What you told me before, about your diagnosis of FFI, doesn’t exactly hold up with what the imaging is telling me.
[He isn’t sure if this counts as breaking the news too hard, for he also isn’t sure just how much of a universal truth Jack considers it in his own mind. So, Stephen opts for being frank — to the point.]
It does look like you have a sleep disorder, but one that impels sleep rather than deprives it.
[Well, it does fall into the broad range of reactions he could have expected.]
I can send the imaging to you, and you can even seek a second opinion if you want. But I don't think there's much to interpret that isn't already obvious.
WHAT What's not obvious That's not obvious Are you screwing with me? Because like that's fine and all, you're cool, but I didn't think we were on that level and admittedly I'm not really the best judge of people or interpersonal dynamics but I was 99% sure we weren't on that level yet because generally that comes about 3 steps after getting drunk so correct me if I'm wrong but what the fuck are you even talking about
Let me start over. Maybe “obvious” was the wrong word, but I’m deducting: FFI is undetectable through an MRI alone, but symptoms of parasomnia — the very opposite problem of what you claim to have — is.
Ipso facto, you have one but not the other. I think the bigger mystery is the nature of the misdiagnosis, and the fact that you haven’t noticed, which in itself might have some neurological basis.
The opposite as in I'm basically narcoleptic?? I seriously think I'd notice if I were just sleeping everywhere all the time. I mean, I literally have worked days on end back to back. How can somebody not remember sleeping?
Are you sure you're looking at the right scan
( In hindsight, maybe he should've done this in person. Or. Maybe not, because then he'd be freaking out face to face instead of through a safety screen. )
[With something like this, Stephen is patient enough — he knows he should be. He was never that kind of the doctor, the one who would break the difficult news to patients, especially since his patients were usually under, and on the operating table; easy to let the rust gather when it comes to bedside manner, but he tries.
He can’t imagine this is easy to read about.]
The same way sleepwalkers don’t remember wandering their houses, or walking straight out the door. The brain’s complex, Jack. There are a lot of factors that can come into play: degenerative diseases, repression, the simple inability to recall certain events during specific phases of sleep clearly.
It would explain why you experienced the nightmares just like everyone else. Sleep isn’t an impossibility for you.
That's completely insane That's not possible Because that means I'm not dying, right? I can't not be dying. Either you're wrong or Dr. V was wrong What the fuck
( Sorry, Stephen. For anything else he'd probably make the ideal news-breaking patient. When the twilight anesthesia wore off and they broke the news that he lost his leg, he said okay.
And then... threw up everywhere, but side from that it was pretty standard shrug-at-the-void behavior.
Not dying is generally a good thing. Aren't you relieved?
[That, however, might not have been on the spectrum of responses he was totally expecting. Stephen presses forward, anyway, shooting out another message.]
I don't see how I can be wrong. I can [here, he removes the word "generally"; no need for a vaguely sarcastic tone, even if it's without spite and just his default] tell a dying brain from one that isn't. And I don't understand how anyone can so blatantly misdiagnose your case if I'm to be completely honest.
[He watches as the texts come in, one by one. Maybe this would have been a better conversation to have in person, so that Stephen could try to offset any anxieties to the best of his abilities. He's not sure if he could, not really, but it's the effort that counts.]
Once, for literally no reason, in the middle of a session he told me if I ever thought about killing myself I shouldn't use a gun because they wouldn't be able to study my brain after. I mean, it was a solid two minutes of him talking about it. I've never been suicidal, like, AT ALL.
So Not really
( And if he doesn't have FFI, what the fuck do they want it for anyway?? )
I don’t know what kind of rapport you’ve built up with him prior to this. If there’s a shadow of a doubt, I want to make sure it’s gone via the application of a second opinion.
That said, I know this can’t be easy to digest. Can I do anything for you?
[He honestly doesn’t know what else to do—he’s awful at this—but the offer is at least sincere.]
I don't know Probably not, unless you can somehow un-waste my life routinely almost dying for a cosmically fucked up gas station I have absolutely no chance of actually saving instead of getting married or swimming with dolphins or going to college or literally anything else at all with my life which apparently actually exists
( A minute or so later— )
Sorry I shouldn't freak out on you It's not your fault or your problem, that's not It's a dick move, so Sorry Thanks Good job doing doctoring You're great Have a nice Medicine work shift Sorry again Okay cool
( Absolutely none of which is sarcastic. Completely genuine, completely nonsensical, completely stupid. )
[It might not be… sarcastic, exactly, but Stephen cannot read all of this and not feel bad about it. He has a heart, never mind how he acts, or what he says.
