Symptom #117 Tomatoes by Emily Garland

January 5th, 2004

The patient presents with two unusual growths on the underside of their left breast. On biopsy, both growths appear to be tomato plants.

Jan 7th, 2004

On further examination, the patient’s venous system is a network of vines. It is unclear if the patient is only overgrown with tomatoes, or if they harbor other vegetation. It is also unclear whether it is in the patient’s best interests to be removed from the hospital. For now, we have moved the patient to a room with more sunlight.

Jan 9th, 2004

The patient is sprouting. Upon consultation, the botanist refers to the tomatoes (of which are numerous, symmetrical, and so brightly red you cannot look at them without squinting) as Chadwick Cherry heirloom tomatoes. However, the patient refers to them as the tomato that took up the most space in their grandmother’s garden.

Jan 12th, 2004

Despite every available hospital resource focusing on the patient’s ever-increasing volume of tomatoes, doctors have not been able to remove the tomatoes from the stems, the stems from the vines, or the vines from the body. Since the patient’s room is quickly growing out of space to harbor the tomatoes, we have elected to move the patient to a cold room, in hopes of slowing the growth.

Jan 25th, 2016

For twelve years and thirteen days, we’ve successfully slowed the growth of the tomatoes; however, a single habanero pepper has grown among the stems. The patient, who has seen no one but hospital personnel for over a decade, notes that the habanero is the same type that their grandmother grew.   

Jan 26th, 2016

In the matter of eighteen seconds, the habanero pepper falls from its stem, and the uninhibited vine twists to alter the temperature gauge. Without the cold to impede them, the tomatoes erupt on their vines until they grow so large and numerous that they, along with newfound zucchini, carrots and kale, burst through the door and up the hallway, until they are on every level of the hospital. With leaves brushing them aside, caregivers and injured alike run for the exits, and once the tomatoes reach the roof, the vegetation begins growing down the sides of the building. It is unclear if the patient is still in the cold room. It is unclear if this site was ever anything but a garden.

Emily Garland is a queer wannabee novelist from the Saskatchewan prairies. Her work oozes, explodes, or disappears from most traditional genre boxes. You may need to shake it out of your ear before you go.