The Bardet, The Biedl and Me

Weighing In

‘I hate you.’

That was always my first thought when she spoke to me – my geneticist, Dr Agatha. My hate piqued not when my mum drove me to her appointments or when I stepped into her office, but when words emerged from her mouth.

‘Emil,’ she continued, ‘if your mum and I both stepped on these scales we would weigh the same as you.’ She stood atop the scales in her office. I eyed those scales with dread. At 14 scales embodied my fears. I still don’t like them.

I couldn’t look at them any longer. I turned my attention to the other side of the room, bypassing her qualifications hanging on the wall and the ugly painting of a field.

These appointments were always so negative. I tried especially hard today to pretend I was too sick to come but it wasn’t enough. My mum saw through my…

View original post 1,528 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s