A few minutes later:]
Do you want to grab a coffee? I could use a break.
[yes he should have had this conversation in person, he’s sure of it now]
Is this a situation where I say yes and we drink coffee and you go AHA YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE CROSSED ME and make me work at Gringotts for the rest of my ironically long life as a goblin or is it like
normal coffee
( listen... if he didn't ask and it turned out to be the former, he'd have to feel a little foolish wouldn't he )
[An address is sent! It’s the same location where he and Harry shared a coffee over medical results, too, though the parallel isn’t exactly purposeful. The coffee’s just good.]
( Jack's blood is a rough 87% coffee, so any excuse is a good one. He'll be there, looking like... a guy who probably didn't just have a meltdown, but he always looks like a strong gust of wind from passing out, so who's to say really. )
[It’s a cozy and out-of-the-way place, though busy just enough to have a hum of activity. It’s the sort of locale that Stephen likes to lose himself in, despite his sometimes solitary proclivities — if he can’t hole himself away in the corner of a library at Kamar-Taj, or the Sanctum, then finding a small corner of a local cafe to make his own, at least temporarily, will have to do.
Even if he’s expecting company this time. Jack isn’t terribly hard to spot, especially if one’s keeping an eye out for a guy who looks like he just got hit with the metaphorical earth-shattering news truck. Stephen waves him over when and if the other’s had time to grab something to drink for himself.
When he’s within earshot:]
Are you going to make it through the rest of the day all right?
( It's actually a pretty good spot, as far as being in public goes. The nature of small towns: they didn't really have anything like this where Jack's from. Hell, the nearest Starbucks was like an hour away in the outskirts of the closest actual city. Most people just come by the gas station for their overpriced to-go coffee needs.
He orders something with so much espresso the barista looks some split mix between concerned and appalled, and writes on his cup "Heart Attack Jack".
Which is actually kind of catchy, even if it is morbid. And... probably true. )
Probably. I mean, as long as the guy working behind the counter isn't handing out prophecies with his lattes.
We can always run an EKG on you and see if there’s any validity to the snappy nickname.
[He quips without thinking, really, having spotted the name scrawled on the coffee. Maybe it’s a little too morbid for the circumstances at hand, but he realizes that only a half-second after the words have already left his mouth. Did he mention that he’s not very good at this?
Stephen shifts forward in his seat, hand cupped around his own coffee, his other drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
He clears his throat.]
Anyway. I thought it’d be easier to put things into perspective in person. Text loses something.
[“Something” being Stephen’s ability to gauge just how shaken a person will be after receiving perception-altering medical information.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[He isn’t sure if this counts as breaking the news too hard, for he also isn’t sure just how much of a universal truth Jack considers it in his own mind. So, Stephen opts for being frank — to the point.]
It does look like you have a sleep disorder, but one that impels sleep rather than deprives it.
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what
( No comprende, senor Strange. )
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I can send the imaging to you, and you can even seek a second opinion if you want. But I don't think there's much to interpret that isn't already obvious.
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What's not obvious
That's not obvious
Are you screwing with me? Because like that's fine and all, you're cool, but I didn't think we were on that level and admittedly I'm not really the best judge of people or interpersonal dynamics but I was 99% sure we weren't on that level yet because generally that comes about 3 steps after getting drunk so correct me if I'm wrong but what the fuck are you even talking about
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Let me start over. Maybe “obvious” was the wrong word, but I’m deducting: FFI is undetectable through an MRI alone, but symptoms of parasomnia — the very opposite problem of what you claim to have — is.
Ipso facto, you have one but not the other. I think the bigger mystery is the nature of the misdiagnosis, and the fact that you haven’t noticed, which in itself might have some neurological basis.
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Are you sure you're looking at the right scan
( In hindsight, maybe he should've done this in person. Or. Maybe not, because then he'd be freaking out face to face instead of through a safety screen. )
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He can’t imagine this is easy to read about.]
The same way sleepwalkers don’t remember wandering their houses, or walking straight out the door. The brain’s complex, Jack. There are a lot of factors that can come into play: degenerative diseases, repression, the simple inability to recall certain events during specific phases of sleep clearly.
