Visiting the hospital feels sort of like visiting an amusement park, or a museum. Taeyong had walked in the building with a sense of dread; there was a familiar feeling of distrust. Yet at the same time, everything seems so shiny and new. Having not been in a hospital since high school, Taeyong cannot help but feel an overwhelming sense of awe.
His footsteps tap against the clean, white floor, as Taeyong finds his way to the front desk. "I have an appointment today," he says nervously, scratching the back of his neck, not sure what else to say. Taeyong realizes he feels embarrassed; he's quite close to 30, but his everyday life has gotten close to that of an adult's only recently.
The receptionist kindly hands Taeyong a form, while gently explaining that he needs to fill out the past medical history of himself and his family. Taeyong quickly nods, his cheeks turning red. His inexperience must be so blatant that even the receptionist could see it.
Taeyong finds a seat facing an aquarium. His foot begins to restlessly tap the floor as he fills out the form. "Why do I feel nervous?" Taeyong murmurs to himself. The fish swimming around in front of him are slow and dreamy, completely opposite of Taeyong's anxious heart.
The form has an obvious blank area. The glaring white with a lack of penmanship, asking for his paternal medical history, bothers Taeyong. He just wants to tear the paper apart. He manages to fill the maternal history to the best of his ability, but it is not much better.
Taeyong tosses the paper on the seat next to him and leans back. He closes his eyes, just wanting to go home. He nearly falls asleep, but a nurse calls him for his appointment. He nervously follows to the room.
The nurse does her usual routine, but it is all so bewildering to Taeyong. As she wraps his arm with the blood pressure cuff, Taeyong is startled. "What is this?" he asks suddenly.
The nurse is as equally confused as Taeyong. "I'm measuring your blood pressure," she says, but her tone makes it sound like a question.
"Why?"
"Um..." The nurse kind of wants to cry. "It's my job."
When the doctor finally comes, Taeyong feels his body become tense. He sits up straight as if he is back in school, and his teacher had unexpectedly called on him while he had been dozing off in class. The doctor laughs to himself, seeing Taeyong's rigidness. He sits down across from Taeyong, quickly introducing himself. He begins to go through the form, writing in information on his clipboard with his pen. Taeyong is unsettled by how his name is written in red. Taeyong feels like any doctor that uses a red pen must have a background with medical malpractice.
"So Taeyong, you finally got a check-up after many years, huh?" the doctor asks.
"Well yeah. I didn't really need one. I'm pretty healthy, you know."
"Check-ups aren't just for unhealthy people. You should get them regularly." He taps the pen against his clipboard. "But by your logic, then, you must be having some problems?"
Taeyong shrugs. "I've had some recurring headaches recently. My vision seems to have gotten a bit worse. I recently started working, though, I think that's why."
The doctor scans the form, his eyebrows raising at a certain portion. "Your mom had... 'Von hippopotamus disease?'"
Taeyong can only shrug again, feelingly slightly embarrassed. "I don't remember exactly what it's called."
Eyebrows furrowing together, the doctor tries to think. The realization makes him shoot up straight. "Von Hippel-Lindau?" he asks, his voice suddenly quite sharp.
Seeing the doctor like that makes Taeyong's anxiety increase ten-fold. "Y-yeah," he stutters. "Why?"
"That's a heritable disease. Why didn't your mom or anyone tell you?"
Taeyong wishes he was dumb to the point that he would at least not know what "heritable" means. Unfortunately, he does. The words make him freeze all over, his heartbeat so slow that he can feel its lack of presence. "They didn't know while she was alive," he says slowly, his voice incredibly soft. He stares blankly at the wall, trying to recall. "When she died, they thought it was just pancreatic cancer. B-But... she had donated her body to a hospital, and they found out then. When they called and told me, I wasn't..." Taeyong trails off. He had completely forgotten. Taeyong had not even known about her donating her body to a medical facility until after she was dead. Even past death, his mother had kept him in mind, wanting to save her son the costs of a funeral. He had been in so much grief at the time, nothing had mattered. Every word from then went through one ear and came out the other.
The doctor sighs. "You should schedule another appointment, a cancer screening check-up." He taps his pen again, red dots appearing on the corner of the paper. "Your headaches and vision loss may possibly be from hemangioblastomas."
The unfamiliar words make Taeyong tune out. Cancer? Hemangioblastomas? The foreignness of his sudden situation makes his chest shake. He's scared to listen anymore, and the idea of going through what his mother did makes him nearly break.
A strong yet sad resolution builds up in Taeyong. He knows very well that if he ends up like his mother, he must cut off some loose ends first.
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