April 28th, 2023

About The Story

Second place winning short story The Diagnoses by Cameron Heights student Caite Racicot shares the reality of hardships associated with receiving a life altering medical diagnosis as an adolescent. Explore the grief, conflict and confusion that 16 year old Sarah experiences in the doctor’s office alongside uncongenial parents. The Diagnoses truthfully shares the reality of millions of teenagers living with chronic illnesses. Everyone is urged to read this story to develop a deeper understanding of the difficulties that many youth face and to empathize with those experiencing medical challenges. Furthermore, Racicots profound exploration into an adolescent’s mind will spark a connection in many teenagers, some readers will see themselves in this story. The Diagnoses shares the common experience among teenagers of which many readers will relate, the stress of balancing too much; whether it be parents, stress, future, or health. The Diagnoses truthfully shares the reality of millions of teenagers living with chronic illnesses, and all are encouraged to read, whether that be to learn about others’ stories, or to see and relate to your story.

THE STORY:

“Hello, earth to Sarah.” Mother waves her hand in front of my face from where her and
Father sit to my right. “Don’t zone out, this appointment is important.”

“Sorry,” I say, the waxy paper I’m sitting on crinkling as I tuck my hands under my
thighs.

Being here in the doctor’s office, the truth of what I’m about to be told looms over me
like an impending storm. I’ve known there was something wrong with me for years, the truth
sitting in the back of my mind like a dormant parasite. It wasn’t until about a year ago that the
truth hatched and the sickness spread to my whole body.

“My blood pressure has been high lately,” Father says to Mother, “I wonder if they’ll
check it when we’re done here.”

“Maybe.” Her voice sounds distant, like her brain is on autopilot.

After 16 years of life I’ve accepted the fact that my parents don’t show proper love or
affection. But sometimes I still hope, still hang onto the blind faith that in life altering moments,
they would show they care. I hold onto that hope, but feel it slipping through my fingers.

Father opens his mouth to say something but is stopped short by the door opening.

“Hello Sarah, how are you?” the doctor asks, a sympathetic smile plastered on her face.

“Fine,” I mumble back, hating the way she’s looking at me.

“Hello Dr. Ann,” Mother says, a trace of annoyance in her voice at not being addressed
first.

The doctor smiles at my parents then sits on a rolling chair in front of me. “Well I’m not
going to sugar coat this for you,” she begins, looking me in the eye, “but we have found cysts.
Mixed with your blood work I can formally diagnose you with PCOS.”

I nod back, not knowing what else to do.

My parents have gone silent; like they haven’t dealt with the fact that I am sick, finally
understanding I haven’t made it up for attention.

“A couple of things are going to have to happen,” the doctor continues, talking slowly.
“Firstly, you are going to have to go on birth control. Secondly-”

“Wait, why does she have to go on birth control? It’s not like she can get pregnant,” Father says apathetically.

I suck in a breath, covering up how deeply his comment struck.

The doctor looks at me apologetically. “What this condition does is it affects your
hormone levels, along with other things that we will get into. Because of this you’re at a great risk of developing uterine cancer. Going on the pill eliminates that risk by forcing your body to have a period every month.”

I nod again, unable to speak.

“The biggest thing I want to bring up is kids,” the doctor’s voice goes softer, as if this hurts her to say. “With this condition, the chance of you getting pregnant on your own is small with PCOS. I’m sorry to say but it will be a very hard road if you decide you want children.”

I know this, having read it on the internet when we got the call that we should come in for this meeting. But hearing it is different. All thoughts clear from my head and a ringing enters my ears. It’s not like I want kids at 16, but hearing it’s no longer an option tears me apart.

“So we can’t have grandkids?” Mother asks the doctor.

The doctor is silent for a moment then says to me, “Of course, if you are unable to have children it doesn’t mean you won’t be a mother. There’s always surrogacy or adoption. By the time you want to have kids there is nothing saying you can’t.”

The bottoms of my eyes start to prick; at how the doctor is talking to me, at how my parents don’t care, at how my life is about to change, and at my loss. Because I have lost, lost something every woman is told is only theirs. My parents ask the doctor questions I can’t hear. I stare at an HIV poster on the wall opposite me and pray this will be over soon.

I’m brought back by the doctor ripping a piece of paper off a notepad. “This is the prescription for oral contraceptives. If this one doesn’t work for you, let me know and we can talk about other ones. Again I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in so young.”

The doctor reaches for the door handle before my father asks, “Wait doctor, I was wondering if you could take my blood pressure?”

Categories: School News