Apologies for taking so long to tend to you, but as it turns out, setting things up around the apothecary took quite a while. Even at the end of the month, I still haven't finished setting things up. As soon as I could, I began my work in calculating the diseases present in my district. After all, if I could not give a good enough picture of the health of the Slums, I could kiss the aid that the Association will send me goodbye. They're giving me a month free to establish myself and get a few patients in to start calculating data. Other than that, I've pretty much been told to work on my own. I suppose this is fine, it gives me more room to operate as I see fit, but I have the feeling that this isn't out of respect for me. I've gotten letters from my colleagues that the Association wants results relatively quickly. So, as a result, I planned to not delay for very long.

Unpacking things from home was relatively simple, all I needed to do was set up the supplies as well as my equipment and then finally, put in the desk and bed. I don't really need a lot in order to do my job, but I would need plenty of ink, paper, and quills, which I stocked myself in before coming here with the aid of Dr. Anti*. He also had given me a full supply of ingredients for me to use, something I felt rather averse to until he insisted that he take care of me a bit more before I was on my own. I still don't know if it was right for him to allow that without some form of reimbursement, but I didn't have much of an option until I had a steady income.

However, as I was cleaning the area, waiting for a customer for the first week, I discovered a few books lying around. It turns out that the previous occupant, the friend of Dr. Thread and Dr. Biotic, had left a number of medical journals and recipe books behind after his departure. There was no way that I could get through them all within a month, so during the spare time I had, I would comb through the books and take in the knowledge. It turns out that there were a number of undocumented cases of diseases in this city that very few ponies had taken note of. In fact, I recalled the statistics of the Slums and came to the realization that they were inaccurate. I wondered why this was the case, but in order to find out more, I would need to consult the doctors in charge of keeping the records.

There were two main clinics in the Snidwater Slums, one belonging to Dr. Thread, and another run by a Dr. Silver Pill. I decided to test my luck with Dr. Thread first, but upon entering, I discovered he was quite busy with a number of surgeries, mainly for injuries acquired just by living in the area. He took the time to talk to me, telling me that he was responsible for keeping track of injuries and non-disease related deaths and that if I wanted more information, I would need to talk with him. So I did. And it was... Eventful.

I arrived at the clinic, located a ways away from my house. The building was a bit cracked, but it certainly looked a bit better than most buildings around, which had broken windows, crumbling conditions, and boarded up doors. I took a deep breath and entered the establishment. The place was filled with ponies, sick as dogs as they waited to be checked on. I approached the desk where a nurse was chewing on gum and reading a magazine.

"Ummm, excuse me..."

"Yes, how can I help you today...?" she replied in a bored tone.

"Ummm, yes. I was wondering if I could speak with the doctor about-."

"Sir, if you want a check-up, you'll need to sign the form on THIS..." She held up a clipboard with a form attached to it."And wait in line like the rest of the ponies. He's a very busy stallion and can't see just anyone."

"Ma'am, you misunderstand. I'm not here for a checkup. I'm here to discuss some information that I discovered."

The mare looked up at me with her crystal blue eyes with a gaze of judgment. "Sir, do ya think I was born yesterday? You think that someone like you can trick me into just letting you walk in?"

I sighed, moving my coat to reveal my Association badge to the nurse, who quickly silenced as she looked in shock. "I'm with the Association."

She tried stuttering some excuses a bit before she finally sighed and pressed a button to call Dr. Pill to the front. I waited with book in hoof ready to discuss with a fellow colleague the information that I'd found. What came out of the clinic's double doors was a stallion that looked more like a used cart salespony instead of an actual medical practitioner, with his shiny, slicked-back mane, golden necklace, and a weasely look in his eyes. As soon as he looked at me, his eyes widened.

"Woah, Peach, ya didn't tell me the guy was uh..." He eyed me up and down and I raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, you sure this is the right guy? That he didn't steal the badge."

"I assure you, sir, that this is mine," I spoke with a rather serious tone. "And I would assure you that I am Dr. Boticar."

"Uhuh, and I'm just supposed to believe a zeeb like you?" He glared at me before poking my chest. "How do I know you aren't planning some kinda heist where you an' your friends are gonna come in an' steal my medicine?"

"Sir, all I want to do is discuss these findings and-"

"And what? Your little goon squad is going to sneak into the back and rob me blind? Nice try." He rolled his eyes and turned around, walking back to the double doors. "If you really are who you say you are, come back with an official letter from the Association, magic stamped** and everything!" With that, he walked through the doors, leaving me standing there with everyone's eyes fixed on me as I turned and left myself.

Needless to say, I didn't get what I wanted out of that, and I returned home with nothing but more questions than answers. I decided to write to the Association for a letter of recognition, proving that I was who I said I was to the doctor. They told me that they would be putting me on a waitlist. Excellent, I thought as I read the letter. I get to wait for the bureaucratic process to eventually allow me the privilege of talking to an honest jerk... I sighed as I prepared myself a small breakfast of toast and milk. I didn't have much of a budget for food thanks to the lack of customers...

