shit show ⋆ bo burnham

06.

the crisp saturation of sanitation and rubbing alcohol lingered in the air, just as every other hospital he'd been in. bo breathed in and out when directed to, the doctor placing his stethoscope to different areas of bo's back under his shirt. the arctic metal against his bare skin sent a wave of chills through bo's body while he sat, his posture perking straighter as a reflex to the direct change in temperature.

eventually, his doctor was pulling back, placing the medical utensil around his neck. "everything sounds okay. your heart rate is a bit elevated, but i'm not too concerned. could just be nerves."

bo nodded slightly, fixing his shirt. his hands moved back to the cushioned exam bed, clutching the frame next to each side of his legs.

"can i ask what triggered the attack?" he added, reaching for his clipboard and pen. bo watched as he brought a wheelie stool over, taking a seat in front of him.

"sure."

" . . . okay, what triggered the attack?"

bo stifled a short laugh, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes tiredly. "i'm just playing with you, sorry. uh— yeah, so i was visiting my ex. we watched a movie, and her boyfriend found out i was there and . . . i don't know. they were yelling, i felt nervous, he shoved me, and it was just downhill from there. not literally — i didn't fall or anything. i just mean, it escalated from there." bo exhaled briefly in a bit of frustration with himself and his lack of ability to explain, tapping his feet together as they dangled off the edge of the exam bed. "it was just a really shitty panic attack."

bo watched as the doctor scribbled that notorious, professional-grade chicken scratch onto his file, noting key points in bo's experience. he also gave a half-assed sympathetic smile in return, and it made bo feel slightly inadequate. "do you think there was anything specific about that intervention that triggered your panic attack?"

"no, i don't think so." bo answered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. he couldn't have been bothered to address it before coming into the clinic this morning. "i mean, none of my attacks seem to spawn from any one thing; i feel like maybe they propagate and stem from a series of several things happening at once. like over-stimulation, or some other reason that i'm not able to understand. but, that's a biased opinion, and i'm not a doctor — this is also the first attack i've had in years. it used to be so much worse."

the doctor nodded as bo spoke, listening intently. despite not knowing the doctor very well — or at all, really — bo always found comfort and confidence in medical professionals. perhaps it was because they were legally bound and obligated to keep everything he said to them purely confidential. regardless, it was a level of safeness that bo appreciated.

"so, what i suggest, robert," he began after a quiet moment, flipping through some of the other pages on file. "is perhaps continuing to do those breathing exercises and stretches we talked about, in addition to getting some rest and allowing yourself to heal. this pain that you're still experiencing is likely a form of chest wall pain caused by labored and repetitive muscle contractions you had during your attack. because they were such intense muscle contractions, it's possible that you can continue to have this chest pain for several days."

the doctor used his hands to visualize his explanation, offering a great deal of information that bo wasn't necessarily familiar with. as much as he appreciated it, knowing that this ache in his chest could last for days really sucked. he found that every inhale he took was painful; any expansion in his lungs brought upon a tight soreness, and it only grew worse with the more air he filtered into his lungs.