Asthma; Inflammation and narrowing of the small airways in the lungs cause asthma symptoms, which can be any combination of cough, wheeze, shortness of breath and chest tightness.
Osteoporosis; Causes bones to become weak and brittle — so brittle that a fall or even mild stresses such as bending over or coughing can cause a fracture.
Thalassemia; An inherited blood disorder caused when the body doesn't make enough of a protein called haemoglobin, an important part of red blood cells.
Cystic fibrosis; Another genetic disorder that causes problems with breathing and digestion through an unnaturally frequent production of mucus.
Paralysis; An inhibition of muscle function, causing the afflicted to rely on a wheelchair due to their inability to move, feel, walk or run.
*****
Blinking against the harsh morning sunlight that filters through his window, Tommy pushes himself into a sitting position. He sighs, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, both having gone stiff during the night. For some ungodly reason, his body has taken to making him feel more tired waking up than he did going to sleep. It's fine, he doesn't need that extra hour (he definitely does).
He hauls himself to the end of his bed, dragging his incredibly useless legs behind him. There stands his chair, in position for him to guide his feet to the floor and use the newfound leverage to pull himself into the seat and start his day.
He's used the wheelchair to get around for as long as he can remember. He remembers one specific moment from his very early childhood; a playground. While his older brothers ran around and played on swings and see-saws, Tommy watched from a tiny chair fit for a tiny body. But, he remembers standing up and plodding over to join them a few seconds later, but he was just small.
His memory gets definitely a little fuzzy trying to remember that far back.
He does, however, remember shining aluminium alloys, painted bright red just like all of his other chairs, because that's the way he likes it. His current chair, fondly nicknamed Grease Lightning, will hopefully see him through the rest of his life. His father, Phil, says that people stop growing when they hit fifteen. Tommy's sixteen now, so it seems he's done.
That's not the only thing he's done with. He's getting a little tired of this house, if he's completely honest. Sure, it has all the things he cares about in it, but it's all he's ever known. It's boring. He wants to reach new heights, explore new places, try new things. At the rate he's going, he'll be eighty when Phil finally decides to let him out into the world.
For example, Christmas. Their family doesn't follow any sort of God, but on more than one occasion, Tommy has rolled in on Phil whispering to himself with his eyes closed. That aside, they celebrate Christmas the same as every other family. Phil always does it up nicely, buying a real tree to shove into a flowerpot and decorate with lights and shiny things called 'baubles' and 'tinsel'. Every single year, it fascinates Tommy how a drab fir tree can become such a glowing beacon of joy. The parcels underneath that tree were another fiasco.
For Techno, the eldest, there are always ever so lovely gifts, personal and well-thought-out. One year after he had shown an interest in historical warfare, it was Sun Tzu, the Art of War. Another year, after asking for a dog, Floof joined their family.
That dog hated Tommy and he made it well known, though Phil thinks it was just the chair he didn't like. If Tommy sat on the floor with him, he and the dog seemed to get on just fine. When he got back into his chair, the growling and yapping would return. It was almost a relief when Floof mysteriously dissapeared one day. After being snarled and barked at constantly for almost three years, silence is a blessing.
For Wilbur, there are similarly thoughtful presents, especially that one year with the guitar. God, did he love that guitar. On days that Tommy was in too much pain to get up, Wilbur used to sit in with him, perched on the end of his bed with frets between his fingers. First, it was Wonderwall by Oasis, then it was Simple Man, and then it was melodies Wilbur would create himself. Tommy was there for every single one, listening to every note and critiquing the ones that didn't quite sound right.
On particularly bad days, Wilbur sang, which made being ill ten times better. Even though Tommy is only a few years younger than his twin brothers, he fancies himself the baby of the family. You know, the one who can lay with his head in his brother's lap while he reads to him. The one who can sit for hours and be serenaded by the intricate picking of guitar strings and soft melodies.
