A case needs understanding, not numbering.
They recorded everything. They missed me.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
My genetic disorder made me famous. Research fodder.
That weekend at the hospital was definitely not a resort stay. The bright lights? Always on.
Footsteps clicked. Again. And again.
Voices carried through the walls, disturbing. Intruding.
Sleep was an elusive visitor. She did not stay.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
It started with one. Then, 2. Then, 3. Then, more.
They came in groups. The door hardly stayed shut.
A flood of white coats drowned the room.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
The final tally. 38.
They stood around the bed, voices climbing over me.
They discussed. Took notes.
I was there. To them, not.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
No one spoke to me. All spoke at me.
Only about me.
They used terms that overwhelmed.
Charts. Observations. MRIs.
The white coats surrounded. They never addressed me.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
I left. They had what they came for.
They understood me. They did not know me.
Everything was recorded, perfectly and precisely.
Nothing was felt.
Another human. Another number.
🧬🏥👨⚕️📋🔢
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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