Nerdgasm (JenLisa)

Lisa Six years old I push the blue bead along on the rollercoaster maze as I wait for mommy to finish talking to the doctor. Up, down, across, around, and down again. We come here a lot, and I get sad when mommy is sad. I feel like the more we come here, the sadder she gets. As my fingers move to reach for a green bead, the conversation reaches my ears. "Dr. Michaels, is this normal?" Mommy whispers. She sounds worried, and she doesn't know I can hear her. "Like I've said before, Mrs. Manoban, nothing is wrong with Lisa." He's using the same voice she uses when she's trying to be patient. "Genetic factors could also play a role. Does anyone else in the family stutter?" "When it first started—before my husband passed away—I remember him saying his uncle or someone else in the family stuttered. I'm just worried because it started a couple years ago and stopped on its own, but it started up again a few months ago out of nowhere." "Some children will grow out of it; the percentage of children who stutter usually only do so for six months or more. Granted, that's more of a benchmark, so keep in mind there's a chance it'll be something she'll deal with throughout her life. I would monitor it and check in with Lisa." "It's more severe than it was last time, and now that she's in elementary school, I don't want her to be singled out. Kids can be cruel, and I just worry about my baby," she says, clearly distraught. I look over at her, the green bead forgotten, and she looks lost. This is all my fault. I don't want to be the reason my mommy feels this way, but I can't help how I talk. I feel out of control when I stutter, and I feel bad. "You're her mother, so that's completely understandable. Long-term stuttering is only seen in about one percent of children, but there are treatment options. She's still very young, and I see no reason why she can't eventually make a full recovery. As I mentioned earlier, this isn't my area of expertise. If it doesn't go away and continues to become more severe, I suggest consulting a specialist if you want to look into this further." "I can't afford it right now," she murmurs. "If she needs it though, I'll find a way. I need to do what's best for my child." I get up from my seat on the play rug and walk over when I hear her voice crack. Slipping my hand into hers, I tug so she looks down at me, the tears in her eyes sparkling like little diamonds. "M-m-mommy, don't be s-sad. I'm sorry s-something's w-wrong with me." "Oh, Lisa!" she cries as she drops down so we are eye to eye. She wraps me up in a warm hug and squeezes me tightly. "Nothing is wrong with you, my sweet child." "B-but you're always s-sad. It's b-because of m-m-me." "I miss your daddy, and I'm just worried about you. Trust me when I say that nothing is wrong with you at all. You're perfect." Before I can respond, Dr. Michaels drops down so he's on the same level as us. "Your mother is right, Lisa. There's nothing wrong with you; I promise. There's nothing to be sorry about. Lots of people stutter at some point in their lives. If anyone asks about it, just tell them you stutter sometimes. It's not a big deal." He smiles kindly before continuing. "How about you continue to visit me for your regular check-ups? When you stop by, we can talk about your progress. You're a bright, healthy kid, and I know you're going to excel in everything you do." Mommy smiles at his words, which makes me want to smile too. "O-okay. Can I bring my Iron Man c-c-comic book next time, p-please?" "Of course." Dr. Michaels nods and reaches out to ruffle my hair before he stretches back to his full height. "You're my favorite visitor, and reading comic books with you is always the highlight of my day." "M-mine too." I look up to my mommy, and she's smiling with us. Eleven years old "Look, it's La-la-la-lisa the dork!" The sound of laughter follows me as I walk through the school cafeteria, my lunch tray gripped tightly between my fingers. I started middle school this year, and the bullying I dealt with in elementary school started up again soon after the school year started. I guess it was too much to wish it wouldn't continue. "Hey, n-n-nerd!" "Why are you ignoring me? Did I st-st-stutter?" More laughter and snickering follows that last taunt, and I keep walking, making sure to keep my eyes focused straight ahead. Practice has made it so it's easier to ignore the other kids who make fun of me, but their words still sting. The kids I went to elementary school with got over my stutter, but these older kids can't seem to leave it alone. I walk to one of the empty tables in the back, wishing more than ever that Rosé, my best friend and neighbor, were here with me. She's still in elementary school, and although she's already skipped two grades since she's a smarty-pants, she has another two years before she can join me. It's going to be a long two years. Fifteen years old "They w-wasted no time this y-year," I mumble under my breath. "Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, please," Dr. Michaels instructs as he holds his stethoscope against my back to listen to my lungs. I do as he says a few times, and after he comments that everything sounds good, he asks, "Now that that's out of the way, what were you saying, Lisa?" I lean forward and place my elbows on my knees as I run my hands through my hair. Dr. Michaels is my family doctor, and I visited him today to get my physical out of the way for school. I've known him most of my life, and I jump at the opportunity to catch up with him whenever I visit. "I was s-sayin' that they w-wasted no time this year. It's l-like I'm some sort of f-freak show, and they c-can't leave me alone." "I recall the bullying started again in middle school and then tapered off, yes?" "Yeah," I admit. "Based