A Correction, Not a Confrontation

Accuracy is respect.

📏🖊️✨

Rare Disease Day began like any other.

The escalating temperature outside made the students languid; they were already sweaty from physical education class. Mrs. Lim stepped into

the classroom.

Two words, scrawled on the board.

“Turner’s Syndrome.”

“Syndrome. That’s a disease!” blurted a student. He said it the way one mentions a headache.

The room was silent.

Just an assumption. No harm done.

Or thought.

Mrs. Lim quietly turned to the board.

“Word choice shapes thinking. And thinking shapes behaviour.”

Without addressing the student, she explained the difference between disease and condition.

Clinically. Another vocabulary lesson.

But there were details yet to explain.

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“Remember, class,” she smiled. Platform heels raised her above her height, or lack thereof. A conventional blouse covered her small but uniquely stocky frame. “Accuracy is a form of respect, especially with language. Use it wisely.”

Forty pairs of curious eyes fixed on her.

“Turner’s Syndrome is not a medical disease in the way Chicken Pox is, but it is a condition that presents some difficulties for those who have it.”

She tried to reach the highest point of the whiteboard.

Something her 4 foot-11 inch frame wouldn’t allow.

She gripped the edge of the teacher’s desk, bracing herself.

But the class was silent.

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The student who offered the remark frowned, then blushed.

It was a correction, not a confrontation.

The room straightened. The students sat up.

Mrs. Lim, ever the consummate professional, smiled warmly.

The students exchanged uncomfortable glances for a minute.

Then the same student returned the smile. The rest of the class looked at Mrs. Lim.

Gazes fixed, cautiously interested.

No one apologised. There was no need to.

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Later, alone, she erased the board.

Some words smudge easily.

Some linger.

She left one line on the board:

Be accurate.

Not for herself.

For them.

The lesson proceeded, with the students successfully dissecting the vocabulary in a comprehension passage.

The bell rang, and the students filed out of the class.

The impulsive student remained.

Mrs. Lim quietly gathered her books. She had left a single phrase behind.

“Be accurate.”

Not a category. Nor a laugh.

She had left behind a thought:

Precision is power.

📏🖊️✨

An original story for Rare Diseases Day by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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