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.]
( The good news is the time it took him to get ready, get here, and get coffee has been just enough to let him slip from outright panic attack to stunned disbelief. He's really making his way through those five stages of grief in a timely fashion.
He has... absolutely no idea what to think or feel about it. Hell, he barely even understands it. Which means he should definitely ask questions.
Or, alternatively, he could fixate on the stupid irrelevant part of this conversation. )
No thank you on the EKG. The next thing you'll wind up telling me is my heart's been three children in a trench coat this entire time.
[Despite himself, Stephen does manage to smile at that, though it’s wry and strained.]
Not even your luck can be that bad.
[Though let’s not tempt fate, shall we?
Stephen lets silence settle for a moment or two, before pushing forward with the intent of a man who feels like there’s air to clear, though unable to pinpoint the right words to do so.]
So. Generally— [Vague hand wave] —it’s good news, what I told you. But I’m sure it leaves you feeling a little unmoored and lied to, and I just wanted to say that if you wanted to talk about it, we can. Not necessarily as doctor to patient, but just as someone willing to listen.
( Ah, right. Well, as it turns out you can only avoid a topic so long as both parties are on the same page about it. Jack sighs softly and turns his eyes to his coffee cup, running one of his thumbs across the plastic lid thingy. )
That's really nice of you, but I'm great. I'm good.
( A beat. )
I'm fine.
( Another beat, and then more reluctantly: )
I'm okay.
( A much shorter pause. )
Okay, I'm weird and everything sucks, actually, but that's not your fault, and I don't even really know... why. I mean, I don't even know what it is. How does that even work? Not sleeping I get, but...
[He waits for Jack to stop convincing himself of being fine and okay, which was bound to happen. Jack seems to be many things, but honesty has always been a constant.]
Sleep disorders are a beast unto their own. [Neurological, yes, so Stephen’s expertise falls vaguely in its overarching umbrella, but he’s no sleep doctor.] But from what I can tell, yours shares characteristics of hypersomnia and a severe sleepwalking disorder.
[Not a great combination, and definitely life-altering. But it’s much better than never sleeping at all.]
The how is a little harder to tell just from an MRI. There are no clear signs of a head injury, but that still leaves genetic, environmental, or psychiatric factors to consider. And with everything you’ve told me? It could be just how your brain chooses to cope with all it’s been through.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
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.]
no subject
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 )
no subject
[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.
no subject
( and then )
Yes
( and then )
I don't know
Maybe
I mean, he was always cagey, but I just thought he was an asshole.
no subject
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?? )
no subject
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.
no subject
( 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.]
no subject
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. )
no subject
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]
no subject
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 )
no subject
It’s normal coffee, Jack.
no subject
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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?
no subject
( 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. )
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
He has... absolutely no idea what to think or feel about it. Hell, he barely even understands it. Which means he should definitely ask questions.
Or, alternatively, he could fixate on the stupid irrelevant part of this conversation. )
No thank you on the EKG. The next thing you'll wind up telling me is my heart's been three children in a trench coat this entire time.
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Not even your luck can be that bad.
[Though let’s not tempt fate, shall we?
Stephen lets silence settle for a moment or two, before pushing forward with the intent of a man who feels like there’s air to clear, though unable to pinpoint the right words to do so.]
So. Generally— [Vague hand wave] —it’s good news, what I told you. But I’m sure it leaves you feeling a little unmoored and lied to, and I just wanted to say that if you wanted to talk about it, we can. Not necessarily as doctor to patient, but just as someone willing to listen.
no subject
That's really nice of you, but I'm great. I'm good.
( A beat. )
I'm fine.
( Another beat, and then more reluctantly: )
I'm okay.
( A much shorter pause. )
Okay, I'm weird and everything sucks, actually, but that's not your fault, and I don't even really know... why. I mean, I don't even know what it is. How does that even work? Not sleeping I get, but...
no subject
Sleep disorders are a beast unto their own. [Neurological, yes, so Stephen’s expertise falls vaguely in its overarching umbrella, but he’s no sleep doctor.] But from what I can tell, yours shares characteristics of hypersomnia and a severe sleepwalking disorder.
[Not a great combination, and definitely life-altering. But it’s much better than never sleeping at all.]
The how is a little harder to tell just from an MRI. There are no clear signs of a head injury, but that still leaves genetic, environmental, or psychiatric factors to consider. And with everything you’ve told me? It could be just how your brain chooses to cope with all it’s been through.
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ages later, i'm sorry
i am slow as balls it's ok