My Mum explained the story. The story I had heard so many times even just this week. She told it to her friends to ask for advice. She told it to every doctor to ask for a diagnosis. She told it to my Dad to wake him up to the severity of it.
It was my story. My illness story. Not the best story in the world. Or the happiest. Or even the most interesting (from what she told at least).
However, it was still the story.
I sat in the patient chair in the doctor's room. I was sleepily admiring all the colourful posters and stickers on the walls. Even though it was 3 pm I was always tired nowadays and that was part of the problem. The doctors always said it was because I was growing. "Puberty" and all that; which would make sense considering I was 10.
I was abruptly pulled back into reality when I heard the nurse ask me,
"So how do you feel um.. Elizab-"
"Its Beth. And I feel tired"
"As always" I muttered under my breathe.
She continued asking me questions like what was happening at school, if I was stressed, if I was sick, if I had been eating. Questions that I had answered what felt like millions of times. I replied to them with a bright smile and yes s and no s in the right places whilst my brain ached with annoyance. I just wanted to go home but deep down I knew I jad to be here. I endured hours of mote questioning, hearing my Mum's voice change its tone dramatically from the kind, collected sound she possessed in the beginning to a sort of begging sound. Begging it to be over or begging them to do something, begging them to hear her fears and not let her precious daughter die.
I heard doctors sigh. I saw the annoyed look on their faces. I felt their judgement pierce through us because we came here for what they thought was a mild stomach bug even though we had told them repeatedly we did not believe this was the case.
We were dismissed from the office and once again faced the waiting room whrre we sat waiting for the doctors to discuss us behind our backs and figure out what to do with the data they had received from me.
There was a strange silence between me and my mother; we both sat their in our own minds not quite sure what to say because I wasn't really worried by this situation at all- I knew nothing about thesr illnesses or the severityof my condition but she could sense it. So I sat waiting in the waiting room slowly but surely deterierating without realising.
