Delaying The Evaluation (Steve)

Twenty days after the incident, I worried about Caitlin. She tested positive for a seizure disorder after the retake. This morning, she managed to eat a small portion of oatmeal and less than half of an apple. She sat in a corner of the living room folding cranes in some kind of unidentifiable pattern and glanced nervously as if expecting a dragon to swoop over her head. Every time I attempted to talk to her, she shook her head and walked away. Now, she picked at her porkchop uncertainly, eating so little that she might not have eaten it at all. I reminded her that she should take her anti-seizure medication, but she refused. She made a gesture that might have suggested that the medication made her nauseous or that choking down the pill hurt, but, for all I know, she said Steve is a terrible cook.

 Today, she would get a developmental disability evaluation courtesy of my friend Andrew Lai. I wanted to say that he should wait until Caitlin's scars healed, yet the words came out a jumbled mess. However, he insisted that she took the test. It would help you to understand what is going on inside her head, he said. Andrew forced me into doing things I didn't feel like, but I didn't feel comfortable with him testing Caitlin like a lab rat. I don't know if she understood me, but I told her where I was
going.

        "Bye. I'm going to see Andrew about the tests. Do you want to come?" I received no response.

With that, I left. I made my way down the street with my concerns in tow. I (quite literally) ran into my friend as I have a problem with bumping into things. He was pleasantly surprised to see me and somewhat irritated that I walked face first into him.
        "Steve! Do you have no spatial awareness?" He fingered the pin on his jacket a certain number of times as he does when agitated. "What brings you here?" Looking around at the crowds, I decided that it was best that we talked in his office. He led us there and, when we arrived, he made a quick
call to one of his patients. Apparently, someone had to wait five to ten minutes longer for a cardiologist referral.

         "I came...about Caitlin." Upon speaking her name, Andrew seemed to snap to attention
         "What about her? Is she okay? Does she need any more tests? Inhaler refills? Blood work? A gait analysis? A free massage coupon?"
         "I think we should hold off the developmental disability test. She seems to be...traumatized
right now."
         "How so? She's away from the dragon, her horrible sisters, and has you."
         "Well...she's been acting weird lately. She barely ate anything today after not eating for the last
 two days, wouldn't talk to me for five days, and refused to take her anti seizure medication. Now, she
just sits in the corner and folds the same paper crane again and again. I know she folded cranes 


before, but never the same paper over and over again and not tensely. "I don't think she knows what 
it's like for someone to care. It's like she's crying out for help."

         "I still think the test will assist her in self-awareness. Maybe it will boost her self-esteem if she knows that she's not just a screw-up. That kind of mentality is common in non-humans." 
         "Wait...non human?" I hated that about Andrew. He had some inexplicable urge to categorize everyone. Now, he called Caitlin non-human? Who did he think he was?
         "She appears to be an Endernymph, like Vivienne. Ordinarily, they become immortal at age 18 unless they die before then or oppose the Ender dragon. Their sole purpose is to propagate endermen unless they are one of the seven sisters, which are the high priestesses of the Ender dragon." He went on, but the sound of the clock had a stronger, clearer voice. 
         "Why, though, does she clam up when I try to talk?" To call me frustrated would be an understatement. When someone you love doesn't seem to reciprocate it, you're not sure if they love you at all. "I thought I could make her open through my quest."
         "The test might be able to tell you. Anyway, I don't want to keep my patients waiting." With that, he dismissed me. When I got home, I flopped on my bed and sobbed in utter defeat. Out of nowhere, Caitlin offered me a piece of paper and walked away. The paper was pink with purple paisleys. 


 cranes, but..." The words could not come.
         "You're concerned about how she would react to her potential diagnoses? I came to a conclusion of Asperger's Syndrome, which is a form of autism. Maybe she also has cerebral palsy, as evidenced by the MRI scan and CAT scan, but maybe it's just dyspraxia. I have also considered the possibility of ADHD and expressive language disorder." He listed off more acronyms and disorders, but I, once again, tuned him out. My blood boiled. How could he just casually apply labels to people like that? That's what doctors do, but the way he talked about Caitlin like some sort of case study rubbed me the wrong way.
         "No." That was all I could say to him. I wanted to punch him in the face, but I refrained from doing so. He backed away and prepared for the impending blow, but I relented. Something made my anger dissolve.