The toon sat in awkward silence as the doctor took his notes from across the office. Above his head were a row of tools and a well-worn scrap of paper pinned against the wall. The paper detailed his previous symptoms and each of the tools was used during his examination. He swished his tail. He never planned on visiting the doctor, especially on such short notice. His follow-up appointment wasn't supposed to be for another three months.
However, what had started for the toon as a random spout of lightheadedness on and off over the course of a few weeks soon turned into intense states of vertigo lasting for several hours at a time. Then the fainting spells started and continued to persist until he couldn't go more than three days without a random assortment of all previous symptoms… the fainting more prominent as of late.
The doctor initially wouldn't have thought much of the sudden decline if the patient was accustomed to fainting for a gag in a cartoon. Most toons had trained themselves to do all sorts of things on command with the risk of having lasting effects outside of work. However, this case was different.
This toon had not been active in his career for several years. He couldn't remember the last time he was even required to faint on cue for a gag. No, these fainting spells were involuntary… And growing more frequent… And then his wife found him sprawled over on their kitchen floor that very morning, hence why they made another emergency appointment.
The doctor went through his usual line of questions and the toon had his usual line of answers. He wasn't taking any new medications nor has changed his diet. He didn't smoke or partake in the use of drugs. And even though he was an older toon, he wasn't prone to losing his balance like humans were often accustomed to when they aged.
The doctor was completely stumped.
That is, until he glanced over the patient's file once more and suddenly noticed a tiny detail written in black text above his file.
"Are you aware that your copyright is about to run out?" The doctor asked.
The toon paused a moment and blinked before glancing aside and back.
No, I wasn't aware that it was gonna be so soon. I- I mean, I knew it was set to be renewed, b- but I could of sworn they took care of that already. The studio has been automatically renewin' it for folks so I- I guess I assumed it'd be the same for me.
The doctor listened to his patient and took some notes, unable to look at his patient directly in the eye as he began to explain his prognosis.
"These fainting spells of yours. They only mark the beginning of what has been known as 'ragdoll syndrome.' Have you ever heard of it?"
The toon shifted in his seat.
Only bits and pieces, but nothin' much else, doc. Doesn't it only affect toons when their studio goes under?
The doctor only stared at him for a moment before taking a sharp inhale and typing on a nearby computer.
"That was how most toons acquired the illness back in the days of silent films because a toon's studio had a direct connection to the life of a toon. When a studio filed for bankruptcy, they no longer can afford to animate the toon, and the affected toon either dissolves into the ink from whence it came, or they lose all their motor functions. However..."
The toon winced as the doctor continued.
"While ragdoll syndrome is not as prevalent today, thanks to the extra protection our copyright laws grant us, it can still manifest if a toon's copyright is at risk. Yours is set to expire in two months. And regardless of if a studio is stable, a toon can be prone to 'ragdoll syndrome' if their copyright expiration date is drawing near."
I don't understand. How is that even possible?
"This is because copyright upholds the stability of the toon. It draws a definitive line that ensures the toon's personality, his quirks, how he looks… without our copyright, we have nothing to establish ourselves."
The doctor then had the misfortune to witness the moment when reality began to befall upon the toon sitting across from his desk.
First, the toon looked upon him with his usual formal but friendly smile… then as he began to process the doctor's words, his expression slowly shifted to that of initial confusion before finally settling on a frozen, inscrutable stare.
You… You're sure that this… this diagnosis- it can't be anything else?
The doctor always hated that question.
"I would strongly consider contacting your studio as quickly as possible. The good news is that we've caught it early on, so you're most likely going to go through the early stages. However, until that copyright gets renewed, your fainting spells will get worse. You may have passing moments of confusion or forgetfulness, but I don't believe you will face the main symptoms of ragdoll syndrome like seizures, involuntary outbursts, or paralysis. But only if you act quickly."
The toon nodded with blank, hollow acknowledgment before the doctor slowly stood and walked around his desk before sitting beside his patient and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. A simple gesture of sympathy and support well-grounded in professionalism, but the doctor wished he could embrace his patient and let him know everything will be okay.
But that was out of his control.
"Sydney will guide you to the exit," the doctor finally said after a few solemn moments, "We will send home a document detailing what to expect. Are there any other questions?"
The toon slowly shook his head, still frozen in shock. He said nothing as a nurse walked in and gently wrapped her hands around his arm to gently prompt him to stand.
No, that's fine. I can walk myself, he protested, but the doctor firmly interjected,
"I'm afraid that we must insist, considering your condition. We wouldn't want you to faint again."
Any further argument turned to dust in the toon's mouth as he was gently led out of the examination room. The nurse, presumably Sydney, casually talked in a cheerful tone asking a slew of questions, but the toon's thoughts were elsewhere as she guided him towards the side entrance, where more famous toons could enter or exit the hospital in privacy and without fear of prying eyes from the press.
Just outside the side entrance was a private parking lot surrounded by the covering of pinewood trees that secluded the area and a solitary dirt path that eventually merged with the interstate with a toll gate. Upon the parking lot sat a solitary blue car that was in desperate need of a tune-up and a carwash; something the driver planned to take care of once the appointment was over.
It was when the toon finally took in the change in his surroundings when he turned towards the nurse and reaffirmed his desire to walk by himself. Sydney, of course, protested but after a quick exchange, the two finally settled on a compromise. He can make the rest of the walk to his car, but she must stand by on watch. And if he showed any signs of lightheadedness, she could lead him the rest of the way.
The toon assured her that he was fine, but as he stood upon the pavement it seemed like his unsure steps betrayed the depth of his true emotions. Still, he persisted and eventually made it to the tail end of the parking lot. He was out of breath. His vision faded.
But somehow he made it.
After taking a moment to steady himself, the toon opened the door to the passenger seat and stepped inside.
"…Well?" His wife asked as she took his hand. "What did the doctor say?"
He leaned back in his seat as a wave of nausea began to pass over from the sudden change in his position, but after a while, Mickey Mouse turned to his wife and said with a trembling smile,
"It's… it's not good, Min."
End of Chapter 1
