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Normal.
Spencer was beginning to hate that word and all its variations. Normal, in range, typical and expected could all be struck out from the dictionary for all he cared. If the results were normal, then there had to be something wrong with the tests because there was certainly something wrong with him. It wasn’t normal to suddenly develop intense migraines out of the blue one day, and there be no biological change to cause it. Test after test, specialist after specialist, and they all turned around saying his results were normal. He went back to his general doctor each time to be sent somewhere else until one appointment they just sighed heavily at him.
“I don’t have any more specialists for you.”
They’d run out of specialists. Run. Out. Surely there was something they weren’t thinking of. Maybe he had a rare congenital disease that wasn’t showing up on the genetic tests they’d done previously, or it’d been in its infancy at the time of the test so it was hardly noticeable. They could try a nutritionist again or there could be a medical trial he could join. Anything. Yet the look on his doctor’s face said it all. He thought Spencer was lying. He thought Spencer was doctor shopping.
“There has to be something,” he insisted because there just had to be.
“The only avenue we haven’t gone down is psychological, at your own request. I understand that you want it to be something we can fix with a test and a shot, but there is very real evidence that your mind can and will cause a physiological response.”
“It isn’t psychological,” he dismissed quickly as he’d done every time before.
It just couldn’t be all in his head. Of course he knew that stress could elicit a physical response, but it wasn’t stress. He’d been stressed before. Hell, he had an incredible tolerance for stress. Stress came with the job, and before the job, it came with being a child carer. He’d been stressed for years, and nothing like this had ever happened. If it’d been a common occurrence, yeah, then maybe it was in his head.
This was sudden. One week he’d been fine and the next he wasn’t. Surely there would’ve been early signs. Echoes of a headache that lasted too long or fuzzy vision even when he was wearing his glasses. They’d ruled out a change in his prescription early on, much to his disappointment.
There was also something else haunting the suggestion. He was hitting the prime age to develop schizophrenia. He’d had some hallucinations. They didn’t come with every migraine, but the worst ones were accompanied by places he didn’t quite remember, or faces obscured uncannily. Migraines could cause hallucinations, but they were most commonly sensory rather than auditory and weren’t complex. They could, but it wasn’t the norm.
If he went down the route of psychology, schizophrenia would be sitting there waiting to be discovered either because he had it or because they would dredge up some random trauma to blame everything on.
Oh, your mum has schizophrenia? Yeah, you’re just stressed because she’s sick all the time. Stop and smell the roses, then hope the smell doesn’t trigger migraines.
Your dad left when you were a kid, and a few people have left your close circle of friends? Must be causing migraines. You feel powerless, so your brain decided to actually make you powerless.
Stubbed your toe as a toddler? Number one cause of inexplicable adult migraines.
“We don’t know that. You won’t seek any form of psychiatric care to rule it out, so until you do, we have to consider it as an option.”
“I have access to therapy through work. If I thought it could be mental, then I wouldn’t be sat here. I would go through the scheme they provide, but here I am, so obviously it’s not mental.”
“Dr Reid, you’re a man of science, so I will put this as logically as I can. There is nothing physically wrong with you. You have no injury, no disease, no mysterious DNA malfunction. You are experiencing migraines, and you have an incredibly stress-inducing job. You have gone through the wringer in terms of medical testing, short of having a piece of your brain taken out. If you want answers, you have exhausted the physical, and it’s time to look at the mental. The problem very well may be in your head.”
“How possible is it that the tests I need haven’t been made yet?”
The doctor gave him a deadpan expression as if he had asked the stupidest question in the world. Yes, Spencer wasn’t a medical doctor, but he was a smart man. A very smart man who knows when something is wrong with him. It’s not his fault that nobody else understands. He can’t put them in his body and make them experience it so they get it.
It’s not like he enjoyed being tested on either. He liked experiments as much as the next PhD holder, but they weren’t much fun when you were the experiment. It took the migraines ramping up to the point he actually considered dropping out of work for him to even consider getting medical help. He hated constantly going from one bleak white room to another bleak white room and then sometimes, if he was very lucky, a bleak white room with a plastic green plant.
“I can recommend you to a psychiatrist who will then recommend a therapist. They’ll work in tandem, one to diagnose and the other to talk through what can exacerbate your symptoms, perhaps explore some of the trauma you’ve been through.”
“I know how it works,” he snapped. The doctor gave him a look of sympathy he’d sooner slap away than accept.
“I can’t diagnose you with anything that’s not within my area of expertise and certainly not without you speaking to a psychiatrist first, but there’s simply nothing we can find physiologically to explain your migraines. I can prescribe pain medication, but you’re better off getting it over the counter. You’ve already thoroughly explored ways to soothe your symptoms. If you want a root cause, that’s the last place we can look. Do you want me to recommend you?”
It’s a loaded question.
