1. Self Medication
by Ryan Brosmer
The doctor said that I need more vitamin B. She said that I have a low count of something, or something. Something with my blood.
“It’s nothing serious. But it explains any fatigue,” she said.
The look on my mom’s face was a mix between relief and leftover bits of anxiety.
“Oh thank God,” mom said, once the relief took over. I was kind of disappointed. I had come home for this? I was hoping for something a little more dramatic. The doctor isn’t even going to write me a prescription. Just to get more vitamin B. Apparently Gatorade is a good source. I usually just drink water. I guess city water isn’t known for its high vitamin content.
I kind of stopped listening to the doctor at one point, and the she seemed to notice and began talking directly to my mom. I was distracted with running through other scenarios in my head.
Diabetes.
Cancer.
I dunno, what else serious is fatigue a symptom of?
It could have been something exotic. Something previously unheard of. Hell, it still could be. What does this doctor know? Maybe a lack of vitamin B is just the first sign of a possibly serious case of Drake’s Syndrome.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Drake, your son has leukemia.”
That would have packed a punch. Mom probably would have cried. I don’t know what I would have done. At the very least it could have been diabetes. Well, no I guess the very least could have been, and was, that I just needed more vitamin B.
“Well, I guess Gatorade is probably less expensive than a prescription, what with this new insurance your dad’s company has him on,” my mom said. I wasn’t paying attention as we walked into the Safeway.
I was toying with the leukemia scenario in my head, deciding how I would have broke the news to everyone.
Who I would tell first? Would that person cry? Would everyone cry? Do I know enough people for a list to even be necessary? It probably wouldn’t be hard to gather up all the people I know in one room and break it to them all at once. That might make it easier. I wonder if people would start to forget me before I even died; at least the people that don’t know me very well. They might just pretend like they never knew who I was, that might be easier for them.
“Maybe I should just go ahead and do the grocery shopping while we’re here. Your dad needs some more lunchmeat and we need trash bags.” My mom began rambling off a grocery list to herself. I used to go grocery shopping with her every Sunday. It was always me. Neither of my brothers ever went. They saw it as a chore. I saw it as the only sure way to get what I wanted in my lunch. But she always used to come to the store prepared. She always had a list written out on some sort of stationary with a beach scene in the background. It was like writing in the sand.
I guess now that it’s usually just her and dad there’s less to buy. Making a list would be a waste of paper if the only things on there were lunchmeat and trash bags. I didn’t care about shopping anymore. I was going back home as soon as I got my Gatorade. I had work the next morning. And anyways, I was thinking about the grave illness I had diagnosed myself with.
I guess having leukemia might help show you who your real friends are. I wonder who my real friends are. Who would come to visit me in the hospital? More importantly, who would I want to come visit me in the hospital? I guess that’s kind of important. Are there things I’d want to tell people? Speaking of telling people things, I think I’d like to write something. Like an autobiography, or memoir. I’m only 19, but I think a lot’s happened, and I’ve been pretty quiet so I bet I’ve forgotten to tell people a lot of things. Maybe writing it out would be easier than telling them to their face. Maybe whatever I write would get published. I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it, but most famous authors are dead anyways. I guess it wouldn’t be worth it if I wouldn’t be around to know that I become famous. Maybe I will just tell people to their face, make it more personal. At least that way those individuals will almost certainly remember me.
“I remember when Paul said…,” or “I’ll never forget what Paul told me on his death bed…”
I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t even decided if I have anything to tell anyone. Well…there’s that and the fact that I’m not dying.
“Well, pick out a few different flavors. If you’re going to be drinking this stuff every day you’ll probably want some variety.”
I browsed the shelf and grabbed an arm-full of bottles, making my choice based on color instead of the flavor it was supposed to signify. I dropped all of the bottles into the shopping cart that my mom was pushing.
“That’s all?” Mom asked.
“Ummm…no?” I said and grabbed a few more bottles off of the shelf. “I think that should do it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. I wasn’t looking to turn down any kind of free groceries so I took a few more bottles down. I was running out of colors to choose from and it was really going to bother me if I had awkward numbers of different colors. I think I was safe with one of each.