It is because of this that he considers the absence of it such a great loss. The guitar that once never left his brother's side now lies dormant in the corner of his room, untouched by human hands for so long that each string has a thin layer of dust coating it.
Every Christmas, Tommy gets a new wheelchair.
Maybe this time, he'll get something different, something he wants... A phone would be nice! Techno and Wilbur have had them since they were twelve. It's a constant uphill battle to convince Phil that he's old enough for one. Maybe this time...
Tommy has no time for maybe. He works for the things he wants, even if he knows that he can't have them. Things like walking. It's okay, he's well and truly come to terms with the fact that he won't ever get full use of his legs. Still, Phil insists he does weird shit exercises to keep him 'strong'. Obviously it achieves nothing. He's still paralysed, at the end of the day.
Every time he finishes, Phil says "Well done, Tommy." He never really understood why he was praised for doing nothing. Sure, it hurt a little whenever Phil tucked his knees too close to his chest but that was nothing compared to the magnitude of pain the other illnesses bought him. Adults are weird. They try to make you do stupid things, like copy meaningless words from textbooks as if that will teach you anything.
When the twins eventually hit six, the time arose for them to begin proper lessons. Three-year-old Tommy, confused at the sudden absence of his playmates, asked the twins where they'd been all day and they'd said "school" and wandered off. He'd had to ask Phil what that was, and was entirely unsatisfied with his answer.
"School is a place where children go to learn," Phil had explained. "Wilbur and Techno go every day so that they can learn how to read and write and do maths. What's five times six, Tommy?"
"I don't know," he'd replied, frowning.
Phil had called Techno into the room and asked him the same question. "Thirty," was Techno's confident response. After confirming the answer to be correct, Techno left.
"Well, that's not fair!" Tommy had said. "I want to learn, too!"
"When you're older," Phil had chuckled, picking Tommy up.
No matter how many birthdays passed, Tommy never seemed to get older.
Sometimes, Wilbur and Techno would have their school friends at the house. He liked Niki best out of all of them. She used to sit and play with him when she came round and even taught a game she called 'patty cake'. It was a clapping game, with a rhyme you said about a baker who has to bake a cake as fast as he can. The chant ended with "put it in the oven for baby and me" and Niki would stop clapping then, pointing at him when it said 'baby' and herself when it said 'me'.
She used to giggle like it was the best joke in the world when she did that. In Tommy's four-year-old eyes, it most certainly was. Once they even managed to rope Wilbur into an upscaled game. That was the best, but nothing can stay the way it is forever. The novelty of hanging out with a child far younger than herself wore off eventually, and Niki left Tommy alone to spend her time with his brothers rather than him.
He does have a vague recollection of her leading him around, his fist curled around her finger, dancing around the kitchen table, but again. It was eleven years ago, his memory is definitely a little hazy.
The first real memory he has of the chair is around... six. He remembers Phil plonking him down in it and moving to the other side of the room, telling him to come to him. Tommy, having no use for a chair - in his memory, anyway, which has probably been fucked with by one of the many drugs he takes - struggled with getting it to move even an inch. With a little encouragement and a hell of a lot of effort, he managed to make it roll forward. Phil had clapped for him then, giving him a big hug and telling him...
Telling him he could take a break.
Present-Tommy has no idea what that means, but it's alright. It was some time ago, many things have definitely been lost in translation. It's how he explains the gaps in his memory as well as the things he remembers too well.
The pain, the yelling, bright lights on white ceilings, and his own room (however it has changed over the years). If there's one thing he's learned over the course of his life, it's that when things go wrong, all you can do is turn your back and ignore it.
Ignore it.
~
(Quick authors note, this is going to be a little bit hard to follow but bear with me. If you want to read all of this at once instead of waiting for updates (which honestly I'm only doing to get numbers up) you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42516228/chapters/106786887. This IS dark SBI and it WILL have disturbing themes, including but not limited to family violence, body horror/non-consensual modification, drugging and more. Read at your own risk, guys. <3)