DR. EVANS TOLD ME I WASN’T HER ONLY PATIENT WITH THIS
The sterile smell of the office hit me as the nurse called my name, way too early for a follow-up that was supposed to be routine. The doctor cleared her throat, the sound harsh in the quiet room, and laid the papers out flat on her desk. She pointed to a number, a percentage that felt impossibly high, and her face was grim. “This is much further along than we thought,” she said softly, looking up at me with a pained expression.
I gripped the cold metal edge of the examination table under the thin paper drape, my knuckles white. “But you said I was the only one with this specific mutation!” I choked out, the words burning in my throat, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “You are the first *we diagnosed*,” she corrected, her gaze steady but distant, not meeting my eyes directly, focusing on the wall behind me.
The frantic buzzing of the fluorescent lights above felt deafening, a high-pitched whine that made my temples throb. “There are others in the area, presenting with similar markers,” she continued, flipping through charts with an almost clinical detachment that felt cruel. “Several others, all pointing back to the same unusual genetic sequence we found in your results.” My blood ran icy cold at the implication hanging in the air.
Could it be something in the local water? Or… something passed down through generations I never knew about, buried in family history? My mind raced through family faces, tracing the lines of inheritance I thought I knew, terror creeping in. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fear and a thousand terrifying questions I didn’t dare ask yet.
Just then, the door opened, and my sister walked in wearing the same patient gown they gave me.
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