It would explain why you experienced the nightmares just like everyone else. Sleep isn’t an impossibility for you.
[It’s the opposite, it’s a hindrance.]
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That's not possible
Because that means I'm not dying, right? I can't not be dying.
Either you're wrong or Dr. V was wrong
What the fuck
( Sorry, Stephen. For anything else he'd probably make the ideal news-breaking patient. When the twilight anesthesia wore off and they broke the news that he lost his leg, he said okay.
And then... threw up everywhere, but side from that it was pretty standard shrug-at-the-void behavior.
This is
different )
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[That, however, might not have been on the spectrum of responses he was totally expecting. Stephen presses forward, anyway, shooting out another message.]
I don't see how I can be wrong. I can [here, he removes the word "generally"; no need for a vaguely sarcastic tone, even if it's without spite and just his default] tell a dying brain from one that isn't. And I don't understand how anyone can so blatantly misdiagnose your case if I'm to be completely honest.
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( and then )
Yes
( and then )
I don't know
Maybe
I mean, he was always cagey, but I just thought he was an asshole.
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So you didn't trust him?
[First red flag.]
cw: suicide mentions
So
Not really
( And if he doesn't have FFI, what the fuck do they want it for anyway?? )
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I’m not a therapist, but I think it’s safe to say that isn’t the standard approach.
Word of advice, Jack? Keep not trusting him. I smell ulterior motive if we take what’s assuredly flat-out lying into account.
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( Which... what's actually not fair is him lashing out, for a couple reasons but not the least of which because he's demonstrably an idiot at times. )
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I don’t know what kind of rapport you’ve built up with him prior to this. If there’s a shadow of a doubt, I want to make sure it’s gone via the application of a second opinion.
That said, I know this can’t be easy to digest. Can I do anything for you?
[He honestly doesn’t know what else to do—he’s awful at this—but the offer is at least sincere.]
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Probably not, unless you can somehow un-waste my life routinely almost dying for a cosmically fucked up gas station I have absolutely no chance of actually saving instead of getting married or swimming with dolphins or going to college or literally anything else at all with my life which apparently actually exists
( A minute or so later— )
Sorry
I shouldn't freak out on you
It's not your fault or your problem, that's not
It's a dick move, so
Sorry
Thanks
Good job
doing doctoring
You're great
Have a nice
Medicine work shift
Sorry again
Okay cool
( Absolutely none of which is sarcastic. Completely genuine, completely nonsensical, completely stupid. )
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A few minutes later:]
Do you want to grab a coffee? I could use a break.
[yes he should have had this conversation in person, he’s sure of it now]
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normal coffee
( listen... if he didn't ask and it turned out to be the former, he'd have to feel a little foolish wouldn't he )
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It’s normal coffee, Jack.
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[An address is sent! It’s the same location where he and Harry shared a coffee over medical results, too, though the parallel isn’t exactly purposeful. The coffee’s just good.]
Meet you there in an hour?
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( Jack's blood is a rough 87% coffee, so any excuse is a good one. He'll be there, looking like... a guy who probably didn't just have a meltdown, but he always looks like a strong gust of wind from passing out, so who's to say really. )
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Even if he’s expecting company this time. Jack isn’t terribly hard to spot, especially if one’s keeping an eye out for a guy who looks like he just got hit with the metaphorical earth-shattering news truck. Stephen waves him over when and if the other’s had time to grab something to drink for himself.
When he’s within earshot:]
Are you going to make it through the rest of the day all right?
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He orders something with so much espresso the barista looks some split mix between concerned and appalled, and writes on his cup "Heart Attack Jack".
Which is actually kind of catchy, even if it is morbid. And... probably true. )
Probably. I mean, as long as the guy working behind the counter isn't handing out prophecies with his lattes.
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[He quips without thinking, really, having spotted the name scrawled on the coffee. Maybe it’s a little too morbid for the circumstances at hand, but he realizes that only a half-second after the words have already left his mouth. Did he mention that he’s not very good at this?
Stephen shifts forward in his seat, hand cupped around his own coffee, his other drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
He clears his throat.]
Anyway. I thought it’d be easier to put things into perspective in person. Text loses something.
[“Something” being Stephen’s ability to gauge just how shaken a person will be after receiving perception-altering medical information.]
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ages later, i'm sorry
i am slow as balls it's ok