The nausea had become a stormy sea, unpredictable and violent. That morning, after vomiting until tears streamed from her eyes, a defeated Marina called a taxi to the hospital. She hated this place, the smell of antiseptic, the clinical whiteness, the hushed silence of the corridors that amplified every frantic heartbeat.
Sitting on the examination table in her simple denim dress, she felt tiny and vulnerable. The doctor, a man in his fifties with a calm gaze, scanned his notes.
"So, Miss Vasseur, you're describing significant nausea, extreme fatigue, and dizziness. For about two weeks, is that right?"
— "Yes," she confirmed in a weak voice. "I... I thought it was stress. Nervous exhaustion."
He nodded, then performed a quick examination before prescribing a blood test. "To rule out an
