UNEDITED
Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.
Those are the words that Justin McCallister has been repeating in his mind since the day he was diagnosed with a non-cancerous brain tumour that's been causing partial...
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Justin
I hate Vancouver – from the busy streets to the tall buildings to the smog that dusts the mountains, there's nothing to like about it.
Minus the Vancouver Canucks, which I am a fan of.
Ironic, hey?
But it's not like my mom and I are in Vancouver for a hockey game. That never happens.
We're here to visit BC Children's Hospital to get my stupid meds sorted out, along with a psych test to make sure my brain is working correctly. Which, undoubtedly, is not. If it were, I wouldn't be on any medication or be going to some stupid hospital.
I hate the fact that I'm missing school for something like this; I'd rather be in English with Addie than doing mental exercises that involve exhausting my brain and testing which hand has better motor functionalities: my left or my right.
Monday was the drive down and a late dinner. Tuesday was a physical checkup that involved a meeting with the surgeon, neurologists, and other people whose statuses are void to me. We discussed the option of medication, my mom being open-minded and me mumbling incoherent words just to piss them all off. Wednesday was a day off. I stayed in the hotel and worked on the homework Addie sent me via e-mail while Mom did some shopping. She invited me, but what son wants to spend the day going to stores like Victoria's Secret with their mom? I did, however, ask her to buy me a new sweater from Roots. Gotta love that store.
Friday is the upcoming psych test.
Thursday is another meeting that will either make or break me. Thursday is today.
And, right now, I'm sitting on one of the squishy red chairs, tapping my foot to a nonexistent metronome. Hospitals don't necessarily make me nervous, but that doesn't mean I like them. The smell, the scenery, the atmosphere – it's all shit. And while the nurses are nice, I find that the neurologists have no personality whatsoever. No bedside manners. They just say it like they mean it and that's that.
Oh, and did I mention I'm in a hospital that's meant for children. I guess, technically, I am still a child, but I'm not the kind of child that needs faded pastel colours and fucking freaky stuffed animals to keep me at ease.
The only positive outcome of visiting the hospital are the heated blankets.
Which makes this visitation shitter than usual is the fact that I don't get one of those blankets this time around. Never thought I'd miss getting into a hospital gown and having an IV inserted into my arm so I could have a heated blanket.
Ten minutes of wallowing in my own thoughts and occasionally texting Addie, we're called in.
The room my mom and I enter is small, crowded with five chairs, three people, a desk and a computer. There's a shelf of medical books to the left, positioned above the computer.
