It’s not too late, she thought. Do it. I have to do it.
“I need to show you something,” Serena told the nurse behind the desk. She set down the e-pad containing the scans, the medical history file, all of the information that no longer mattered now. She slipped out a package from the pocket of her lab coat. It was a sterile scalpel. She kept it low, behind the desk, out of the nurse’s sight. She opened the package and snapped the protective plastic off the blade. She let the packaging fall to the ground.
Serena raised her left hand. Then she raised the scalpel and the nurse gasped and held up her own hands. Serena dragged the scalpel from the base of her left thumb across the bottom of her palm, slicing open her hand, not too shallow, not too deep.