Diagnosis.
Should I be afraid,
Of the prognosis?
That slip of truth
That causes just
Fear, from being deduced.
Should I trust
My faith?
Or create a false reality as I await?
~~~Autumn's POV~~~
I have always despised my life. But… I had no idea that it could get even worse than what it already was.
I stared down at the just resuscitated girl. My sister. I tried to save her. I tried to help. Why had it gotten like this?
"She just barely survived. We don't know how long she will live, so the judge has allowed you to be with her in her final moments… or until she awakens. But that is a very slim possibility. I'd give her probably a 2.6% chance of survival." The doctor, a female clad in a white lab coat, told us. She placed her hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. We are going to require some blood work from the family so that we know of any possible issues that are to come." Her blonde hair tickled my shoulder as she walked past me, gripping onto a clipboard.
"Oh." Was all that my mother could say. She had not spoken since we got the news of Katherine's attempted suicide. She had not moved from the place she sat since we got from the hospital. She had not removed her hand from my sister's once.
"Let's see, the father, John, has diabetes; sibling Ashley has narcissism disorder, anemia, and Reynaud's syndrome; mother Gail has no apparent health or mental issues except for anemia, and Autumn has no mental or physical disabilities or impairments while Katherine has mild polycystic ovarian syndrome, anemia, and possible depression and/or bipolar 2 disorder. Is that correct?" She asked us, her hand running over the information.
"Actually, I have been meaning to go to a doctor for some time to ask about an issue," I told the woman. She looked up.
"Would you like to speak of it? I will draw your blood first anyways." She asked me, leading me into the room next door, removing various needles, capsules, and containers for my blood.
"Actually… recently, my balance has been iffy. And I can't see or hear as well as what I used to. My back has also felt awful." I told the nurse, thinking back. Katherine had always had issues with these as well, but I never thought that I would.
"Have you been to an eye or ear specialist recently?" She asked me, leading me to the scale to check my weight. I appeared to have lost some weight. Mostly muscle mass though, oddly.
"I was scheduling an appointment, Miss… Richardson?" I told her as I read her name tag.
"Call me Lena." She said, taking my temperature with one of those fancy-schmancy forehead things.
"Lena." I corrected myself.
"Well, it could be nothing. Let's hope that it is nothing." She grabbed my hand before jerking back. "You're as cold as ice!" She joked, pulling on some gloves and readying the machine. I watched as the needle invaded my skin, causing me to feel nauseous as my crimson blood traveled through the crystalline tube. She stopped, pulling the needle out.
"All done?" I asked her as she helped me up.
"All done." She replied. "Call in your sister." She told me. I started to leave but then collapsed to my knees.
"Ouch!" I cried out, trying to pull myself up by the bed mattress. Lena looked up, helping me from the ground.
"Oh my God! Are you okay?" She asked me, helping me out. I left the room, as steadily as possible.
"I'm fine," I told her, making my way back. I called my sister in, she looked at me with worry. "Tell me the results as soon as possible, okay?" I asked Lena, as my father brought me a chocolate bar from the breakroom. Mom didn't even look up.
I waited, and soon enough, everyone had their blood drawn. Mom had her's done by Kathy's side by request. She certainly caused quite a commotion.
"Autumn. May I see you?" Lena asked me, ushering me in the room I got my blood drawn. I reluctantly left, following her. "Sit, please." She ordered, and I complied, sitting back on the bed I got my blood drawn. I suddenly felt fearful and sad for myself. Why did I feel sad for myself when my sister was just dying in the other room? Am I really that selfish?
"Yes, Lena?" I asked her, nervously running my hands along my arms.
"I'm sorry. You have Friedreich's Ataxia,"
I felt my blood run cold. What? She couldn't possibly mean that. "What?" I asked her, afraid.
"You probably only have twenty years left to live."