“Ashka,” a nurse calls out. “Ashka Riddle.”

I  stand and rush back. Not only to avoid conversation between the six year old and me, but so that I can get this over with. After taking my measurements and hearing my complaints, the nurse takes a few samples and leaves Dad and I in a room to wait.

I get up and sit disquietly for a moment on the exam table, but get that paranoia again when I can’t see the door behind me and lay down. Dad notices this strange behavior. 

“Nervous?” He asks.I look over without getting up.

“No. Just ready to get this over and done with.” I tell him. “What are we going to do after this? I really don’t want to go back to bed.”

“How about getting some ice cream like usual?”

“Wouldn’t want to break tradition.” I joke. Growing up, whenever we had a doctor visit, we would also stop for ice cream on the way home. If we had to get vaccines or medicine, we would stop at the store and get a new toy as well. “If I have to get a shot or antibiotic can I get a new ‘toy’ for my room?” I start thinking about the space I have in my wall of plants in my room.

“Maybe.” Dad says smiling. Then he looks up at the poster beside us. It is a lifelike painting of an old time syringe with the needle being extra long on a white background. “I might get you two if they use a needle like this one.” He teases.

“I would bargain for three just to not run away.” I joke back. He chuckles. We continue making jokes and comments on the room decor until we hear a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Dr.Pernia walks in.

“Good afternoon, Ashka and Wyatt. I’m sad to hear you're not feeling well, Ashka.” She greets. Dr. Pernia has been our family’s doctor since we were adopted. She is also one of my mom’s best friends.

“I feel better now, but can’t seem to shake the fever.” I reply. We continue to recap my symptoms and the doctor starts to type into the computer. After a minute, she turns to me.

“Well, all your tests came back clean. There are a couple more tests I would like to run before sending you guys on your way. Is that all right?” She asks. I nod. ‘Hopefully, the last batch.’ I think.

The doctor types in the computer for a minute longer, then logs out and leaves the room. I sigh and restart the conversation with Dad.

“So, what do you think it is?” I inquire. I am starting to get a little nervous now. Before he can answer, there is another knock on the door and the nurse comes back. She takes a couple new samples and leaves.

“To answer your question, I don’t know. However, I guess that’s enough tests to qualify you for the new plant you want.” Dad tries to comfort me. I try to latch on and we start talking about different house plants and matching planters. Slowly the conversation turns to school and the work I have to catch up on, and the conversation dies out with me going back to the art project I was working on earlier.

About twenty minutes later, the doctor comes back, looking a little stumped.

“Well, all those tests came back negative as well. Is there anything else we might have missed out on? Something that might not seem related but could be?” She asks. I think for a minute.

“No, not unless you count an added sense of paranoia.” I try to joke it off.

“I’ll add that down.” She types quietly and Dad glances over at me. “There are a couple more tests I can run to make sure this isn’t anything serious to worry about, but it requires a blood draw. Is this what we want to do?” Dad nods before I can. The doctor types in the computer for a minute then stands up. “Alright. If you follow me to the lab, I’ll get you set up.” We grab all our stuff and walk out to the lab. On the way, she tells us that they will call with the results.

She drops us off, they draw my blood, and we leave. As we walk to the car, I pick the flavor of ice cream I want and what plant I want to get. 

That afternoon we get a call telling us that everything is normal, except for an increase in somatotropin, the growth hormone. They chalked it up to a weird growth spurt and gave me a note to return to school, even with the fever present. It sure made me feel like the whole trip was almost a waste of time, if it wasn’t for the food and new plant I got.

A week later I was busy repotting one of my plants in my room with the door closed. I’ve been quarantined for the last week when my sense of smell caused me to start having stomach aches. I overhear my Mom on the phone.

“Hello, I need to make an appointment.” she starts. “The patient will be Ashka Riddle.” I pause and wonder what the appointment is for.

“I know she was seen last week, but I believe there are new symptoms, and they aren’t normal.” She continues. I try to think about what the symptoms might be. My fever never went away so maybe that is what it’s about.

“I know Dr. Pernia is on vacation, but I also know she gets back tomorrow, is she already booked?” The receptionist says something about paperwork.

“I’m sure she’ll make an exception for Ashka. After all, she asked me to make the appointment tomorrow since she is booked for the rest of the week.” I know Mom most likely still needs to ask her in person but the hospital knows that the two are friends. Again the receptionist says something and I catch the words call, then, make, and later. I know that even though there will be a race to reach the doctor first between the hospital and Mom to reach her first, Dr Pernia will most likely take Mom’s side without being asked.

“Thank you. The symptoms are an upset stomach due to a smell that no one else can smell. Headaches due to hearing further than I think most people can, and I’ve seen her-” 

The receptionist interrupts her with something about ‘sometimes better or other’. “Yes, I know there are people with so-called super hearing, but if it is giving her headaches and making her irritable, isn’t it something to be concerned about? And to continue what I was saying, I’ve seen her pupils dilate more at night than what they used to. I know she complained about the paranoia before but I swear she has gotten worse. Now she jumps at anyone brushing up against her.She also seems to be losing her temper more often. And her taste has gotten weird as she has wanted more and more meat at a-”

The receptionist interrupts again with something about relevance. I swear the receptionist is being difficult on purpose.

“Is it normal for her appetite to double?” The receptionist says something about growing. “I didn’t know you were a doctor. But if you must judge, you should know, this has only developed while she has that persistent fever.” The receptionist asks another question. “No, there are no other symptoms… Thank you.” Click.

I hear the phone disconnect and I’m a little frustrated. Usually my parents let us be a part of our health decision process, saying that it will be good for us in the future to know when to go to the doctor and when we can just sleep it off. This time, however, I guess she doesn’t plan to do so. I know it’s petty to hope she would ask first, even if there is only one right answer. I walk downstairs because I want to go for a walk to clear my head. When Mom sees me going towards the door, she stops me.

“Do you think you want to wait before going outside again? There is some construction going on next door that might give you a headache.” 

“I know. I can hear them from here, but I don’t care.” I say in a hard, slightly rude tone tat Mom doesn’t appreciate..

“Excuse me. I do not appreciate the attitude for my simple concern.” she corrects.

“I don’t appreciate not having a say on what is normal for me!” I shout back. “When exactly were you going to tell me I was going to the doctor? When we pulled up to the hospital? And Why didn’t you ask first?” I know I am spiraling in overblown anger but can’t seem to stop.  “It’s not like they are gonna have any answers. I already looked online and no doctor knows the causes behind  the so-called super senses.It would be a waste of time for everyone if I go.” I know I am being unreasonable so I run out before Mom can say anything.

I slam the door behind me.