Whether 'Tis Nobler to Suffer

Whether 'Tis Nobler to Suffer

By Prongs

Silence can be deafening. Point in question: I am waiting in the exam room for my doctor; all is silent, save for the quiet hum of the lights. Despite this fact, everything from the tiniest tremble in my hands to the fast beat of my heart is painstakingly loud.

Victoria, who pulled up a chair next to me, leans in and pulls my hand towards her. Wrapped in hers, my hand fails in its attempt to contribute to the silent symphony. She looks up and meets my gaze with the tiniest of smiles as if to say See? It's going to be alright.

That's Victoria for you. If the world were crashing down all around her, she'd still try to make you smile with the effervescence that seemed infused within her soul. I remember the first time I saw her, she was a complete stranger to me, but I saw her glowing with hair like rays of sunlight, her eyes bright and inviting. Fast-forward a bit and you'll find a sparkling engagement ring contributing to that glow.

I just hoped for her sake that the world was not going end today.

At that moment, the door opened and Dr. Fletcher stepped into the room, carrying a small stack of paperwork. I instinctively took a deep breath of the disinfectant-laced air and braced myself for the news, whatever it may be.

"Henry, I'm sorry to have to inform you, but your blood test has returned positive for Huntington's Disease."

I froze. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, all I could hear was the word 'positive'. In my mind's eye I was back to the day I first learned about the genetic curse, I was just about eight years old and my Dad had found me sitting quietly on my bed after my Mom's latest fit of anger. He sat down, put his arm around me, and explained Mom was sick with something called Huntington's Disease.

"When will she get better?" asked my younger self.

"It's incurable, Henry," sighed Dad, who suddenly seemed much older. "But you know what? We'll get through it."

Now, however, my Dad has long since passed on and Victoria has taken his place in comforting me, her hand clenched around mine as if letting go would mean I die immediately. She wiped her eyes frequently as though refusing to give into tears as she listened intently to Dr. Fletcher's every word, reminding me that Dr. Fletcher was still speaking.

"As I'm sure you're aware, this is a neurodegenerative genetic mutation that unlike most mutations, begins to show symptoms in later life," Dr. Fletcher said, the lines in her face making me wonder how many times she'd said these words. "Meaning that the great majority of symptoms will begin sometime after age of thirty, which, given that you're twenty-four, means you have some time left to live a relatively normal life."

"Relatively normal life?," I repeat, full of disbelief. "I can't even have a child without putting them at risk for this disease, which is something I could never do because I know what it feels like."

I pulled a quarter out of my pocket to emphasize the point.

"There is exactly a 50% chance of inheritance, meaning that the biggest decision impacting your life comes down to a coin flip," I said, flipping the coin in my hand. "Some madman in the heavens above flipped my coin and my fate was sealed."

"There is still hope...," Dr. Fletcher said, proceeding cautiously. "One day, science may advance enough for us to find a cure."

"Let's be honest with each other," I said, looking her in the eye. "If the infamous cancer hasn't been cured, no one is going to cure the third cousin twice removed. Give it twenty five years and this disease will have corroded my brain to point where I could be a violent psychopath for all we know. This isn't simply a disease; it's a genetic death sentence."