Thirteen Months

Cerebellar Ataxia

TW // PTSD, slurs, abuse

Mizuko rolled over and checked the time on her phone. Clicking it off, she sighed. Three in the morning. Great. Who knew dying wouldn't be easy? Sure, Mizuko knew it would be challenging emotionally. However, she had underestimated the physical challenges and the toll they would take on her.

This had been the fourth near-sleepless night in a row. Mizuko's eyebags had almost tripled in size and intensity. The soreness in her limbs, or dysesthesia, had grown gradually worse. Although it was only a dull, achy pain, it had been constant and unpleasant. The pain made it hard to walk for long distances. She couldn't play volleyball anymore. She couldn't even sleep.

Sighing, Mizuko struggled to sit up. Wearily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and forced herself to stand. Taking a deep breath, Mizuko shuffled painfully downstairs and into the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she placed it under the faucet. Leaning against the counter, Mizuko sipped at her water.

The events that happened next seemed to occur in slow motion. The glass seemed to slip from numb fingers. Normally, Mizuko's reflexes were pretty good, at least better than the average human. However, at that very moment, it was like she was frozen. What would have been an easy catch weeks before now felt nearly impossible. It's not that she didn't try to grab the glass; she simply couldn't. No matter how much her mind screamed at her, Mizuko's limbs seemed incapable of movement.

The crash of glass against kitchen tile was deafening to her. Mizuko stared, unable to move. Tears of frustration slipped down her cheeks. The sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs made Mizuko's stomach drop. What was she going to do? She had never broken something of the Sawamura's before.

Suddenly, Mizuko was back in her mother's home. Both her mother and Souta screamed incessantly at her, the stench of alcohol on their breaths staggering her. "Stupid child!" her mother screamed. Mizuko mumbled something about cleaning it up. It was only a broken dish after all. Souta slapped her.

"Don't talk back to your mother," he commanded. "She works too hard all day to come home to your in-grateful behavior!" Mizuko tightened her lips knowing that any sort of argument would be pointless. She simply took the verbal assault of names, insults, and slurs that both her mother and Souta hurled at her.

"MIZUKO!" Another voice jarred Mizuko out of the flashback. She looked up to see Daichi standing in front of her with a hand on her shoulder while his parents stood behind him looking concerned. "It's okay," Daichi said softly. "What happened?" Mizuko simply shook her head, more tears springing to her eyes. Daichi made the sign for panic. Mizuko nodded as she tried to smother the small whimpers struggling to escape her. "Okay," Daichi said. "It's okay, you're safe." Mizuko nodded, squeezing her eyes tight in an effort to stay in the present.

Daichi took a deep breath. "Can I touch you?" Without hesitating, Mizuko held out a hand, desperately wanting to be grounded again. The logical part of her brain knew that she was in no danger, but the part of her that had been damaged by trauma, her fight or flight response, was firing on all cylinders.

Understanding the girl's desperation to hang on to reality, Daichi quickly moved to pull Mizuko into a tight hug. Mizuko, struggling to keep her past demons at bay, clutched him tightly, fisted his shirt, and breathed in his scent deeply. "I've got you, sis," Daichi murmured into her hair.

After a while, Mizuko's breathing finally slowed. She slumped limply against Daichi, the effort of fighting off the PTSD attack exhausting her already worn out body. Daichi helped her over to the couch where the two sat, Mizuko leaning on his shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Sawamura stood nearby in concern.

"What happened?" Daichi asked once it seemed Mizuko was in a stable mindset.

"I don't know...I just...dropped the glass," Mizuko murmured. "I tried to catch it, but I couldn't. It's like my muscles wouldn't respond." She sighed. "It's probably the cerebellar ataxia that the specialist talked about." Daichi exchanged a glance with his parents. Mrs. Sawamura gave a small nod.

"Most likely," Daichi whispered sadly.

"Within a few months --most likely weeks in Mizuko's case-- patients will start experiencing the beginnings of progressive neuromuscular symptoms. One of these includes an impaired ability to coordinate voluntary movement. This is known as cerebellar ataxia."

That's what the specialist had told the Sawamuras. However, his words were not enough to prepare them for what it would really be like. It's one thing to know of something, but it's another to live it. For Daichi, it was one of the hardest experiences of his life to see his sister in pain. Sure, maybe they weren't related by DNA, but that didn't matter to Daichi.

One of Daichi's best qualities was loyalty. This is what had led him to becoming a captain of the volleyball team. Not only did he struggle and stick with the team when others abandoned them, but others recognized his dedication and heart for the sport. For Daichi, loyalty and compassion was one of his biggest strengths-- it's what made him Daichi. However, at that moment, it felt like more of a weakness. His heart was constantly in pain watching his sister and friend suffer. The pain was almost overshadowed by the feeling of sheer helplessness he felt. In volleyball, there's always something a player can do to improve. They can work on their serves or their serves or personal attitude as a player. But this wasn't volleyball. There simply wasn't anything he could do. Daichi just had to sit there and watch as his sister deteriorated until she died.

Died. It was the first time Daichi really processed what that word meant. He looked down at Mizuko, who was still slumped against him. Gently cradling her body, Daichi carried her to the couch. He sat next to her, allowing her to lay her head on his thigh. Mrs. Sawamura ran upstairs and quickly returned with the heated weighted blanket. She approached the couch and carefully spread the blanket over Mizuko. The exhausted girl quickly fell asleep while Daichi played with her hair comfortingly.

After checking to make sure Mizuko was really asleep, he looked up at his parents. "I can't," he said in a strangled voice, "I can't do this." Tears filled his eyes.

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Sawamura said as tears sprang to her own eyes. She knelt in front of the couch and held onto one of his hands. "I know," she murmured. She took a shaky breath. "But we have to stay strong. For her."

"We're going to get through this," Mr. Sawamura jumped in, moving to put a hand on his wife's shoulder as he continued, "Together. As a family."

"Before she, you know...passes," Daichi whispered. "Can we adopt her? Officially? She's already my sister, I love her so much."

His parents exchanged a look. "We've already applied for full custody," Mr. Sawamura said. "I'm not sure if we will be able to complete the process fully before...it's too late. But, the process has been started and we're working with her social workers right now to try to speed up the process."

Daichi nodded in understanding. He looked down at Mizuko, his sister. "I love you so much, sis," he murmured. "No matter what documents we do or don't have. You'll always be my sister"