Prognosis ya stories

starbreather Just a gal who likes to write.
Autoplay OFF   •   4 years ago
A teenage boy gets an unwanted diagnoses.


“So,” the doctor said as he scratched the grey scruff on his chin, “you have Tourette’s Syndrome.”

I blinked before the sudden urge to shake my wrist appeared. I wasn’t moving my hands because there was something wrong with them, I was doing it because there was the need to.

There had been the sudden urges to do so for the past week.

“So you mean that I’m going to keep doing this?” I asked referring to my wrist.

He nodded. “And possibly many other things. You said you have a vocal tic as well?”

I felt my face scrunch at the unfamiliar word. “A tic?”

Dr. Brunson released a sigh. “It’s an involuntary movement, or vocalization in your case.”

I nodded in response to his original question. One day I had gotten out of bed and couldn't help but make the same squeaking noise every few minutes.

I hadn’t gone to school then and I sure as hell didn’t want to now.

“And I’m going to keep doing this?”

The man nodded.

I deflated. “There’s no cure or something-something that an make me normal?”

He cringed at my use of the word “normal.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said and he did in fact sound sorry.

I slid back in my chair, I was alone in the room aside from the doctor, neither of my parents had come to the appointment and I wasn’t sure how I would explain the news I had gotten to them.

How to tell them that I wasn’t going to be the same kid I’d been before.

But wasn’t I the same, part of myself thought. Getting a condition doesn’t mean that I’m not just as I was before.

I chastised myself for thinking that way. Of course this changes things.

“Having Tourette’s,” the doctor began, “doesn’t have to control your life. It’s very possible to have the same life you had before you started ticcing and the life you have now.”

“Yeah right,” I said exasperated, “like I’m going to be tell my friends what’s wrong with me, that I have a disorder.”

They shouldn’t be expected to put up with me.

Dr. Brunson didn’t look impressed by my response and pulled out a sheet of paper. He took the pen that had be sitting on the counter next to him and began to write.

“I’m going to prescribe you some medicine to help with your tics,” he said, “and recommend you to see a therapist.”

“A therapist!” I said ignidantly. “I’m not some nut job, I don’t need to see a therapist.”

“Well, seeing how you’ve reacted to this disagnoses, I would say that it’s necessary.” He dragged a hand over his face.

“It’s not uncommon for kids with your condition to become depressed when they first develop tics. Think of it as a precautionary measure if nothing else.”

I huffed but then an urge built up in the back of my throat and try as I may, I was powerless against it.

I let out a small squeak but Dr. Brunson didn’t look at me oddly, he kept writing, focused on the task at hand.

Once it was over, the itching sensation in my throat didn’t come back. I felt normal again and let out a sigh of relief.


Maybe if Dr. Brunson hadn’t minded my friends wouldn’t either.

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