Sensitive

The Begining

2 Years Ago:

"Rooney Marie?" the young nurse's voice erupted through the busy waiting room. Both my mom and I whipped our heads up nervously to her impatient eyes.

My mom rose from her seat beside me then outstretched both her hands to me with a reassuring smile, "Come on Roo, it's the last MRI we have to do. Let's just get it over with." She is notorious for keeping her emotions in check and staying positive. But I knew better, she was a whirlwind of emotions inside and having to see me so depleted had struck a raw nerve. I knew what she was feeling because I could feel it every time she got a little too close or when she would reach out to hold my hand out of habit. She was a strong woman, but I knew her resolve was close to shattering. Which made me disgusted with myself.

But how do I explain to my mother that I can feel everything and nothing all at the same time? How do I even word it together without sounding like a complete nutcase?

I took her hands as she guided me up gently. Shocks ran up from the soles of my feet and crept up my neck causing immediate discomfort. I winced but quickly breathed in deep, "I will do this for the sake of my idiot doctor. But I refuse to give any more blood because God only knows if their implanting some kind of tracking device." I joked poorly.

She laughed nervously, as I clung to her like a life line trying desperately not to limp. But my body was already so exhausted from the drive up here, I just didn't have the energy in me, "Roo, don't be silly let's hope there's nothing wrong." the material of her old knitted sweater rubbed the inside of my sweaty palms making them tingle from the sensation. My head felt ten pounds heavier from the sensory overload as I put one foot in front of the other, getting winded from the sudden surge of movement. I gazed down at my mom's feet to try to steady myself and noticed that she was almost stumbling over herself while trying to keep me balanced.

Here I thought she was rushing me. But the truth is we are going at a turtles pace and I still got drained from the simple task. The busy waiting room quickly turned into a freak show, all eyes starring me and following my every move. Some were looks of pity, others of disbelief, and then there was the majority of pure, absolute judgment. I felt the embarrassment flood my cheeks so I kept my head close to my mom's shoulder almost hiding behind her and using my curtain of too long, dark curls to shield my face. I mean come on, I'm a sixteen year old hiding behind my mom because people don't except my illness or disease or whatever you want to call it!

It's just so wrong that I have to feel this way.

"You never know I am a little crazy upstairs, if ya know what I mean?" it came out a little more strained than the intended sarcasm I was going for. I couldn't help it, my body was going on shut down mode.

She just shook her head at my failed attempt to fake that I was okay. She knew me better than that and although she didn't understand what I was feeling she still stood by my side even with all the odds against me.

The nurse didn't greet us or try to engage in any conversation as she led us down a few security corridors. She didn't even offer a wheelchair, not that I would take it, but it would have been the polite thing to do since I am struggling a bit to keep upright.

Asshole.

Then we reached a tiny, empty waiting room that had a thick ambiance to it. The carpet below my feet was aged. It was an ugly mixture of a dull blue and purple that would make any home interior designer pull their hair out. The old and I mean old, paintings on the wall had collected a nice layer of dust and tiny little cob webs that glittered when they hit the dim light. The plastic chairs that were set out for patients looked like the hand-me-downs of the waiting room we just came from. Nothing about this room was inviting, not the pale lighting or the plastic plants that sat on the beaten, wooden side tables.