The Shoreline

5

I think about 30 minutes have gone by since the needle. It wasn't able to stop my crying. In fact, I'm sure my system just let all the liquid cry right out of my eye sockets for all it did. From what I know, my body just has nothing left to cry or dribble out and my energy to scream has been fully expelled. The most I can do in this state is pout and glare at wherever my eyes decide to look.

The one doctor a little more wrinkly and gruff-sounding than the other male one tells me I fell asleep courtesy of the needle for 20 minutes, but I have no memory of doing so.

"Do you want me to go get your family?" Dr. Faber sheepishly asks.

"No. I want to be left alone. Completely. If you knocked me out, I want to return that way."

I begin to go on my side to try and figure out the best posture when I feel an unpleasantness somewhere on me. I lean forward in confusion and see I'm still wearing something sticky on my chest. I'd forgotten all about it. It looks like a fluff pad, most likely something to measure blood pleasure or sugar intake or some shit.

"While you were asleep, we ran some tests on your heart rate and blood flow, and there's something alarming." Dr. Faber looks away, as if she doesn't want to say this.

My heart goes to my throat. With my luck, this isn't going to go well. It's all just a case of how bad on a scale of one to ten. Maybe it'll be the good sort of ten.

"As I'm sure you know, these past few weeks have been the worst of your life."

I look away, with the same grumpy face as the famous dwarf.

"So we had your regular doctor come in. We figured it would be better she tell you."

I see Jade on the far side of the room, walking up to me. I find it strange to see her for the first time out of her office, then that surprise blackens to the void of useless forgotten thoughts. Dr. Jade Murphy may be all things considered a professional St. John's therapist, but I consider her a true friend. I've gone to her for 35 bucks a session per month for ages now, and after she convinced me to give up smoking and knew exactly what to say to calm me down, you could say I consider her a life saver.

Then I realize due to her having come all this way to give information even though there were a hundred other doctors already here that this wasn't going to be pretty.

"Hi Terry. I gotta say, you're holding up alright."

I wasn't sure about that, but I shrugged to replace "I guess".

"Lizzie Faber has informed me of how you've been these past several weeks while you've been taking personal care of Robin. High blood temperature, unstoppable sweating, violent shaking, constant hunger and incontinence, is that right?"

I said nothing, but I avoided everyone's gaze. As if to verify her point, I could feel a conspicuous drop of sweat drip down my forehead like a tear and onto my shoulder.

"Everyone experiences this," she reassures me, "and none of it is anything to be ashamed of. However your sweating was at a noticeably higher rate than most grieving patient relatives."

"Well, yeah," I say, unable to stop my curt behaviour. "You diagnosed me with hyperhidrosis three years ago. It's something I've got."

"Still," she goes on, "after the incident which landed you here, we ran some tests and we're ashamed to say there's something brand new we found." She gestures to Dr. Faber, who sheepishly takes the message that it's better off she explain what's next. I don't have as many bad memories etched onto Jade than Dr. Faber.

"Are you aware of your thyroid, Mr. Drummond?" she begins.

I frown, but the rest of my body is showcasing fear rather than annoyance. "My know-it-all sister probably has some insight."

"Your thyroid gland," Dr. Faber says, ignoring my bark, "is something just above your ribcage, basically in your throat. It helps control your metabolism rate. Basically, it helps regulate your body functions, because your metabolism controls how fast or slow or well nutrients in your body are converted to energy."

I stay silent, awaiting the big announcement. I can feel my hands gripping my bed's arm rests like stress balls.

"Your thyroid is one of the most important controllers of your body, and, well, we noticed your thyroid is abnormally inflamed." She goes up and lightly touches a part of my esophagus, and I feel an agonizing pain, like she's pushing on a very bad bruise I don't have.

Panic sets in as I realize if my thyroid is so important, living without it could be...I have no idea. "What does this mean?"

"Nothing yet. We just want to figure out how this happened. But we have a theory. Have you been keeping up on your pills, prescribed from Dr. Murphy?"

"Yeah," I say honestly.

"Have you also taken any extra antidepressants?"

"Um..." I consider lying. But then I decide they can't have any power over what I want. They clearly don't understand what I'm going through, as much as they're patronizing me. "Just a little."

They slowly nod. "Well, there are some ingredients in pills such as lithium which can play havoc on your thyroid, but we'll get back to that. We ran some tests, and..."

I don't take the bait to urge her to go. I'm too scared to hear it.

"We suspect you have been diagnosed with hyperthyroidism."

My fear doesn't dissipate upon hearing this. I have no idea what that means, and the two of them read my mind through my expression.

"Basically, your thyroid gland produces two hormones," says Jade, "and they influence control of the body like your heart rate and body temperature. Hyperthyroidism is when your gland increases production of these hormones at an alarming rate."

"You have shown many of the common symptoms of one of these," Dr. Faber goes on. "They tend to be stuff like fast heartbeat, heat sensibility, weight loss, too much energy, sleep deprivation, and an enlarged gland. And most of these are centred around depression as well."

"Um...can you tell if I've had this hyperthy-whatever-it-is for a while?"

Now it's their turn to gulp. "We haven't been able to tell. It's too early for concrete conclusions," says Dr. Faber. "But this is a very serious case if I've ever seen one. We have to get your thyroid properly taken care of, and quickly."

"As a result of us just catching this, as well as medication consequences sometimes found in this sort of case," Jade lays on me, "we have to suspend your pill intake for a little bit."

I hear her, and yet I don't. Did they just say...?

"Wh-what?"

"Now," Dr. Faber continues, "we've scheduled you for another checkup in two weeks while we sort this out. We also have a list of suggestions for activities to help-"

"Two weeks?! That's how long it will take?!" I yell. Everyone, even Dr. Faber, flinches back. "You can't do that to me!"

"We're not doing it to you," says Jade innocently. "As expected, your wonderful parents have agreed to look after you while you go through this. Everyone's going to work their hardest to help you out, including us."

I scoff. "I need my pills!" Memories flash through me, of right after I got fired from the ship and the months proceeding. "Without them, I'll kill myself!" I shout without thinking.

At this, my parents and sister rush into the room to see what in the world triggered that response.

"No, you won't," insists Jade. "We know none of us can truly understand what you are going through. You are your own man, and we can't speak on your behalf. But please understand, you're better off with the people you love than without. You'll be fine."

It's like I just bit into a rotten strawberry. "Don't tell me I'll be fine!" I fume. "You're the doctors, but you're not Terry Drummond! And you never will be, so just shut up! Shut up!!!"

As I pant from that burst, no one responds, everyone looking at me in either shock or pity. I realize the antidepressant has either worn off or wasn't working.