You have had the misfortune to have fallen ill and sent by the local GP to see the priesthood inside the crumbling temples of Asclepius.
You sit down on the lower chair height or the bed with the ritual blue paper covering, the team of acolytes and sisters of the drip and parchment, hovering at the door.
“You are in luck!” they shout with a voice at home on the opera stage, “Take a look at the alters at which we will lay your body down upon and we will the drive the humours out of your body. Be hold!”
Drawing back the curtain of enlightenment of private fundraising, they reveal the alter of modern science;
Next door after a puzzling years of your GP’s life, you are sent to the same hospital, but into the dark bowels of the temple.
"We have named this one Polycythaemia vera (PV) ! " and following the writing on the holy walls, you stumble in the dark into a closed room, strange creatures stand guard before your role in this ritual of healing;
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