We're getting ready to watch the 2026 #WebbyAwards, hosted by Josh Johnson in the #ChronicLoaf stream

- Scoliosis/Kyphosis

- Ehlers Danlos

- Ankylosing Spondylitis

- Degenerative Disk Disease

- Herniated Disks

No offence, great friend, but hell no

“Well,” the nurse says, and she looks at the x-rays, the ECG results, and the blood tests, “according to these, there are no signs that anything is wrong.”

She doesn’t say it, but you can see what she is thinking when she looks back at you- faker, hypochondriac, attention seeker- she shuts down the computer and shrugs. Yes, she has done all she can, but maybe she would do more if she didn’t assume you were faking.

“Is there anything else,” your mother asks, drawing the nurse’s attention away from you, “that wouldn’t show up on any of those but could be causing this?”

The nurse looks at you again, annoyed now, in her world your mother would have accepted the lack of evidence as proof of faking and gone home again. “I suppose,” she begins unwillingly, “that any muscle or tendons causing pain wouldn’t have shown up. We’d only be able to see those on an MRI.”

Your mother nods like this makes sense and the nurse quickly adds that the MRI machine is not currently working, since it is three in the morning. Your mother nods again- keeping her cool a lot better than you would be, if the crippling pain in your chest wasn’t taking up all of your focus, and the exhaustion from being awake this long is starting to catch up with you.

They’re talking in the background, quick snatches make their way into your focus. It’s hard to stay awake.

“…my daughter…”

“…nothing I can do…”

“…perhaps a therapist might benefit her more…”

“…why would…”

“…your GP will be able to…”

“…I don’t appreciate…”

And then the world snaps back into focus with your mother’s hand on your arm, “Alright,” she is saying, “we’ll speak to our GP about this.”

Neither she nor the nurse seem particularly happy with whatever conclusion they have reached, but you’re glad to get away from angry stares and the feeling that everyone around you thinks you’re wasting their time.

“I can’t believe that.” Your mother says once the two of you are back in the car, she reaches over to do your seatbelt for you and brushes some hair out of your face before she starts the car. You want to ask if she saw the look on the nurse’s face too- the one that said she thought you were faking- but the pain suddenly increases again, the edges of your vision go black, and this time you let them take you.

 *

“I’m not sure that seems like a good enough reason for the exam board.”

You’re looking at her across a desk and wondering if crying will help you out in this situation. She’s supposed to be the one teacher you can rely on to understand, the one who deals with kids like you and makes sure that the exams aren’t rigged against you.

“Can’t you just take painkillers before each exam?” she asks when you don’t respond, “Surely that would be better for everyone?”

You remember how horrified your GP looked when she discovered how many painkillers you were going through in a week. The fact that she winced when she told you that you couldn’t take any for an entire week because she didn’t know what effect they were having on your stomach lining.

“No, I’m limited to a certain amount each day.”

She looks a little irritated, and you can see it again in her- she doesn’t quite believe that what you are saying is true, she doesn’t want to believe it because you are thin and tall and that’s what healthy people look like. Healthy people don’t need access arrangement for their exams.

You point out the letter from your GP and she makes a face,

“The exams boards prefer it if the letters are from specialists.”

You tell her that you have an appointment booked with a specialist three months from now, she asks if you can move it closer and you are stunned into silence by the fact that she thinks you have any control over when your appointment is. It should have been yesterday. Its was rescheduled with no explanation. You’re sixteen. You aren’t a priority for them.

Eventually, you get the access arrangements, you sign the form that she gives and go to leave,

“By the way,” she adds in a fake-casual tone, this isn’t something she just remembered, it’s something she’s been waiting to drop on you. “We review the access arrangements every few months, so don’t assume that you’ll be keeping them.”

She gave you what you wanted, but she doesn’t believe anything is wrong.

This was a first draft for part of my English coursework before I decided it was way too emotional for me and too close to my personal experiences for me to just hand in to be graded on, so here u go.