Autompne

one

ONE

My dirty black converse squeaked as I walked down the white hallway where several gurneys were pushed all the way to the operating rooms, where several families waited outside patient rooms wondering if their loved ones made it or not and where several families got told the good news and the bad news. I was amazed by the fact that it was a plain, white hallway yet it held so many memories and some people's worst nightmares.

Walking alongside me was my own mom—Linda. When I first got sick, she quit her job and decided it'd be a good idea to dedicate her whole life to taking care of me. That plan didn't last long because we started running out of money. I did get better and my mom eventually went back to work. And even though her work required more attention, she focused on my health more.

Saturdays were my mom's days off and it was also my weekly doctor's appointment. I'd been going for about three years that it just turned into a daily routine. Wake up; eat breakfast; go the hospital. That was how most of our Saturdays went. My mom didn't like missing any appointments so she took me to them herself. She treated me the same way she did when I got diagnosed and I never understood why. I kept up with my medications and almost all of the symptoms were gone. Depression being one of the symptoms that were still there and that would take years of therapy to get rid of.

We stopped at the front desk, my mom smiling at one of the nurses as they talked for a couple of minutes. Because of our frequent visits, practically everyone at the hospital knew who we were. I knew how many operating rooms were in the hospital—a total of forty-five operating rooms. They'd closed one of them the year before making it forty-four rooms. I knew my way around the hospital and I would be lying if I said it wasn't because I ended up getting lost every single time I came to the hospital.

A nurse arrived at the front desk, telling us that the MRI room was ready and that the doctor was ready for us at that moment. It was so silly that they had to send a nurse to show us the way even after three years. It was a waste of time too. I didn't go in for MRI's every single appointment, it was every two weeks. Usually, they'd draw blood samples to make sure I was okay and then they'd let me go.

Once we got to the room, I headed to the MRI scanner along with the nurse and prepared everything, checking off things from my mental checklist. Earplugs; check. Blanket; check. Favorite pillow; check. I was ready.

I glanced at the motorized bed before lying down on it, putting my pillow behind me, my earplugs in and my blanket over me. The nurse propped my feet up on a pillow, claiming that it was good for the back. And just like that I was moved inside the scanner, prepared of an hour and fifteen minutes of absolutely nothing.

**

After an hour and fifteen minutes, just as I predicted, I was out of the MRI room and staring at the computer screen in the room right next to it. The image of my brain was yet to process and that took about fifteen minutes.

I had friends around the hospital and I would go visit one of them while my image scanned. That Saturday was my turn to visit Jessica. Jessica was a blind woman, somewhere between the ages of forty-seven and fifty-five. She refused to tell me though, she was mean like that.

"Hey, Jess," I smiled as I stepped into her room. It smelled of lemons and flowers—Jessica's favorite scent.

"Finn, you need to start knocking before you give your old woman a heart attack," she sat up, looking at nothing in particular and that was what fascinated me the most. She looked healthy and well and if you didn't know her, you'd think she was never blind because she looked everywhere around the room yet she looked nowhere. I took a seat next to the bed before I heard her speak again, "how are you doing?"

"I'm doing great," I smiled a genuine smile, one that usually took me days to muster up the courage to let out. I was comfortable around Jessica because we'd both known each other for a long time. She wasn't hospitalized for all of the three years I've been visiting though, she was only there for two of them and it meant a lot to have someone with me. "I'm getting good grades, enough to get me into a decent college."

"Have you made any friends recently?" she asked the same question she always did. She was concerned and I appreciated that but I wasn't going to make friends with the way people looked and talked about me. I was the ill freak.

"No, I haven't," I sighed, sinking lower in my seat. "People look at me differently."

"Different is unique," she said as a smile formed at the corner of her lips. "It's better than being like everyone else, right?"

"I guess so," I laughed. Jessica always knew how to make me feel better. She wasn't bitter like most people who got ill or lost a limb or one of their senses. She was content with the way the world worked and I genuinely hoped that someday she'd get to see it. A knock on the door interrupted our laughs as a nervous-looking nurse walked in.

"Finn Harper, you need to go back to the MRI room, the doctor needs to speak with you," she said nervously, playing with the tips of her fingers.

I got worried for a second that maybe something was wrong with me but as we walked to the MRI room, I couldn't help but think that I was getting better. Maybe the medications finally kicked in and all the symptoms were gone. Maybe the doctor wanted to speak to me to tell me to be careful and congratulate me for overcoming my disorder. Maybe then I could actually go to college, get married, have kids and live. Just live.

When I went into the room though, all my hopes started to fade because everyone had a scared look on their face—even the doctor.

"Take a seat, Finn," the doctor said calmly as he pointed to a chair near the computer where I could see the image of my brain.

"What's going on?" I spoke for the first time since I stepped into the MRI room.

"You're getting worse," my hurt sunk as the words I'd been dreading rolled off his tongue. It was my entire fault. Why did I even think that I was getting better? "The MRI shows signs of the symptoms coming back and so does your blood sample. The symptoms are coming back slowly, but surely, and it's going to be tougher than before."

"What does this mean?" my mother almost gasped as she leaned on my chair, holding it to keep her steady.

"His body is no longer responding to his usual medications so we'll need to change them and give him a higher dosage," the doctor explained slowly, letting the words sink in before he spoke again, "You'll need to visit every two days now."

"Is this going to affect my education?" I asked, fearing his answer.

"You will start to get worse and we'll eventually have to hospitalize you but for the meantime, try not to exhaust yourself and get as much sleep as possible. I know that last part is hard but it's very important," he warned. "Your normal one hour of sleep won't help you at all."

"What if he doesn't respond to the new medications?" my mother asked. The doctor looked down at the floor, hesitating a little bit but after a few moments of silence he spoke, "Looking at how much the disorder's developed so far, he might not make it through thirty days. If he's lucky, he'll get about forty. That is, if he doesn't respond to his medications,"

And just like that my world tumbled down—crushed by the soles of the doctor's worn-out shoes and the damned building I stood in, where more than thousands of lives were lost.

**

Oh the amount of research I did for just one chapter…. the amount of research. Oh my god, I never want to be a doctor.

ANYWAYS, I didn't mention what kind of disorder Finn has and I thank @figurative for not putting it as part of the first prompt because I want to keep it a mystery. I also want you to guess, so. I did put two huge clues in this chapter so it should be a little bit clear by now. The clues are symptoms so look for that while reading, wink wink.

This is also my very first time writing a full story in a male's point of view (I'm a girl, in case you didn't know) so excuse me if I sound girly at one point. I'm not a boy but I will try to think like one and we'll just see how this goes.

It's basically two challenges in one; baaaaaaaam.