But I don't have anything to throw, and I like all my things, so I thought if I sang for long enough here, he'd find somewhere else to go."

"He's here so often? I must be too high up. My apartment is on this street too, but I've never heard him."

"Can I ask where your apartment is?"

"Right over there," he said, pointing up and to the left. "Do you see that well decorated one?" He pointed at an apartment with lights over the fence, and with flags and other signs pointed towards the street.

"Oh, yes! That looks amazing!"

"Yes, well, I'm the one beneath that one..."

She laughed for a long while. From this, he finally forgot his bitterness, and broke into laughter of his own.

"You're one of the few people that's talked to me in a long time," she said. "I can't find anyone to talk to lately. What's your name?"

"Isaac."

"Isaac! I'm Charlotte. Say, have you been to Daybreak recently?"

"Daybreak? The cafe? I was there twice today, actually."

"Really? Did you take a look around either time? I saw the strangest thing last time I was there. There were tables full of people, and everyone was with someone, but they didn't talk at all. I was with a friend, and she just did her makeup the whole time. Every time I asked her anything, she'd just fuss over her food or talk about how humid and sweaty she was. So I listened to other tables, imagining I was with them instead, but they were just as bad! Maybe that's why I'm so excited that you talked to me!"

Isaac didn't remember the last time he met someone new outside of work. Charlotte's openness was almost jarring to him. It was supposed to take time to speak the way she did to him!

"Charlotte, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"You speak like a fifteen year old. You have to be careful. People will take it poorly."

"I think I'm a good judge of character. You're not taking me poorly, are you?"

"I suppose not, but I don't know how to react to it."

"That's really alright. You told me honestly, so it doesn't bother me at all."

Isaac didn't know how to reply. He looked at the street, trying to make up an excuse to leave, and saw the man from yesterday. He must have made some sort of sound, because he saw that Charlotte's head instantly snapped to the same direction. She gasped, and chugged the rest of her water bottle.

"Isaac! It was nice to meet you, but you have to go now!"

"It was good to meet you. Maybe I'll see you again," he said, and turned around to go home.