An excerpt from Emily Regained by A.C. Bruce
I took several big sips of my smoothie through a biodegradable straw. The war on plastic made sense to me, but I had to admit I was sorry to see some things go. A smoothie did not taste the same without a plastic straw.
“For the sake of the world, I will make do,” I resolved, hollowing my cheeks and slurping, the way Riley and Tyler did.
Dr. Morton returned to the table with a china mug. “I hate disposables,” he said. He was stirring his coffee and raising the mug to his lips. He didn’t need a straw.
“Something wrong?” he said.
“Brain freeze,” I said. “I think I’m drinking too fast.” My heart had started to race.
Dr. Morton said, “I’m afraid you and I got off on the wrong foot, and things went downhill from there. Let’s put all the nonsense behind us. Make a fresh start.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said. My voice echoed in my head. I was feeling a little wonky. The smoothie and I disagreed. “Where should we begin?”
“With the complaint you filed against me at the College. I’d like to get that off the table.”
I squinted. The doctor looked sort of fuzzy around the edges. “You want me to drop it?” I said. “The College dismissed it on your behalf. In spite of the fact that you lied about me. In your report. And then again later, on X.”
He shrugged. “That report was part of my job,” he said.
I took a pull at my smoothie while I thought about how to respond. I’d come here expecting a truce, but he wasn’t making amends; he was making excuses.
I said, “You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to care about people. Not frame them to look like cheaters so insurance won’t have to pay out.”
He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, as if he were telling a joke. “That’s right, they pay me instead,” he said. “Though not quite as much.”
“You’re a … a crook …” I was having some trouble shaping words.
The doctor stared at me, eyes narrowed behind his tortoiseshell glasses. “I may have a liking for money,” he said. “But I am not a crook.”
“Opinions differ,” I said, trying for dignity. I pushed my drink away. I didn’t want any more. My throat and my tongue felt swollen. Blame the paper straw.
“It’s in my best interest to prove that a claim’s illegitimate,” Dr. Morton said. His voice sounded tinny and thin.
“I understand that,” I said, sagely. “You’re one of the alligators in the swamp.” I pointed a finger at him. “But I’m going to circle the wagons.” I pointed my finger at me.
“A number of others have said much the same,” said the doctor. “Though not in mixed metaphors.” He leaned forward across the table and spoke very softly to me. I had to lean forward to hear. We probably looked like friends. We were not. And I felt sick to my stomach.
“Eventually,” Dr. Morton said, “you’ll wish you hadn’t tried it.”
I struggled to form a thought. “I’m surprised you’re not in jail,” I said. My head felt separate from my body. Like the silhouettes on the hill.
“I’m clever,” the doctor said. At least that’s what I think he said. “The people I work for are pleased with my performance. And people like you have no power.”
His face swam in and out of focus. I shifted my gaze, blinking to clear my vision. I clung to my cane for support. “Oh, my goodness,” I said, “look at that little dog. He’s trying to climb the wall.”
The doctor’s head swivelled around, like the girl in that horror movie. The world was fading away.
“There’s no dog,” I heard someone say. “That’s a ficus plant.”
Then there was nothing but swirling colour and sound.
Excerpted from Emily Regained by A.C. Bruce © 2026. Used with permission of Ronsdale Press.
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A.C. Bruce is the pen name for two Calgary writers. Based on lived experience, they were driven to write this book because of their frustration over the lack of effective treatment for people who suffer chronic pain and their disgust at the unethical behaviour of certain health professionals.
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