instruction:
Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.
question:
For a month, anything I consumed would result in me rushing to the wash room and throwing up. When this started, I thought it's something to do with what I had previously eaten which was stale and was having a reaction to bad food. When the problem persisted for a week where I was barely able to keep my food from coming out, I went to visit my doctor. He asked me questions and gave me some vitamins and pills before and after food to stop the vomiting. They didn't work. Even though I was not sexually active, I got my self a pregnancy test which showed negitive.
I tried to eat healthy, but to no avail. 15 mins was the max my food was inside my stomach. I was becoming weak from all the throwing up and rapidly loosing weight. I went to my doctor again and he said I was stressed. Wrote me some more pills. Nothing worked. My Mom got paranoid and took me to another doctor for a second opinion. The doctor asked me to write down everything I ate with the number of times I threw up for the next 2 days and return to his clinic.
Only then, were they able to diagnose that I was lactose intolerant!! Milk, milk products, cheese, butter, cream, nothing seems to agree with my stomach anymore. Surprisingly this is what I used to eat - cereals with milk, eggs with butter, pizza, pasta, lasagne, cheese with bread, tall long glasses of iced coffee, frappes and bam, my body would reject them within 15 minutes. It was terrible switching from coffee with milk to black coffee, until I started developing a taste for it. Pizza's are something I still can't eat. I need to remove the cheese from the slice and unfortunately my body is able to only take one slice of Pizza. Pasta, white sauce is a strict no no unless I want to feel bloated and throw up. So yep. My doctor was unable to diagnose me. Thankfully I did take a second opinion. Question: Who gave the narrator vitamins?
answer:
The Doctor

question:
The sound of the clacking grew unbearable, so we turned the volume down.
"Mute it."
We muted it.
"Turn it up; we might miss something."
It's a silent movie. We won't miss anything.
The sound of clacking gradually fills the room as my brother reluctantly turns up the volume. I can tell he's pressing hard on the button, jamming his thumb down in defiance or muted anger. He doesn't like for anyone to tell him what to do with the remote. But my grandmother wants the volume up, so we turn it up.
We're all sitting along the edges of the tiny living room, staring at the fuzzy black-and-white images as they hazily walk across the television screen. I can hear a siren outside, barely discernable and then gone entirely.
"Who's that?" my brother asks, evidently past his momentary and barely-noticeable indignation over the remote.
"Uncle Arehl, and maybe his sister, Edna," my grandmother says, leaning in closer. "I think it's Edna," she says, in the tone of a doctor diagnosing a disease, as if the verdict was somehow relevant to someone who has only the vaguest idea who Arehl's sister is, or was. Uncle Arehl (I don't know precisely whose uncle he is, or for what the two initials of his name once stood) saunters slowly across a dry, patchy lawn, and the camera follows him. For some reason I'm more interested in the lawn--if it can be called that--than in the people on it. The sun in the movie is blazing, and everyone filmed looks only briefly at the camera before averting their faces once again to look at the stubbly grass. The camera pans once again and I can see an incredibly rutted path leading from the porch to the fence at the edge of the yard, broken pieces of concrete amid deep tire tracks fossilized in sun-baked mud. The fence is low, wire like a chain-link, but lower, with metal stakes holding it up instead of tubes. Question: Whose sister is Edna?
answer:
Arehl

question:
ROLAND HELD HIS BODY STIFF AS HE FACED THE CATHAR FORTRESS and watched the tall wooden doors swing open. He saw now that the fire of that final night's battle, now fifteen days past, had left no structure standing but the stone keep. Inside the limestone walls stood forlorn, crude shelters made of tent cloths spread over blackened beams.
Cries of farewell and loud wailing came from the battlements above and from the open gateway, as the condemned emerged from the fortress, a long line of men and women in black. Roland's heartbeat broke its rhythm.
During the fifteen days of grace granted under the terms of surrender, he had waited in camp with the other crusaders. Now that Diane and Perrin were safely off on the road to Paris, he felt impelled to be with the Cathars in their final moments, to bear witness. He had volunteered, despite his dread, to help escort the prisoners to their execution. Those Cathars who joined the Catholic religion would now be allowed to leave in peace, though they would be forced to give everything they owned to the Church and wear the yellow crosses for the rest of their lives. But those who clung to their faith would die.
As the Cathars emerged, a man-at-arms directed each to stop at a table beside the doorway, where two Dominican friars sat with parchment scrolls. The friars recorded the name of each person about to die. This meticulous record-keeping, Roland thought, was one source of the Inquisition's power.
At the head of the procession was the Cathar bishop. Bertran d'en Marti's head glowed with the red-gold rays of the low afternoon sun striking his white hair, as if it were already enveloped in flames.
"Form around them," called the leader of Roland's party.
Roland reluctantly stepped forward with the other crusaders. His longsword and dagger swung heavy at his waist. He wore them only because, as a knight, he was expected to. He had left his helmet and mail shirt back in his tent. Question: Who is allowed to leave Cathar Fortress in piece?
answer:
Catholics