Chapter 3 - THE MEDICAL STAGED COLLAPSEThree days later, Daniel decided it was time to accelerate the timeline.
We were sitting at the kitchen island eating lunch when I suddenly clutched my chest, let out a sharp gasp, and slumped forward against the marble counter, knocking my water glass to the floor with a loud crash.
"Claire!" Daniel shouted, rushing to my side with theatrical panic.
He grabbed my wrist, checking my pulse while frantically dialing 911 on his phone.
"Hang on, baby! Stay with me! An ambulance is on the way!" he yelled into the phone, pitching his voice to sound like a terrified, devoted husband fighting for his wife's life.
As I lay there with my eyes half-closed, listening to his frantic act, a cold fury burned inside my chest. He wanted drama? I was going to give him an Oscar-winning performance.
When the paramedics arrived, Daniel rode in the back of the ambulance, holding my hand and weeping openly.
At St. Jude’s Hospital, Dr. Harris met us at the emergency trauma bay.
"Her heart rate is dangerously low again," Dr. Harris said, looking gravely at Daniel. "Mr. Whitmore, I don't understand it. We adjusted her therapeutic dosage last week, yet her bloodwork shows almost zero active medication in her system."
Daniel shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "She... she forgets, Doctor. She's been so confused lately. I try to manage her schedule, but she hides her pills or misses doses when I'm at the office."
I lay on the hospital gurney, weak and pale, and looked straight at Dr. Harris.
"Doctor," I whispered hoarsely. "Please... test my blood for excipients. Test it for starch binders and placebo fillers."
Dr. Harris frowned, caught off guard by my specific terminology. "Starch fillers?"
Before Daniel could interject, I gripped Dr. Harris's lab coat sleeve. "My husband administers every dose. Please... run a comprehensive toxicology screen on the exact pills currently in our kitchen medicine cabinet."
Dr. Harris looked at Daniel, then back at me. A very serious, clinical expression settled over the physician's face.
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"We'll run the toxicology panel immediately, Mrs. Whitmore," Dr. Harris said firmly.
Daniel swallowed hard, his face turning a shade paler under the fluorescent lights.
