My parents stayed silent, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t freak me out a bit. I thought for sure I would have gotten more than glares by now. Meanwhile, River remained completely still beneath me, as if he were trying not to breathe, knowing it would further irritate my parents.
It was a gift when the doctor finally arrived, though her presence didn’t exactly brighten the tense mood. With a voice as flat as my parents’, the doctor greeted us, arched an eyebrow at River, and moved on. She asked the usual questions, and I gave her my usual answers.
Dr. Walters scribbled with her pen on the clipboard. “So, you’ve been stressed lately? How so?”
I was about to give my answer when my father cut me off.
“Because his sister leaves her child with him like he’s the father, and doesn’t know how to say no,” my dad grumbled before I could answer.
“Jim,” Mom warned.
“At least she has the decency to not make me feel like shit about things I can’t control,” I said a little too loudly, leaning into River’s chest like he was a comfy chair.
Dad noticed, and the crease in his brows showed it was taking everything in him not to lose his cool. He directed his eyes to the nurse. “Do you have any spare chairs we can drag in here? I’m sure our, uh, guest is tired of having his space… occupied.”
His struggle with the words almost made me chuckle. I raised a hand before Dr. Walters could answer. “I think he’s okay with it. Aren’t you, Riv?”
River was still as a statue beneath me. He only gave a weak, half-nod in response. Although the doctor’s eyes remained fixed on her clipboard, her hold on her pen became tighter. The energy in the room even made her uneasy.
She cleared her throat. “I’m going to do a few tests—all things I’m sure you’ve gone through before.”
With me still seated on River’s lap, Dr. Walters grabbed her tools and came toward me in her chair. Using a flashlight, she had me follow her finger with my eyes, giving me the basic neurological test I knew like the back of my hand.
For about an hour, she questioned and examined me, and at some point, someone brought in an extra chair for me. I figured River’s legs were going numb since I’d been sitting on them for so long, so I happily took the seat, though I was enjoying pissing my parents off.
After endless waiting, Dr Walters waltzed into the room. Once at her desk, she clasped her hands together, propping her elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Your neuro exam looks good, Alexander.”
I shared a questioning look with my parents, and Mom instantly jumped in. “How? He just had two seizures in two weeks, when he hadn’t had one in four years.”
“I want to talk about his seizure pattern,” she said as she navigated her computer. “He was diagnosed with epilepsy at eight, but looking at the symptoms and analysis, I’m skeptical of that diagnosis.”
With a worried expression, I looked over at River, who was already gazing at me with wide, apprehensive eyes. Misdiagnosis? Seizures equaled epilepsy, didn’t they?
In the absence of a response from anyone in the room, the doctor continued, “There is a condition called psychogenic non-epileptic seizures. It’s a possibility.”
“Psycho-what now?” Dad blurted out with a blank stare.
“Psychogenic non-epileptic seizures. PNES for short,” she clarified. “In people with epilepsy, the brain experiences seizures because of abrupt and unusual electrical disturbances. PNES is the brain responding to stress or trauma, not abnormal electrical activity.”
The doctor’s casual words caused my blood to run cold and my face went pale.
“So, my son has never had seizures?” Mom’s voice wavered as she spoke.
Dr. Walter looked up, finally meeting our gaze instead of staring at her screen or clipboard. “Alexishaving seizures. They’re what we call functional seizures. His body is reacting to stress and emotional overload in a way that mimics epilepsy.”
“So he controls them,” Dad stated, like it was a fact.
Everyone froze, letting my dad’s words hang in the air. It’smyfault, that’s what he was saying without explicitly stating it. The doctor's eyes fixated on my father with astonishment, like she was looking at him as if he had two heads. Quickly, she remembered she was a doctor who had to remain professional.
“No, he has no control over it. It’s all involuntary, but it comes from a different place than that of those with epilepsy. I will say that, as you already believed, stress is a trigger. The good news is that it can be treated. I suggest therapy.”
Dad straightened up. “My son does not need therapy.”
Silence again filled the space between us as Dad’s jaw tightened and Mom’s lip quivered. Meanwhile, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I looked at River, hoping he’d provide subtle support, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes were glued to the floor, arms folded across his chest, and he was chewing on the inside of his lip. Previously, he had seemed uncomfortable, but now I couldn’t figure out what he was feeling.
Once the humiliation ritual was over, I couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. I power-walked to River’s car, but my parents trailed close behind, just itching to let out their criticisms and opinions. They followed us all the way to the car parked on the other side of the parking lot from theirs.
Dad gave me a long, hard stare before speaking. “You know you can’t drive for at least a year because you’re at risk again, right?”
