Call duration : 37 seconds

That night, Luca was on duty at the poison control center’s regulation service. It wasn’t really his specialty. He worked in neuroimaging, far removed from household poisonings and panicked late-night phone calls.

His daily routine usually consisted of analyzing MRI and PET scan images, hidden behind a screen, as part of research protocols. Light-years away from what he was supposed to be doing that night.

The poison control center was short-staffed, and he had been asked to cover a shift. Of course, he wouldn’t be alone. If any problem arose, the clinic director and the intern were reachable.

And fortunately for him, the protocols appeared clearly on his screen: simple tables, well-defined guidelines for each situation and substance. Columns listing chemicals, doses, and symptoms to monitor. Everything he needed to know - and everything he needed to say - was right there.

In theory, all he had to do was follow the instructions. In theory...

The problem was that the phone rang almost without interruption. And he was the type who avoided calls and voice messages whenever possible. But tonight he would have to push through it. After all, he had agreed to help.

He quickly noticed a pattern in the calls.

There were the amateur chemists who decided to do their cleaning at two in the morning and accidentally mixed bleach with hydrochloric acid in the toilet bowl, then called while coughing, convinced they were dying in a bathroom filled with chlorine fumes.

Seriously… who cleaned in the middle of the night?

Fortunately, the advice was fairly simple: ventilate the room as much as possible, step outside for fresh air, and, if possible, sleep somewhere else. And of course, see a doctor the next morning. It couldn't hurt to check the condition of his lungs.

Then came the panicked parents who, through a moment of inattention, had allowed their three year old to down their glass of whisky - or insert here any substance a child should never drink - in one gulp left on the coffee table or any other easily reachable place.

Often, you could hear the child crying in the background, which was actually reassuring. But he still had to gather all the data: age, weight, the amount ingested… And of course reassure the parents. But while making sure to remind them to keep watch through the night. It was so easy to forget about a child who, for once, was getting a good night's sleep.

And naturally there were the older callers, their voices trembling as they explained that they might have confused their evening pills with their morning ones… or taken their medication several times. Sometimes their stories even changed midway through the call. Once again, the protocols were fairly straightforward. But with older callers, the conversation could last far longer than necessary. You had to repeat, repeat, and repeat again that everything was fine and they could go back to sleep.

The stories changed, but the situations always ended up looking the same. It was going to be a long night.

The phone rang again.

He had already lost count of the calls. The conversations blurred together in his memory: tired voices, anxious ones, sometimes even aggressive ones. And to top it all off, the lines crackled constantly. Who had had the brilliant idea of putting the call center in the building’s basement? Hospitals were already notorious for terrible reception…

He pressed the button.

“Hello, Lille Poison Control Center.”

A woman answered immediately, her voice nervous.

“Hello… I’m calling because I left my dog alone for a few hours… and she took the opportunity to eat some chocolate. And since this evening she hasn’t seemed well. I don’t know what to do.”

He frowned slightly. Calls like this did happen sometimes.

“I’m sorry about your dog, but the best thing would be to consult a veterinarian. At this hour most clinics are closed… but you can contact emergency veterinary services. They’ll be able to help you.”

A silence followed.

Then the woman answered calmly:

“But I don’t have a dog.”

He remained silent for a moment.

“…Perhaps you should consult a psychiatrist, ma’am. I can’t do anything for you in this situ-”

The line cut out.

He stared at his screen for a few seconds. It was strange. But the phone rang again almost immediately, leaving him no time to dwell on it. Another call. Then another. And another. And the episode quickly disappeared into the flood of other conversations.

Two days later, back at the hospital, while he was in the middle of analyzing a PET scan image, his mind drifted and the incident came back to him.

Out of curiosity, he went back to check the call records.

He quickly found the conversation: 2:47 a.m. Call duration: 37 seconds.

He put on his headset and started the recording.

At first it was almost inaudible. The line was saturated with static and crackling. He turned up the volume.

Gradually, the woman’s voice began to emerge more clearly.

“Hello, I’m calling because I left my daughter alone for a few hours… and she took the opportunity to eat some chocolate.”

He froze.

My daughter.

A smile slowly spread across his face.

Then he burst out laughing.

He had been so focused on the chocolate that he had immediately interpreted the situation as theobromine poisoning.

Could he really blame it on fatigue and the crackling line? Or had his brain simply filled in the gaps automatically? "Chocolate", "hasn’t seemed well"… dog.

After all, misinterpretations happened all the time... especially in the middle of the night, and even more so after the eighth cup of coffee.

He smiled again, imagining the scene from the woman’s point of view. Or imagining her taking her daughter to a veterinarian.

After that brief moment of amusement, he called the woman back and checked that everything was fine. The girl had simply had trouble digesting the entire tray of chocolate and was already feeling much better.

He apologized briefly for the misunderstanding.

Then he filled out the report, had it signed by the doctor junior, and definitively closed the case, still smiling.