The 12th Kiss

❁dark waves

"You need to spend time crawling alone through shadows to truly appreciate what it is to stand in the sun."

― Shaun Hick

❁dark waves

[13 days prior]

On Tuesday, Louis's teacher, Mrs. Findley had called Metilda for a private meeting. In her overly clogged room, Metilda sat stiffly in the upholstered chair. Mrs. Findley, an old lady with grey streaked hair, looked over the piles of papers. For the past the half an hour, she had been trying to convince a very odd thing to Metilda.

"...all the signs point towards it." She said for the tenth time.

Metilda glared at Mrs. Findley. "He does not have dyslexia."

"Just think about it Mrs. Hamington. With me, he hasn't been picking up things like the other kids. I've had a special education teacher to help with Louis."

"But you're saying that only happens occasionally and that his learning abilities are usually perfectly normal."

"Which is strange, I agree. I think..."

Metilda had enough. She stood up, her palms pressed into the worn, ply table. "Mrs. Findley I appreciated your concern but I don't think your opinion matters in this case. I will have a doctor decided what is wrong with my son."

"I'm sure the doctor will agree with me."

Oh my, Metilda had urge to scarf down an axe down that woman's throat. She smiled sweetly at the teacher. "We'll see."

❁❁❁

Later, Metilda wished the doctor had agreed with Mrs. Findley. Mark Bortsov, a young Russian neurosurgeon, and Bob Lee, a middle aged brain specialist, wore grave faces as they announced to Metilda that little Louis of five, who had barely seen enough life to know what was going on, had a tumor in his brain.

Dr. Lee, folded his hands together and shifted in his chair towards Metilda. He had a dull expression on his wrinkled, long face. "The good news is it's a benign tumor. The bad news is that it is in a portion of the brain that is nearly impossible to operate on."

"He's showing symptom for dyslexia... not a tumor," This seemed like a bad dream to Metilda. It were as though she was speaking to the doctor from the safety of a glass screen called reality.

"That's the funny thing with the tumors. They don't have a definite set of symptoms. Currently," Dr. Lee pointed to the series of CT scans placed on the light box. "The tumor is pushing against the region of the brain responsible for memory and speech."

"One second." Metilda placed a hand on her chest. She could hear Louis outside the doctor's room, laughing and giggling with the nurse. She looked over her shoulder and saw him through the oval window in the door, showing the nurse his arms filled with colorful stickers. The staff ooh and aahed clearly taken into the little boy's charm.

She turned her attention back to the doctor. "What's going to happen..."

Dr. Lee shared a look with Mark Bortsov who leaned against the wall near the door with a nonchalant expression. He shrugged his shoulders, as if not wanting to elaborate or say anything for that matter.

Dr. Lee sighed. "The tumor is exerting a lot of pressure on the medulla oblongata. In layman's term, that means your son could experience shortness of breath, irregular heart rhythm."

"Just cut the chase and tell her." Mark uncrossed his arms and stood close to Metilda's chair. She craned her neck to look up at him. He was a broody, young man with an unkempt stubble, disheveled hair, and deep hooded grey eyes.