If he looked hard and found schizophrenia, his life would be turned upside down. He’d planned for this to happen, but he wasn’t ready to put it all in place. He wasn’t ready to give up his grip on reality, being treated like he was inherently criminal because he was in an altered state. All his genius would be overshadowed by hallucinations and confusion. Any interesting theory he came up with in the spare time afforded to him when he inevitably lost his job would be undercut with “well he’s crazy, take what he says with a pinch of salt” or just an empty nod to pacify him.
If he didn’t find it, then he was in the same place as when he started. Would it be any worse to have the migraines just exist with no explanation? No hope of a cure. He’d have to pray that one day they went the same way they came but there was no guarantee. No medication that would make it a once-in-a-while occurrence. Currently, he was getting migraines of varying lengths every week, sometimes days in a row, so did he just have to deal with that now? Thanks for saving all those lives; in return, you have migraines with no cure!
It’s all so useless, and yet he’s still so desperate.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head.
“No, thank you. I’m going to explore more options on my own.” He stood up without much more fanfare, already walking to the door. He had another five minutes left on his appointment slot, but he wasn’t going to spend it being told it was all in his head.
“The option will always be there, Spencer.”
“Dr Reid,” he huffed under his breath before leaving.
Spencer regretted not taking the day off. It’d been an option, one Aaron had clearly wanted him to take, but he refused the offer. All of this was interfering enough with work, and he didn’t want to lose out any more than he had to. Well, past Spencer could go fuck himself because present Spencer felt like curling up in bed and rotting for the rest of the day.
He dragged himself to his car and drove straight to work. His feet barely lifted off the floor as he found his desk and stared blankly at his computer booting up. Drips and drabs of a conversation drifted by him, but he didn’t pay attention.
He stared at his face in the monitor before it was replaced with his home screen. Was this it? Would he only see this outdated monitor a handful more times before he got cut from the team? Who would he be when he lost his mind? Would he be the friendly, wouldn’t hurt a fly type or violent and terrified? Who would stick around to see someone they know crumble into a mangled memory of a person?
“You alright, Reid?” Derek asked. He nearly jumped out of his skin, not realising how close his coworker was until one of his flailing hands hit against his torso. “Jumpy.”
“Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t hear you,” he replied. “Did you need something?” Derek squinted at him. The worry in his gaze made his skin crawl.
“Yeah, an answer. Are you alright?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re an hour late, and all you’ve done since you came in is sit staring at your screen. You’re not even logged in.”
“I requested to come in an hour late. I had an appointment.”
“Bad news?”
“Something along those lines.”
“Mysterious. Was it an appointment with a lady, perhaps?”
“I wouldn’t schedule a date when I’m supposed to be at work, Morgan.” The older man chuckled at his indignation and grabbed a chair to sit down beside his desk. “I don’t particularly want to talk about it, if that’s why you’re joining me.”
“I’m sure I can tweeze enough out of you to put myself at ease.”
“Why are you worried? I would’ve said if it was life-threatening.”
“There’s a lot in between life-threatening and getting a physical.”
“I suppose.”
“You’ve been off for months. Every time I try to invite you somewhere, it’s another appointment. I hear you reschedule it all whenever we get sent out. Some of the stuff you’re talking about sounds straight out of a sci-fi.”
“It’s not life-threatening.”
“Again, we’re covering a lot of ground before we get to life-threatening. Is it chronic?”
He bit down on his bottom lip before he could answer. He didn’t know. Maybe it was chronic migraines, could be a mental break, could be nothing at all, and they’d go away by themselves or months down the line he’d find some irritant he hadn’t considered before and removing it would give him all the answers he needed.
With all the trust he had in Derek, they knew each other too well. Spencer kept secrets, and when they got too much, he told Derek, and once Derek heard it, he told Aaron. Their boss had to be losing patience with him now after how many times he’d avoided saying exactly what was wrong, just assuring him it was nothing that would pull him from the field. Finding out from Derek could be the final straw. He didn’t feel sure about much right now, but Spencer was sure he felt hopeless.
Wasted potential. His brain was attacking itself for no reason, no physical cause they could stop with a shot or a vitamin. All the work he’d put into his life, worse all the selfish things he’d done to give himself this life, was just a drop of rain in a storm drain. There one second, gone the next. Not noticed. Not cared about.
“Do you need to go home?” Derek asked. He must’ve been quiet for too long.
“No, I don’t need to.” The older man hummed, glancing around before leaning in.
“Do you want to go home?”
“No,” he said before he could think why. He would like to cry alone for the next week and a half, but he didn’t want to. Contradictions. “No, I don’t think so. I’d like to stop talking about this.”
“Would you tell me? If it was something serious?” No.
“It’s not serious.” It is. It’s starting to become this suffocating weight, threatening to force its way into his top 5 worst experiences. Yet he can’t quite admit it aloud yet. Until he exhausted every single physiological test, theory or whatever else there was, he couldn’t admit it. “I’m doing a trial for lactose intolerance. They’ve done something similar with people who have nut allergies.”
“That right?” He didn't believe a word of it.
“Yes.”
“I really wish you’d just talk to me,” Derek sighed. He stood up and moved the desk chair away. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Whatever it is you’re doing.” Spencer nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. He can explain himself when it’s all over.