Thirty Days

Thirty days to say goodbye... |Option two of the NaNoWriMo competition!|


10. Twenty-One



Familiar cream colored ceiling bores down on me as my eyes crack open. I'm aware in an instant of my legs. They feel frozen. Frozen, but not freezing. I try to move them with all might might before a shuddered breath exits my lungs. They seem stuck, the only part that's able to move are my knees, which just keep twitching.

Twitch, twitch, twitch.

I sit up, startling my mother. "Maria!" She yells, scaring the nurse, who had just entered the room seconds earlier. Her surprised face composes itself as she turns to talk to my mother. 

"The doctor will be coming in a few minutes." She says kindly. Facing me, she continues, "You're going to be just fine, dear. Don't worry about it"

I swallow, and try for a smile. It wavers for a second, but quickly deepens into a frown. "Yeah, okay."

In just a couple minutes, the door creaks open again. "Maria," the doctor says. "Welcome back."

"Dr. Beard..." My voice cracks. "Why- Why can't I move my legs?"

"Ah." The doctor frowns. "Well, your... condition. Stiff Person Syndrome, SPS, whatever you may choose to call it, it's moving much faster than anticipated. And in a wildly irregular pattern, too. There seem to be more muscle spasms in the legs than anything else, and..." He flips through his clipboard. "Well, you don't have paraneoplastic SPS, so I don't see why... unless..." Dr. Beard continues shaking his head, over and over, until at last he looks back at me. "Well, we'll get you some medicine, and you'll be good to go." He starts out the door pausing halfway through. "Oh! And we'll have to get you a wheelchair too. Can't forget that!" he chuckles, turning the corner.

My mouth dropped open, and tears started to form in my eyes. 

A wheelchair?


A/N: Yes, I know I'm a day behind.

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