MISDIAGNOSED, by Jackie BeeIt started with the pain in my right shoulder.
Or maybe not. It could have started with that cracked test tube I had thrown into the trash bin while cleaning George’s lab. Given the fuss he had made about it, perhaps it hadn’t been empty after all. He ended up pulling all the trash out of the bin and burning it in the back yard, wearing one of his biohazard suits. He then banned me from entering his study ever again. He also stopped talking to me altogether, and only winced or glared when I got in his way around the house.
A couple of days after the test tube, I felt my shoulder for the first time. I was mopping the floor, pondering once again whether it had been a smart move to marry a promising scientist only to end up as his cook and his cleaning lady. Every
