Cole was the last person I wanted there. The sentiment made me smiled though.
“Oakley, are you ready to go?” Mum called up the stairs. My eyes narrowed at the sound of her voice, and I instantly felt a little guilty. She shouldn’t lie to me, but she was just worried after all.
Summoning up the courage, I got off the bed and walked downstairs slowly. Dad sat in front of the TV, watching some construction show. He owned a building company, but it wasn’t as big as he wanted anyway. That always bothered him, and he was forever stressing over how to become more successful. I didn’t measure success by money and possessions. To me success was all about family. To me, Dad failed to become successful a long time ago.
“Okay, honey,” Mum started, blowing out a deep breath. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to know that I’m only doing it because I love you so much.”
I nodded for her to continue, knowing exactly what she was about to say.
“We’re going to a doctor’s appointment, and before you get angry, please remember I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”
Her eyes welled up with tears, making me feel sick. I hated when she was upset.
“Please, please, will you just go in there with me?” she begged, swiping away a tear that rolled down her cheek.
Do it for her, Oakley, you’re disappointing her in every other way. I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the floor and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, and ushered me to the car.
As we pulled up in a parking space outside the doctor’s surgery, my stomach turned. I followed Mum to the front desk where she gave the nurse my name.
“Okay, if you’d like to take a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly,” the greying woman behind the reception desk told us.
Mum smiled. “Thank you.”
This wasn’t our normal doctor’s surgery; it was on the same complex but in a completely different building. This one was overly white and smelt too clinical. I knew we were seeing a specialist and not just an ordinary doctor.
“Oakley Farrell?” a deep, gruff voice called.
I gulped and looked up. A plump man wearing black trousers and a smart black-and-white stripe shirt looked around the group of patients waiting in the seating area. Mum stood up first and caught his attention. He gave her a smile and gestured for us to follow him.
My palms started to sweat as we walked along the short corridor and into a small room. Mum shook his hand and sat down in one of the blue fabric chairs.
“Well, what can we do for you then, Oakley?” I stared at him blankly. Was he expecting me to answer?
Mum squeezed my hand and started explaining. “Oakley stopped talking when she was just five years old. At first we thought it was a joke. And then we thought it was because she had choked on some food, and maybe she’d damaged her throat somehow... Or maybe she was afraid it would hurt too much if she spoke…”
As Mum reeled off a list of their theories, I found myself gradually shutting out her voice. I wanted to vanish. Suddenly I felt my hand being squeezed.
“I don’t know what to do any more.” Mum sniffed and pressed my hand again.
The doctor nodded. “Hmm, I see. Well fear of talking due to previous injury is possible. However, this has been going on for years, so that seems unlikely.”
He leant forwards, resting his forearms on his mahogany desk.
“Oakley, would it be okay with you if I examined your throat?”
My heart stopped. I could feel the panic rising. I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt like they were being crushed in a vice. No, no, no! I didn’t want any examinations. If they rule out anything medical, they’ll know it’s not because I can’t talk. I couldn’t have Mum turning all her attention at why I wouldn’t talk.
“What kind of examination? What would that involve doing?” Mum questioned.
“Nothing too bad, I can assure you,” he said lightly. “I’ll literally just look down her throat and see if I can see anything, scarring for instance. If there is nothing visibly wrong, and I suspect there won’t be, I’d like to perform a laryngoscopy. The procedure is usually performed under local anaesthetic, but we can do general if needed,” he explained, looking at me.
“We’ll pass the laryngoscope down her throat which will send pictures to a monitor. The procedure itself will take around twenty to thirty minutes.”
My whole body slowly turned cold, and my muscles seized up. Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard. There was no way I was letting him even look inside my mouth let alone stick a camera down my throat. I started breathing heavily as my eyes prickled with tears.
“Sweetheart,” Mum said soothingly. Shaking my head, I jumped up and ran out of the room, sprinting to the surgery’s exit.