Broken String

XXVI

He has to hang onto Brett's arm to hobble into the doctor's office. God, it's sore, and the difference with the days before is that you can simply choose not to use your arm. It's not quite so easy with your feet though. His left foot is sorest, so he limps along on his right one and eventually manages to crash into one of the white plastic chairs in the waiting area. He doesn't have to say anything to Brett, who is already walking to the reception desk to tell them Eddy is here. 

Brett sits down next to him a minute later without a word, and somehow it's a small relief. Stupid, really. He shouldn't need Brett here, not for moral support at least, but he is here now, and he's making this a little less crappy. He wishes he could take his hand, then shakes his head in surprise at himself. 
Take his best friend's hand? Yeah, like that's a sane thing to do? He tenses and un-tenses his lips and tries to stay calm. 
Does Brett know what he was thinking? Can he read his mind? Of course he can't, and yet Eddy sees Brett's hand move before he feels it, closing around his upper leg, just above his knee. Brett gives him a wry smile and squeezes the leg. 
"It'll be okay, Eddy." he whispers, then lets go with a tiny hum. 
Look. What's Eddy going to say? Please, don't let go? It's comforting? 
No way. That can't be said.  
"Thanks." he whispers instead. 

"Mr. Chen?"
Eddy nods and starts to get up. 
"Want me to come?" Brett asks. 
"Yeah." he says before he can wonder whether that's a reasonable thing to ask. "Um. Could do with the support."
Brett gets up too without commenting on what kind of support he means and holds out his arm, allows Eddy to pull himself up, then walks slowly with him as he hobbles into the doctor's office and lowers himself down on yet another plastic chair. Brett sits down beside him.
"So." the doctor, a pale blonde woman with a long ponytail who looks to be in her thirties, says as she takes the office chair on the other side of the desk in front of them and pulls the keyboard towards her. "You've had some pain."
Is that what all healthcare professionals are trained to say, or something?
"Um. Yes. It started with my left hand. I'm a violinist, so I figured I'd just done too much. But then my right hand started hurting. The physio said to take rest and do some exercises. This morning as I got out of bed I suddenly couldn't stand on my left foot. And um... now my right leg's sore too."
"Okay." she says as she types something into the computer standing on the desk. "And is this a sharp pain? Tingling? Burning?"
"Um... sometimes sharp. Like a knife stab. Like this morning. I almost fell. Most of the time it burns, I guess."
"Is it constant?"
Eddy nods.
"By now, yes. It wasn't, at first."
The doctor nods too.
"Okay. If you can get yourself over there, I'd like to just give you an examination in the room next door."
She points and Eddy starts the process of getting up again. 

Ten minutes later, his appendages duly poked, wriggled and prodded, he feels faintly sick as he sits back down at the doctor's desk. God, that was hard. And painful. The doctor seems unperturbed, though, she just types something else at speed. 
What is she typing? She must see this sort of thing every day, right? 
"Okay, Mr. Chen. So I'm going to send you to a neurologist, and I'm going to ask them to rush you through. It could still take a little bit of time, though. In the meantime, I mostly agree with the physio. Take rest. You really don't want to go beyond the threshold of pain."
He eyes her incredulously and tries not to start crying.
Neurologist? Rush? 
"Um. I can't do very much without pain. Like... walking." he says bleakly. 
"Yes. You'll need to try to stay off your feet. I'm sure your partner can help you out."
His eyes shoot to Brett's and he almost giggles, but somehow there seems to be no laughter left in his system right now. Brett doesn't even flinch.
"He's not... um. Okay."
I mean, why even bother to correct her? She's far from the first one to think that, and who the hell even cares? He's not allowed to walk, let alone play the violin. He's going to have to start cancelling things. The realisation hits him like a wrecking ball. 
"How long for?" he whispers, because any louder and the tears are falling. 
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chen." she says in a polite but gentle tone, one that's she's clearly practised in. "I understand that this is not good news. I really hope you can see the neurologist soon and we'll know more then. If walking gets too difficult there are wheelchairs you can borrow. Just ask for a flyer at the reception desk."
"Wheelchair." he whispers and she nods once, then gets up. It's their cue to leave, he knows, and his ingrained civility stops him from doing anything but taking Brett's arm and wrestling himself upright.
"Yes, well, let's hope it doesn't get to that, hey? Good luck, Mr. Chen."