Crushed and Created- Tangled series (Overprotective famous brothers)

The new normal

“Who says it’s all gone?” he asked, playing with a strip of medicines.

“But, I…this thing. PF, it is incurable, right?” if he was joking or was trying to illusion me, he had it. He just nodded, and asked me a completely different question.

“What all do you know about PF?”

“Besides it’s scarring of the lung and fatal? Nothing.”

“You deserve to know the facts then.” He stated, and started off with stuff I wish I didn’t have to hear.

‘Ignorance is bliss’… I now knew very well what it meant. At first, the thought of having a crazy lung disease was too much to handle. Apparently, it kills over 50,000 people every year only in the USA. Yes, that was as good as the people dying from breast cancer. Tragically, there was more. With no cure, complications increased. More brain problems, more heart problems.

Basically, having this disease meant death.

I was numb now. People wished they knew what their death would be, I now knew. Chances were I would die out of this, and live my last months in agony. I’d be hooked to oxygen masks, and wires. Then I’d die of a simple flu turning deadly.

“Why don’t I see the sense of what you said before? I will die of this thing, but I’ll make it to the Olympics?”

“If you want to. Trust me, nothing is impossible. I have good news for you though. Your condition is at an initial stage, with real less damage. Treatment can manage your disease, and prevent it from growing.”

“You mean, it can stop?” I asked with a glint of hope twinkling in my eyes for the first time in twenty four hours of pure pain.

“Unfortunately, no. What I’m saying is recent studies show a break through. It’s still debated over, but certain drugs can ease the oxygen supply. Along with rehab and oxygen therapy, constant medication will help.”

I was still now. I was gonna die, possibly in a few years. I needed to be right everytime, one wrong decision and I was dead. Anything wrong and…I didn’t want to die. I just fought death. I went through all of that for this? Was it even worth it? Dying with bullets or bomb would have been a lot less painful, a lot less complicated.

“Do you know the Nick dude of the Jonas Brothers?” he asked randomly and I let out a laugh despite being overwhelmed with emotions.

“A fan?”

“A friend.” I corrected him and he nodded. It was weird that he knew about them though.

“How do you know about them though? I mean they are a tween slash teen sensation.” I asked out of curiosity. The guys would be thrilled to know a guy in thirties was their die hard, hardcore fan.

“My eleven year old daughter made me take her to their concert.” He replied smugly and I could almost imagine how lost he must have felt in between all the concert and super girl fans.

“So, you know about his diabetes?” he asked, going through more papers and reports.

“Of course. I’m his go to bêtes girl.”

“So, you know how he manages it?” he asked again, not looking up.

“Yeah.” I was losing my patience now. How in the world were Nick and his diabetes connected to the whole situation?

“Good. So you know the basics of what I’m about to tell you.”

Now, maybe I didn’t hate him so much. He actually told me I could do it. I could actually exercise and make it back to the gym, given my back supported me. He talked for about an hour about some recent discoveries that suggested some drugs could de-scar air sacks in the lungs for a while, improving oxygen supply. It was trial and error, but it could work on someone like me- fit and young. And, it was much like controlling type one diabetes with insulin.