8

                                    

                                          
Warnings:
-Panic attack (about potentially throwing up which doesn't happen)
-Talk about emetophobia/nausea
                          
Clay's POV 
                          
I came home from school and went to my room since I wasn't feeling too great. It scared me a lot since it felt like I was getting a fever which meant I would get sick. And that meant I could get nauseous too and I absolutely didn't want that.
                          
I laid down on my bed, looking at my ceiling in silence since I didn't want to move myself too much. I really couldn't get nauseous, I couldn't get sick. What did I do wrong to get sick? Was I not clean enough? Was it Bad or Ant?
                          
I got so scared that I stamped my feet on the floor for my father to come up and he ran into my room with a shocked face. 'What's wrong?'
                          
⚠️ Talk about nausea (fear to get it)
                          
'Dad, I think I will be sick and I absolutely can't get nauseous. Dad-,' I started, feeling my chest getting awfully tight. 'Dad, I can't throw up.'
                          
'What are you feeling, sweetie?' my dad asked as he knelt down next to me and held his hand on my forehead. 
                          
'I'm so tired,' I whispered. I started itching my skin and got mad when the itch only got worse. 
                          
My dad grabbed my hand and lifted my shirt to see a dry and red skin and then stood up slowly. 'Have you been losing weight, honey?'
                          
I shrugged. 'I also don't care right now. I can't get sick, dad. Help me.'
                          
'You usually don't throw up with a fever, sweetie. Stay calm, you won't throw up.'
                          
'You said usually. What if I do throw up? Dad, I can't get sick. I'm going to panic,' I whispered as I started breathing faster.
                          
⚠️ Panic attack 
                          
It felt like someone wrapped a way too tight band around my chest and I lifted my hand up to hold it. I couldn't breathe through my nose again so started quickly breathing through my mouth. 
                          
'Clay, try to breathe slower. You're going to hyperventilate, you're going to be okay. You won't throw up,' he comforted me as he sat down next to me and lifted me up to hold me against his chest.
                          
I panicked so much that my vision got blurry. I grasped onto the sheets as the constant thought of me getting sick went through my head. I couldn't throw up, I actually couldn't. I'd rather die than throw up, it made me so terrified. 
                          
I started hyperventilating, my breath sounded wheezy and fast while I felt like dying. I was so scared of throwing up that I didn't even care if I died. 
                          
'Clay, concentrate on something different. Think about your birthday!'
                          
I couldn't swallow anymore and felt my heart go so fast that I actually felt like dying now. I grabbed my dad's hand and started squeezing it while I closed my eyes to get rid of the blurry vision.
                          
My dad sat with me the whole time until I slowly started calming down again. The panic attack lasted longer than it ever lasted before and I laid down in my dad's arms while I cried softly.
                          
⚠️ Over (still talk about fear)
                          
'I can't get sick, dad,' I whispered. 
                          
'Honey, listen to me, okay? You're not going to get sick in that way. If you get a fever, you won't throw up because of it, sweetheart.'
                          
'But what if I do?' I cried. 'I'm so scared, I'm not getting out of my bed anymore.'
                          
'I think it's better if you stay home because you're not feeling well. What have you been feeling lately, honey?' my dad asked me.
                          
I shrugged. 'Feverish, really tired and I'm not really hungry.'
                          
My dad turned quiet and grabbed my hand. 'Have you been waking up, covered in sweat?'
                          
'Once, yes,' I answered with a soft voice. 
                          
My dad's hands lifted up to my face and he started feeling my neck. I had my eyes closed as he lifted my arm slowly and felt my armpit too. 
                          
'Clay, can you feel yourself there around your groins?' my dad pointed. 'I don't think you want me to.'
                          
'What do I feel?' I mumbled as I tapped my skin. 
                          
'Are your lymph nodes swollen?' he asked. 
                          
I shrugged as I tapped and looked at him. 'I don't know.'
                          
'I'd like you to make sure, Clay. Right now, please,' he demanded, sounding panicky.
                          
'I don't know,' I muttered. 'You feel it.'
                          
He carefully touched it so he wouldn't touch anything else and then nodded. 'Clay, I want you to come with me to the hospital, right now.'
                          
'What? Why? No!' I yelled out as I sat up.
                          
'Yes, no arguing. You're coming with me. All your lymph nodes are swollen and I need a doctor to check this out before it's too late.'
                          
'What is too late? What are you talking about?' I shouted as I stood up slowly.
                          
'Clay, just listen to me,' he yelled with a demanding voice. 'It's important.'
                          
'WHY?' I screamed out, getting really mad. 'What are you talking about?'
                          
My dad turned his eyes to the ground and then sighed softly. 'You have all the symptoms of lymphoma, the cancer that's running in our family,' he admitted.
                          
'What?' I whispered, walking closer to him. 'You're joking, right?'
                          
'I wish I was Clay, but I'm not. This is how it all started with mom too. You need to let it get checked out since it's running in our family.'
                          
'But I'm very young, most people don't get it around my age,' I tried.
                          
'Unfortunately cancer doesn't care about age, honey. Let's just go to the hospital, okay? We can better let it get checked out and if it's nothing then that's great.'
                          
'I can't have cancer,' I sniffed. 'Please, tell me I don't have cancer.'
                          
'I don't know, sweetie. Let's just check it out,' he answered as he kissed my cheek.
                          
'But dad, I can't get chemo. I actually can't get chemo, I'd rather die,' I cried.
                          
He didn't answer and grabbed my hand. 'Let's just go, okay? I'm going to call the doctor.'
                          
We went downstairs and he grabbed his phone to call the doctor as I sat down on the couch with tears on my face.
                          
What an amazing birthday present. Getting diagnosed with cancer...
                          
It caused me to cry even harder and my dad hung up. 'He wants you to come immediately.'
                          
My dad gave me a hug and kissed my hair. 'I love you, sweetheart. I'm going to be here for you in every step you go.'
                          
1091 words
                          
Summary:
Clay has a panic attack about potentially getting sick