The Good Doctor: Shaun Murphy X Reader "Symptomatic Love" Oneshot

Symptomatic Love (A Shaun Murphy X Reader Oneshot)

Trigger Warnings: Medical stuff, needles, uh... yea. Stuff like that. No surgery or anything but some pretty graphic descriptions. Also some brief mentions of depression.

How did this happen?
How did I get here?
A deep rattling sensation seemed to be strumming your bones, vibrating even the teeth in your head. Your vision was blurry and you could hear the faint buzz of voices around you. Where they in your head, or outside of it? You blinked slowly, trying to clear your vision to no avail and even shaking your head for an extra dose of clarity.
You bit back a cry as a wave of nausea rushed through you, traveling from your stomach to your throat. You HATED throwing up. You would not throw up. You swallowed it down bitterly and shivered as the rattling continued to move through your body.
Your body itself was shaking too, vibrating out of sync with the rattling. What was this, an earthquake? Something soft brushed your hand and you were a bit startled, but too out of it to locate the source. The voices began coming to you with more clarity. "(Y/N). (Y/N), stay with us." You didn't want to stay. Why stay? No one would notice if you were gone.
The voices continued.
"What's wrong with her? Any medical history?"
"No, doesn't seem like it. Wait, actually- some records of previous doctor's visits for symptoms of chills and nausea."
"And where did her neighbor say he found her?"
"Shaking like this on the couch, surrounded in vomit, almost unconscious..."
Had you thrown up on yourself? Oh, gross. The voices faded back to a dull murmur as you tried to keep your eyes from slipping closed.

When you opened your eyes next, piercing fluorescent bulbs stared back at you. You were either in a school or some kind of doctor's office... or maybe you'd been kidnapped to be used for lab experimentation?! You waited anxiously for the evil Dr. Schneeplestein to approach and jab you with a long needle. (If you didn't get that reference, sorry.)
By the looks of the stretcher that you were laying on and the flimsy mint-green gown wrapped around you, a hospital scenario seemed more likely.
As you struggled to sit up and set off some beeping mechanical device in the process, a young female doctor rushed into your room. She tossed back the room's curtain with urgency and threw down her clipboard as soon as she saw you sitting up. She had caramel skin, hair curled in tight ringlets and a confident look about her. Her sense of calm transferred over to you.
"Hello there, Miss (Y/N), glad to see you awake. My name is Dr. Claire Browne and I'm... taking care of you for right now. We're very busy today so we'll be rotating doctors often. Not to worry!" she exclaimed hurriedly. "You're in good hands."
"Ah... thanks, Dr. Browne. Uh... this is gonna sound kinda dumb but... why am I here?"
Dr. Browne barely stopped to look at you, moving around you in a fast circle and setting up a machine to check your blood pressure.
You were already hooked up to an IV, but to your horror, she mentioned, "Now that you're awake, I'll have to do a blood test. I'm sorry."
"S'fine," you mumbled, and noticed you were still shaking.
"The doctors all have an idea about what's wrong with you, but we need some information first. What's the last thing you remember?"
"I was, uh... watching TV. And eating dinner."
Dr. Browne perked up at this. "Eating what, specifically?"
"What, do you think I'm allergic to something? It was just pizza. I've eaten pizza my whole life."
"You're not allergic to anything," a monotone voice rang out.
You craned your neck to see the new doctor as he entered your room. He didn't look like most doctors you'd had in the past, but then neither did Dr. Browne.
This new doctor had a mop of brown hair on his head and intelligent blue eyes that darted around the room in an unnatural fashion.
They landed on you for a heartbeat before moving to Dr. Browne.
"We can't rule anything out yet, Shaun," Dr. Browne mumbled under her breath, although it seemed like her confidence had ticked down a notch, like this doctor made her unsure of herself.
"Her symptoms are clear. Shaking, vomiting, we tested her blood glucose and it's 478. She needs liquids to flush the ketones and insulin. If she does not receive these she will fall into diabetic ketoacidosis and possibly a coma."
Your eyebrows furrowed.
"I have what? Diabetes? No, I eat healthy and I exercise. That can't be right."
"It is right," the doctor- Shaun- said, taking a step toward you.
"Type 1 Diabetes is usually caused by an attack on the pancreas by a virus and has little to do with weight or diet."
He stepped toward you again and despite your fear, you felt a rush of safety.
As a general rule, you hated hospitals. When you breathed in the air you tasted death and tears, and the bathrooms smelled too heavily of urine. You'd been in the hospital once before as a child when you'd had a serious case of the flu, and never had a desire to go back.
You hated the long waits, the arrogance and entitlement of the doctors.
But this man... he was different. He would take care of you. His knowing eyes told you that he would not stop, and he would certainly make no mistakes.
"What do I do about all of this?" you whispered hoarsely.
"Shaun, you haven't even introduced yourself and you're going on about diabetic ketoacidosis! We don't know that for sure," Dr. Browne hissed, pushing the other doctor aside like a nosy dog.
"I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Shaun Murphy. You are already on intravenous therapy, but you will need more water."
The man turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
"I'm sorry about that," Dr. Browne said, but you noticed that she went to the sink and filled you a glass of water. "He can get a bit excited sometimes."
"But is he right? What's diabetes?"
Dr. Browne sighed.
"Type 1 Diabetes is a disease that occurs when a virus attacks the body's pancreas and stops its production of insulin, a material that breaks down food. It's merely a possibility. We'll have to run tests and I'll have to consult with the other doctors before I give you a full diagnosis."
Panic seized your chest. Were you going to die? You'd always wondered if people would care if you were gone, and now it looked like you might find out.
You began to breathe quickly again, and concern flashed on Dr. Browne's face.
"Don't worry. (Y/N), don't worry. Only about 10% of the American population have diabetes, and even fewer have Type 1."
She smiled thinly and wheeled some of the machines back away from your bed.
"I'll be back."
She left the room, the curtain swishing closed behind her.
You grabbed for the glass of water and downed it, strangely parched despite the IV.