Read Online The Problem With Crazy by Lauren McKellar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren McKellar
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chest. “Nada. Zilch. Nothing .”
“So you’re not helping to care for your father?”
“Well, I will be, a little.” I frowned. “It’s just—I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I haven’t thought about it.”
“And you don’t want to.” It wasn’t a judgment, simply a statement.
“He left, and didn’t tell us what was wrong or where he was going.” I hadn’t realised I was still angry about that till now. “Then he ruined everything. My graduation, my summer, my boyfriend … everything .”
“Have you asked him why he didn’t tell you?”
“Kind of.” I shrugged. Out the window, a young girl was helping an older man manoeuvre his way across the lawn. I wondered if that would ever be me: the young girl, or the old man. “He said he only came back ‘cause he ran out of money.”
“So perhaps he didn’t tell you before because he didn’t want to burden you.”
The words clicked.
It made sense.
I hated that it made sense.
“What do you think about that?”
I hadn’t really thought anything about that. I’d known I was embarrassed when he told me, and mad, and ashamed of him in public.
I tried to think how I’d feel if it turned out I did have the disease. God, I hadn’t even told Stacey about Dad yet. My shoulders slumped. If our situations were reversed, would I man up and tell the world? Or would I run away like he had?
“Kate, this isn’t about judging you and your reactions.” Leslie rested a hand on her knee. “It’s about working out how you feel. Huntington’s is a very complex disease, and it brings out a range of emotions in people, from anger, to embarrassment, to depression, to denial. Any and all of these are normal. For both you and your father.”
I let her words sink in as I continued window watching. Outside, the girl and the old man had reached the other side of the lawn and were sitting down together under the shade of a huge old maple tree, nestled amongst its knotted roots. I wondered if that would ever be me and my dad. If a relationship like that was ever possible for us.
“I’m going to tell you a little more about the disease.” Leslie shuffled some papers on her desk and came out with a brochure. I could see from the purple writing on the front it was called Helping with Huntington’s , or something as equally trite. Fabulous.
“Huntington’s causes a deterioration of neurodegenerative skills,” Leslie recited. “The disease generally takes about three years to completely set in, although symptoms are hard to diagnose at first, with things like clumsiness, and distant behaviour being common.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Was that my dad? He’d always been kind of clumsy, sure. Had he had this lurking monster inside his head for a few years, and I hadn’t even realised?
“Addiction is a common side effect, with things like drinking becoming a problem for some sufferers. Control of the limbs and speech will deteriorate at varying speeds for varying patients. General prognosis is fifteen to twenty years from first onset,” Leslie kept on reading. “The most common life-threatening complications are pneumonia, followed by heart complications and—finally—suicide.”
I blinked. I looked outside at the old man and the girl by the tree. Now the elder gentleman had his arm around the young woman, holding her close in a loving way. I tried to erase him from the picture, imagine him swinging from the tree with a rope around his neck. I tried to replace his face with my dad’s.
I shook my head and pushed the picture out of my mind. What was wrong with me? Thoughts like that weren’t normal. He was okay. My dad was alive, unwell, but alive. I was a sick, sick person to even think that.
Sick.
Like my father.
“How can I get tested?” My eyes snapped back to Leslie. She placed the brochure down on her desk and pressed her hands together. Her eyes were a cold blue, the kind that made you feel they saw
“So you’re not helping to care for your father?”
“Well, I will be, a little.” I frowned. “It’s just—I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I haven’t thought about it.”
“And you don’t want to.” It wasn’t a judgment, simply a statement.
“He left, and didn’t tell us what was wrong or where he was going.” I hadn’t realised I was still angry about that till now. “Then he ruined everything. My graduation, my summer, my boyfriend … everything .”
“Have you asked him why he didn’t tell you?”
“Kind of.” I shrugged. Out the window, a young girl was helping an older man manoeuvre his way across the lawn. I wondered if that would ever be me: the young girl, or the old man. “He said he only came back ‘cause he ran out of money.”
“So perhaps he didn’t tell you before because he didn’t want to burden you.”
The words clicked.
It made sense.
I hated that it made sense.
“What do you think about that?”
I hadn’t really thought anything about that. I’d known I was embarrassed when he told me, and mad, and ashamed of him in public.
I tried to think how I’d feel if it turned out I did have the disease. God, I hadn’t even told Stacey about Dad yet. My shoulders slumped. If our situations were reversed, would I man up and tell the world? Or would I run away like he had?
“Kate, this isn’t about judging you and your reactions.” Leslie rested a hand on her knee. “It’s about working out how you feel. Huntington’s is a very complex disease, and it brings out a range of emotions in people, from anger, to embarrassment, to depression, to denial. Any and all of these are normal. For both you and your father.”
I let her words sink in as I continued window watching. Outside, the girl and the old man had reached the other side of the lawn and were sitting down together under the shade of a huge old maple tree, nestled amongst its knotted roots. I wondered if that would ever be me and my dad. If a relationship like that was ever possible for us.
“I’m going to tell you a little more about the disease.” Leslie shuffled some papers on her desk and came out with a brochure. I could see from the purple writing on the front it was called Helping with Huntington’s , or something as equally trite. Fabulous.
“Huntington’s causes a deterioration of neurodegenerative skills,” Leslie recited. “The disease generally takes about three years to completely set in, although symptoms are hard to diagnose at first, with things like clumsiness, and distant behaviour being common.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Was that my dad? He’d always been kind of clumsy, sure. Had he had this lurking monster inside his head for a few years, and I hadn’t even realised?
“Addiction is a common side effect, with things like drinking becoming a problem for some sufferers. Control of the limbs and speech will deteriorate at varying speeds for varying patients. General prognosis is fifteen to twenty years from first onset,” Leslie kept on reading. “The most common life-threatening complications are pneumonia, followed by heart complications and—finally—suicide.”
I blinked. I looked outside at the old man and the girl by the tree. Now the elder gentleman had his arm around the young woman, holding her close in a loving way. I tried to erase him from the picture, imagine him swinging from the tree with a rope around his neck. I tried to replace his face with my dad’s.
I shook my head and pushed the picture out of my mind. What was wrong with me? Thoughts like that weren’t normal. He was okay. My dad was alive, unwell, but alive. I was a sick, sick person to even think that.
Sick.
Like my father.
“How can I get tested?” My eyes snapped back to Leslie. She placed the brochure down on her desk and pressed her hands together. Her eyes were a cold blue, the kind that made you feel they saw
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