cancer, but were more likely to send the white van and straightjacket to my house just for asking. It also would open me up to all kinds of questions about why I was asking. Being that I lied to Detective Frost about it, that wasn’t a bridge I was ready to cross.
No, I thought to myself. I’m on my own for this one.
I grabbed my iPad again and reopened the browser. I ran several searches about medical mistakes, malpractice, cancer, misdiagnosis , and any other relevant keyword I could think of. As with every health-related topic on the Internet, there were millions of hits. After the tenth page of search results, I decided to check just one more.
That’s all I needed.
On the eleventh page, I found an obscure blog post written by a man who spent two years dealing with an illness nobody could diagnose. Frustrated and almost bankrupt from medical expenses, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He requested and received his lengthy medical record and did his own analysis using online research and self-diagnosis. To his, and the entire medical community’s surprise, it worked. Where a dozen doctors failed, he had been able to figure out what was wrong.
While I highly doubted I was qualified to analyze my own medical record, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. If anything, it would make for some interesting reading.
I opened a new browser tab and pulled up the Colorado Pediatric Hospital website. Scanning the navigation menu, I searched for an online form or email address I could use to request my medical record. After five minutes, the only reference I found on the website was in an FAQ. The text read:
All medical records must be requested in person. For children under eighteen, a signature from a parent is required. Note: it can take up to ten days for the request to be filled, and not all records are available.
I sighed and turned back to my lunch. “So much for that idea,” I said to myself. Involving adults—especially my parents—is out of the question.
Still lost in thought, I sensed somebody walk up. Expecting to see Mason, I looked up with a mouthful of spaghetti. Instead of my friend, as my eyes tracked upward, I saw a pair of perfectly tanned legs, a cheerleader skirt, then a cheerleader sweater, and finally, long, wavy locks of black hair.
“Hi, Ben.”
I choked as I inhaled the mouthful of spaghetti. After a few agonizing seconds, I took a drink from my bottle of water and finally replied. “Hey . . . Katherine.”
If I made a list of all the people I never expected to talk to again, Katherine Nickel would have been at or near the top.
What is she doing here? And why is she smiling?
I swallowed and tried to slow my heart rate down to a more survivable level. Easier said than done when staring into Katherine’s big green eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “Bad timing.”
“It’s okay.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and prayed I didn’t have marinara sauce all over my shirt. “Have a seat.”
“Oh, I can’t right now,” she replied. “I don’t have much time. I just wanted to stop by and say . . .”
She stopped mid-sentence and gazed down at the floor. She seemed nervous, which I figured wasn’t a normal emotion for the head of the school’s cheerleading squad. Nervousness was the effect she had on everyone else. Myself included.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted Mason walking over.
Lousy timing , I groaned.
“I . . . I just wanted to say I was sorry about last weekend,” Katherine finally said, her smile shifting to a frown. “The text message. Bailing on you. Pretty lame of me.”
I sat motionless, stunned by the apology. Katherine, along with the rest of the school, had been furious with me. Not only for lying about my cybernetic augment, but also for potentially costing the school an important football win. She’d called off our date to the homecoming dance two hours before it was set to start. By text message no less.
“Oh, it’s
No, I thought to myself. I’m on my own for this one.
I grabbed my iPad again and reopened the browser. I ran several searches about medical mistakes, malpractice, cancer, misdiagnosis , and any other relevant keyword I could think of. As with every health-related topic on the Internet, there were millions of hits. After the tenth page of search results, I decided to check just one more.
That’s all I needed.
On the eleventh page, I found an obscure blog post written by a man who spent two years dealing with an illness nobody could diagnose. Frustrated and almost bankrupt from medical expenses, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He requested and received his lengthy medical record and did his own analysis using online research and self-diagnosis. To his, and the entire medical community’s surprise, it worked. Where a dozen doctors failed, he had been able to figure out what was wrong.
While I highly doubted I was qualified to analyze my own medical record, I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. If anything, it would make for some interesting reading.
I opened a new browser tab and pulled up the Colorado Pediatric Hospital website. Scanning the navigation menu, I searched for an online form or email address I could use to request my medical record. After five minutes, the only reference I found on the website was in an FAQ. The text read:
All medical records must be requested in person. For children under eighteen, a signature from a parent is required. Note: it can take up to ten days for the request to be filled, and not all records are available.
I sighed and turned back to my lunch. “So much for that idea,” I said to myself. Involving adults—especially my parents—is out of the question.
Still lost in thought, I sensed somebody walk up. Expecting to see Mason, I looked up with a mouthful of spaghetti. Instead of my friend, as my eyes tracked upward, I saw a pair of perfectly tanned legs, a cheerleader skirt, then a cheerleader sweater, and finally, long, wavy locks of black hair.
“Hi, Ben.”
I choked as I inhaled the mouthful of spaghetti. After a few agonizing seconds, I took a drink from my bottle of water and finally replied. “Hey . . . Katherine.”
If I made a list of all the people I never expected to talk to again, Katherine Nickel would have been at or near the top.
What is she doing here? And why is she smiling?
I swallowed and tried to slow my heart rate down to a more survivable level. Easier said than done when staring into Katherine’s big green eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “Bad timing.”
“It’s okay.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and prayed I didn’t have marinara sauce all over my shirt. “Have a seat.”
“Oh, I can’t right now,” she replied. “I don’t have much time. I just wanted to stop by and say . . .”
She stopped mid-sentence and gazed down at the floor. She seemed nervous, which I figured wasn’t a normal emotion for the head of the school’s cheerleading squad. Nervousness was the effect she had on everyone else. Myself included.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted Mason walking over.
Lousy timing , I groaned.
“I . . . I just wanted to say I was sorry about last weekend,” Katherine finally said, her smile shifting to a frown. “The text message. Bailing on you. Pretty lame of me.”
I sat motionless, stunned by the apology. Katherine, along with the rest of the school, had been furious with me. Not only for lying about my cybernetic augment, but also for potentially costing the school an important football win. She’d called off our date to the homecoming dance two hours before it was set to start. By text message no less.
“Oh, it’s
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