Page 10 of Chasing You

Adele braced himself for a fight, but he wasn’t going to let Kash win this one.

Kash bit his lip, but right when Adele thought he was going to say no, he nodded. “As long as my hands are cooperating and I can hold a fork, count me in.”

“Thank you,” Adele said.

He didn’t tell Kash why it was important to him. He didn’t say that he wanted Kash to feel like this was everything so he never left again.

That would be too much.

Instead, he fell into a comfortable silence and enjoyed the time he was allowed to have before Kash caught on and put a stop to Adele’s miserable pining.

three

KASH

“I’d liketo run another round of tests.”

Kash did his best not to sigh, but it was difficult. He was pretty sure every doctor he’d seen had run every test known to man. They’d even gone deep into illnesses and diseases that were eradicated by vaccines.

So far, nothing had come back positive.

“What are you thinking?”

“That you may be having some atypical signs of rapid onset ALS. That’s normally a weakening of the muscles, but that and dystonia are so closely related, so I don’t want to rule it out. And right now, that’s what makes the most logical amount of sense.”

Kash nodded, but his ears were ringing. ALS. He knew that one. He knew that one a little too well. That one was terminal. There was a zero percent survival rate—and at best, he’d have a few extra years where he was immobile and completely dependent on caregivers for every single one of his needs.

His heart began to speed up. “I…if that is the case, what would my prognosis be?”

He appreciated that this doctor wasn’t sugarcoating anything, even if he could have used a little sweet to the afternoon’s sour. He clicked his pen. “Based on your progression of symptoms, I’d say on the low end of five years. Three, maybe four. Some people, with aggressive treatment, can live up to a decade, but…” The doctor trailed off with a shrug like he didn’t want to finish the sentence aloud.

“But you don’t think that’s me,” Kash said. His voice sounded hollow. This whole time, his brain had been telling him it was something terminal. That it was something he wasn’t coming back from.

He’d told himself he could live with no cure so long as he’d live, but this…

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Foy. I know this isn’t news anyone wants to hear. But please don’t panic yet. This isn’t a diagnosis. It’s a hypothesis.”

“So, not even a theory yet,” Kash said.

“Ah, you’re familiar with the scientific method.” The doctor smiled. “No, it’s not a theory yet. We don’t have nearly enough evidence apart from your dystonia, but I’m not entirely convinced this was brought on by your head injury. I’ve been doing this a while, and I trust my gut, and my gut is telling me to have you tested.”

“Is your gut saying this is what you think it is?”

The doctor gave him a level stare. “No. My gut is saying rule it out because the sooner we figure it out, the sooner we can get you on the road to some kind of treatment.”

Even if that treatment was to manage symptoms until he succumbed to whatever illness it was. He kept that thought to himself though.

“Of course.” Kash shifted on the chair and realized his legs were too stiff to stand on his own. His cane was nearby,but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to reach for it.

The doctor stared at him for a beat, then said, “I’m going to get you in touch with the company we like to use for mobility aids, and I’m going to write you a script. I think you could benefit from a wheelchair, at the very least, and some better orthotics to keep you on your feet. Even if it’s not ALS, your symptoms are very clearly progressive and unpredictable. There’s no need to struggle if you don’t need to.”

Well. That was something he hadn’t heard very often. He’d grown up believing everything worth having was a struggle. Love, food, money, shelter, friendships. Health, he supposed.

“Will my insurance cover it?”

The doctor grimaced. “Not my area, but there are people to help with that—and financing if not.”

Kash winced. He had some money squirreled away, but not enough to take out a loan if that’s what it would take to get him wheels. He was living on his disability payments from the station, Adele’s good graces, and the idea of his future retirement pension once they figured out what the actual fuck was going on with his body and he was diagnosed with something permanent.

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