off our talks over the years, I'm assuming the bullying will be worst the first year or two of high school. Once the so-called 'novelty' wears off and people accept it, it should stop again." "I k-know, but I don't like f-feeling like a f-f-freak. All I ever am to people is the quiet n-nerd who st-stutters. You'd think they'd come up with s-something more original. Lisa the dork isn't anything new," I say bitterly. I can hear the frustration in my tone clear as day. "Lisa, I'm not supposed to say this as your doctor, but as someone who considers himself a family friend, I'm going to tell you something. Just know I'll never admit it." He pauses until I raise my eyes to his and make eye contact. "Don't let these little shits make you feel like a freak. They're just jealous little assholes." A startled laugh escapes me at his words. I wasn't expecting that. "I'm serious, Lisa," he continues. "They probably do it to try and get a rise out of you because they're insecure, and they want to make themselves feel big when they're actually really small. You're one of the brightest people I know, and you're an excellent example of what today's youth should be like. You're smart, polite, motivated, and you have a great future ahead of you. I've known you for over a decade, and I know stuttering has been something you've been dealing with, but I don't want you to let it define you. Also, you should know you're not alone." "Thanks, Dr. Michaels. It's not like it's gotten w-worse, it just tends to be worse when I g-get anxiety about sp-speaking, especially when I think it might h-happen. The more I think about it, the more it comes out. I hate not being able to c-control it." "I'm no expert, but that seems pretty standard with stuttering, Lisa. Have you talked to your mother about the bullying?" I shift uncomfortably, and he can see the guilt on my face. "You need to tell her." "I know, but I don't want to worry her." My mom has accepted my stutter and doesn't look at me differently, but I know she'll freak if she knows I'm getting picked on for it. Things are tight financially at home, and the last thing I want her to feel is guilt or like she failed me somehow. "She'll feel worse if you keep it from her, and I know she'd rather hear it from you." He peers at me, and his unspoken message is clear: tell her, or I will. "You're right." He is, but I don't relish the thought of having that particular conversation. "I also think there are a few things you haven't tried that might help." "Like what?" My curiosity is piqued, and I'm glad I'm able to get the words out clearly. "Well, for one, I think speech therapy is a great option and that you could benefit greatly from it. There's nothing wrong with you, but if you want to learn how to control the stuttering in those situations where you feel out of control, this could be a great option. I mentioned it to your mother a time or two when you were younger, and I think she wanted you to make that choice for yourself rather than think she was trying to 'fix' you. You've kept her in the dark about the bullying, which has probably influenced her decision, but she only wants what's best for you." I process his words for a moment and can see the merit in his suggestion. "She really does. I'll talk to her about it." Dr. Michaels nods in approval. "Good, I think it'd prove beneficial for you." "We just…it's been hard, and I want to help her…" My words trail off, but he seems to know where my thoughts are. "I've known your family a long time, so I know things have been hard since your father passed. You're almost sixteen, so if you need an after school or summer job, I can make a few phone calls and help you out. It'll be no big deal, as long as it doesn't interfere with your schoolwork. Your mother would have my head otherwise." "Yeah," I say on a laugh. He's completely right; my mom's always asked that I get good grades. I hope to get a scholarship one day to help her, but if I can pay for the amount of treatment not covered by insurance on my own, I could alleviate the financial burden I know it'll cause. "I also think you can channel some of that frustration or nervous energy you have into physical activity. I know you're getting your physical for gym class, but have you thought about playing any sports?" I shake my head. "Not really a team sports person." "Hmm." He proceeds to use the otoscope attached to the wall to check both of my ears, thinking the whole time. "You've mentioned that you like to swim, and I hear you swim like a fish. Maybe you should consider joining the high school swim team. That's an individual team sport if I ever saw one." "Maybe." The thought of putting myself out there and joining an organized school activity makes me nervous. I'll have to talk to Rosé about it; even though she hasn't started at my high school yet, she's wise beyond her years and is my biggest confidant. As if he can read my mind, Dr. Michaels continues. "I know you have friends, but this will also help you socialize a bit more. Two birds with one stone, Lisa. On another note, now that your physical is done, I can confirm that you're in perfect physical health. Just be sure to visit your optometrist to make sure your prescription is up to date." I get up from the table in the center of the room, the thin paper I was sitting on crinkling as I move. Before I can thank Dr. Michaels for the advice, he looks down at his wrist to check the time. "I've got ten minutes until my next appointment. Do you have a few to talk about the latest Marvel movie?" "Always." I smile. Even after all these years, talking about comic books and their movie counterparts is the highlight of these appointments. I have a lot to think about that might change my life, but for now, I'm going to fall into my comfortable routine.