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Penny peered into the bathroom to find Quentin on the floor, head hanging over the toilet bowl. “Shit,” he commented. “I didn’t think the nerd would get drunk on a school night.”
“I’m not hungover and I’m not a nerd.” Quentin squeezed his eyes tightly closed to fight off another wave of nausea. “I barely had anything to drink last night.”
“Sure.” Penny rolled his eyes. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“I’m serious,” Quentin protested. “I had, like, one drink.”
Penny shrugged. “Whatever, man. We have class soon; hope you can get your shit together before then.”
Despite his best efforts, Quentin found himself still stuck to the toilet twenty minutes later when Professor Sunderland’s lecture began. He eventually managed to get his shaky legs to walk himself out of the bathroom but only made it as far as his bed before giving up and collapsing again.
When Penny returned from class a few hours later and found Quentin clutching a trash can, he shook his head. “Dude,” Penny said, setting a bottle of sports drink down on Quentin’s nightstand. “You really have a problem.”
“I’m not hungover,” Quentin insisted again. “Read my mind if you don’t believe me.”
Penny frowned, then shrugged. “If you’re not hungover, go to the Infirmary,” he replied, wrinkling his nose at the smell. “Please. I don’t want to catch…whatever you have.”
-
A little while later, Quentin found himself seated in front of a bored-looking Healing student holding a clipboard. “So, what brings you here today?”
Quentin pulled his jacket tighter around his body. “I think I’m sick. I’ve been throwing up all morning.”
“Magical?”
Quentin frowned. “Huh?”
“Is the nature of your illness magical or non-magical?” the Healing student asked slowly, emphasizing each word as if he were a small child.
Quentin hesitated. “Uh, how would I tell the difference?”
The student rolled her eyes. “Have you engaged in unprotected rituals lately?” Quentin shook his head. “Got any magical enemies?”
“Uh, maybe?” Quentin hedged. “I think my roommate hates me.”
She sighed. “The doctor will probably want to run all the tests, then. Just sit on the exam bed and she’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
The doctor turned out to be Professor Lipson, whose tests seemed to consist mainly of placing various objects near Quentin and looking at him through colored pieces of glass. After a few minutes, she shook her head. “Well, your illness doesn’t seem to be caused by magic," she said.
“Is that good?” Quentin asked.
“Could be either,” she replied. “What did you say your symptoms were, again?”
“Nausea and vomiting, mostly,” Quentin replied. “That just started today, but I’ve also been feeling cold a lot lately.”
“Hm.” Lipson wrapped a manual blood pressure cuff around Quentin’s arm and slipped the earpieces of a stethoscope into her ears. “Any other symptoms?”
Quentin frowned. “I guess I haven’t really been able to sleep the past few nights?”
“Okay.” The doctor finished taking Quentin’s blood pressure and removed the cuff from his arm. “Do you tend to have a low heart rate?”
“Um, no,” Quentin replied. His frown deepened. “It’s usually pretty normal.”
“Are you currently taking any medications?”
“No.” Quentin hesitated. “I used to be on antidepressants, but I stopped.”
The doctor slipped her stethoscope out of her ears and slowly raised her eyes to look at Quentin. “When was that?”
“Right when I came to Brakebills,” he replied. “So, like…a little less than a week ago?”
Lipson set down her stethoscope and sighed. “And I’m guessing you just stopped taking your pills, right? You didn’t talk to a doctor about tapering off?”
Quentin nodded. “Yeah.” He brushed a strand of hair out of his face, then froze. “Wait, is that why-”
“Yes.” The doctor sighed. “Going off antidepressants can have a host of side effects, especially when you try to quit cold turkey. You should have been warned when your doctor prescribed you the medication.”
Quentin sheepishly stared at the floor. “Uh, I might have tuned that part out,” he admitted. “I’ve been on a lot of antidepressants and I’ve always been pretty good at taking them.”
Lipson shook her head. “So, why did you stop?” Quentin opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when the doctor held up her hand. “Let me guess — Dean Fogg told you that magic would cure you?”
“Well, not exactly.” Quentin shifted uncomfortably on the exam bed. “He, um, he just said-”
“You don’t need to protect him,” Lipson interrupted with exasperation. “I’ve already told him more than once that he needs to stop giving the ‘you’re not crazy’ speech to new students. I guess I’m going to have to remind him again.”
“You mean…it’s not true?” Quentin asked timidly.
“It can be. Don’t get me wrong, some people experience symptoms similar to depression because they’re missing something in their lives. And magic can be that thing,” Lipson explained. “But contrary to what the dean may try to tell himself, it is possible to have both magic and depression at the same time. Just like you can have both magic and gonorrhea. Believe me, I would know.”
Quentin squirmed. “About…which one?”
“What I’m saying is that magic doesn’t cure everything. If you want to taper off your antidepressants because you feel you don’t need them anymore, that’s your choice and I can help you do that. But in the short term, I’d like for you to resume your medication before your side effects get any worse. Does that work for you?” Quentin nodded. “Okay, do you still have any of your medication left?”
He shook his head. “I threw the whole bottle away,” he admitted.
“You wouldn’t be the first.” The doctor turned away to grab a folder out of a file cabinet, then pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to Quentin. “What antidepressant were you taking?”
“Uh, lithium,” Quentin replied. “Lithium carbonate.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as she handed Quentin a pen from her pocket. “Fill this out with the medication and dose you were taking. Most Brakebills students use a mail-order pharmacy that can deliver to campus. I’ll put a rush on it and they should be able to get it to your dorm room in time for you to take your first dose again tonight.”
Quentin scribbled down the information for his prescription and handed it back to the doctor. She looked it over. “I’ll get this submitted right away,” she said. “Do you want to stay here for a while, or are you good to go back to your dorm?”
“Uh, I think I’m good to go,” Quentin replied. Just knowing he had an answer for his symptoms made his limbs feel warmer.
Lipson folded the paper into the shape of a bird, then blew on it. The paper bird flapped its wings and flew away. “Let me know if the side effects get worse or if they don’t start to get better within a few days. I’ll also write an excuse note for your professors to let them know that you might miss a few classes and will need to make up the work later.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lipson said. “If you need anything else, please come back.”
“I will,” he promised. “Thank you.”