I thought that it would be relatively easy to get customers in here given the number of patients Dr. Pill had received on that night alone. However, I quickly realized that I might have a bit of a challenge ahead of me. Many ponies passed by my shop, and none of them even gave it a second glance, even after I had taken the time to have it renovated and make it look somewhat presentable. But for my first month, I was simply out of luck. My first customer walked in, saw my face, and before I could even greet him, said "Oh great, a damn zeeb," before walking out. Every so often, this would repeat, somepony walking in, seeing me, and leaving, usually to the sound of a slur or two. This wasn't just affecting my business, but it was also giving me trouble in my research. Because I couldn't gather documents from Dr. Pill and I couldn't get any customers, I realized that I was struggling to find enough data to send to the Association. All of it should have bothered me, but I just felt... Nothing. Maybe it was remembering what my friends would say to me during those times, or maybe I was so used to being called things all my life that I couldn't bring myself to be angry. Either way, I knew that my bits wouldn't last if something didn't get changed.

Then, I was blessed with a little miracle. On the last week, I heard the door's bell ring and I looked up from my book, bracing for the impact of another foul word aimed at me. What I saw was an old pegasus mare toddling into the shop, approaching the counter with a pained expression and a bad cough. She told me her name was Snow Cyclone and that she was looking for some medicine due to the fact that her medical expenses got a bit too big thanks to a persistent illness as well as her pained body. I asked her a few questions to gather details and came to the following conclusion:

• Repeated trauma to the body due to racing accidents has resulted in joint pain and several torn wing muscles that were not properly treated in time, likely due to the patient's persistence in continuing a race even after sustaining serious injuries.
• Accidental lightning strike during youth has resulted in some minor nerve damage in the spine and hooves.
• Patient is suffering from a high fever, a persistent cough, fatigue, and sore throat. Symptoms point to the flu.

Conclusion: Mrs. Snow Cyclone's body is in need of major surgery to repair the damage done, but upon discussing the impossibility of this due to lack of financial means, it's recommended that a strong painkiller and a muscle relaxant would help. A two-week prescription of Flu Brew is also required in order to combat flu symptoms.

After discussing the treatment required, she expressed her worry over the price. As it turns out, Dr. Pill has had quite an expensive operation going. Medication that would typically help Mrs. Cyclone would range in the hundreds of bits without any insurance. I didn't quite know his situation, but I felt that it was still too high. Perhaps his ingredients or even his supplier paid higher wages? I can't say for sure. Either way, I offered a flat rate of 100 bits for two weeks worth of the medicine. She looked at me, stunned, and took a step back. She had a look on her face like she was expecting there to be a catch. I turned back and started preparing the medicine. I quickly filled two cauldrons with water and looked through my assortment of herbal jars, taking the necessary ingredients and getting to work.

The thing about herbal remedies is that, while many of the recipes are old fashioned and now most have been proven to be less effective than synthesized drugs, the truth of the matter is that those drugs are very much the same, just the herbal substances have been refined over and over to increase potency. It's something that I discovered when I deconstructed some medication in college and then refined some of my ingredients. Granted, when refining, you lose a chunk of the more useless components, so you get far less of it, but with some trickery, I can make more with less. A few beakers and test tubes, a burner to heat things up, and within a couple of hours, I had all of the components needed to create the medicine. I mixed the correct ingredients into the cauldrons according to my notes, and in no time at all, I had two weeks worth of medicine for my patient.

Snow seemed hesitant with the medications that I slipped into her saddlebag, holding her bag of bits tightly with a conflicted look on her face. I sighed and motioned to her. "Listen, I understand it might not be easy to trust someone like me who just moved into the neighborhood, but if you really want my word that my potions work, then I'll let you have the two weeks for free. If they work, then you can pay me 175 bits when you return. If not, then we can forget the payment and you don't need to come back."

She looked down and nodded. "Th-Thank you... I... I don't know what to say..."

I simply smiled at her. "Don't say anything. Just get better. It's all I ask."

With a smile in return, Snow hobbled out of the store, and my smile dropped. I sighed and looked at the clock. It was just about closing time. I turned the sign and prepared a dinner of steamed oats that day with more water from the tap. It had a foul taste to it, but it was all I could afford. My check from the Association was supposed to arrive within the next week, so hopefully, I can buy some cheap groceries for the next month and pray to Celestia that I can make it.

Perhaps tonight, I'll send a letter to Licorice and Septic and see how things are faring with them.

Good night, everypony.

Praise the Princesses.

Author's Note

* Something I probably should have mentioned sooner is that Anti was rather averse to calling me his father. He told me it's because he felt that because he never had a partner, he could never see himself as a parent, and more of a guardian and a master of knowledge. I still think of him as my father.

**Magic stamps are an expensive form of document approval. Any piece of notoriety that has a magic stamp on it cannot be forged and display full authenticity.