The technical details in these fictional stories are drawn from real cases in the US OSHA database or similar sources and are therefore entirely realistic, if seemingly outlandish.
Max was a gatekeeper of life or death.
From his dark oak desk, Max dictated the future. With a simple rubber stamp, he could assign entreaties to be authorized or not. A bulging stack directly in front of him were stamped “DENIED.”
More officious than evil, Max was long on the contractual letter and short on the caring vision. He was all about the money.
Silvia was sick. Her recurring bouts of fever and cramps had been a mystery for months. Finally, she got the one thing almost as good as a cure: a diagnosis. It had been over a year since the first time she was doubled up on the bathroom floor, following a Sunday spent with her parents.
Already a dimming memory by Friday, she was not expecting to be curled up on the bathroom floor again, hot and prickly, alternatingly gushing at both ends. This time she had not visited her family and had not eaten anything that was a likely cause. Again, it mostly cleared up by the next day, but this time she scheduled an appointment with her doctor. In the 4 weeks she had to wait for an appointment, it happened again three times, and the last took her to the ED.
She had to wait four hours for a doctor, but the triage nurse had mostly ruled out appendicitis, obstructed bowel, and a few other things. The doctor was nice but focused on admitting her or getting her out. After three minutes, she left with a prescription, a referral to gastroenterology, and an invoice for $1,286.
Silvia settled into a rhythm of sorts—a few days of normal life in which her fevers, chills, and tempestuous bowels receded, and she almost forgot about them. But then came the hangover period, a sort of payment in pain and debasement for wishing to have a normal existence. On those days, she would writhe and make the sounds of a wounded animal, alternating between stripping to her underwear and cocooning in a blanket and grabbing for a bucket or staggering to the toilet. The pain and cramps made thinking impossible, and the retching and gushing focused her mind on death.
