A/N: I wrote this story. I didn’t steal it, so please don’t you steal it. R&R please.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the iPod, or Taking Back Sunday. I’m just a sad little ol writer that needed to put that in there.

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He tightened his grip on his iPod, clenching it in one sweaty fist. He thought he was going to break it, though, so he released it and sighed. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it was going to explode. He took a deep breath. “Calm down, Milo. Calm down.” He thought over and over. Usually chanting that mantra in his head could make him calm down, but today it was having no effect, so he settled on turning up the music.

As Taking Back Sunday filled his ears, his breathing quickened. He looked around the waiting room. He’d always hated the waiting room here. Well, it hadn’t always been this precise waiting room. It had been…two different waiting rooms since he was three. But every time he was here, he was painfully aware of two things: He wasn’t like everyone else, and his life could be so much worse.

Both things made him feel like shit.

The first thing made him feel like shit because the only thing he’d ever wanted since he could remember was to be like everyone else. He wanted to be able to, just once, go over to a friend’s house and not have his mom grab onto his arm before walking out the front door when dropping him off and whisper in a low tone, “Do you have your medicine, Milo?” To be able to go to bed at night and not have to think, “OK, did I take my medicine?” To not have that pink emergency card at school say, “Seizures-Epilepsy” on it.

And then the second thing made him feel like shit because being there made him realize how easy he had it compared to all the other people in his neurologist’s office, the ones who were mentally retarded, or had so many problems you couldn’t even name them all. It made him feel like a whiner who didn’t deserve the relatively easy life he’d been given.

He tried to clear his mind and think of anything but his upcoming appointment. He looked out the window and saw the snow lightly falling. It was January; time for his six month checkup. He was there without fail every six months. Every July and every January. And there was always, without question, an EEG every summer. Usually early or mid August. Since he was three, usually accompanied by his mother, who would field all the doctor’s questions. His dad had been…uncomfortable with this situation since it had come up.

But this time, for the second time, he was alone. His 18th birthday had come along about 8 months ago, and his mother had said she thought he could handle the July appointment on his own. And the EEG. And this one, too. And probably all of them, for the rest of his life.

But this appointment wasn’t going to be like the rest of them. This appointment marked the passing of another four year stint. His doctor’s goal, since he was three was, with drug therapy and growth, to go four years seizure free, then they would wean him off of his medicine.

It had happened twice since he was three. Each time, the seizures came and came. It didn’t work. This time, Milo didn’t know what to do. He was scared. Petrified, actually.

Suddenly, he felt a shove on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the same nurse who’d checked him in standing over him. He tugged out his headphones and smiled weakly at her. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you Milo Anderson?” The nurse said impatiently.

“Yeah.” He said quietly.

“That nurse?” she said, pointing to a woman at the check in counter. “She’s been calling your name for five minutes.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Milo stood up and tugged his backpack on. He walked over to the nurse. “I’m sorry, I had my headphones on, and I couldn’t hear you, and I was thinking, and—“ he saw that the nurse was smiling, so he did too. “I babble when I’m nervous.”

“No need to be nervous, or sorry. No worries. Come on, we’ll take good care of you.” She placed her hand on his back and steered him down the hallway. “Can you step on the scale for me?”

He nodded and stepped on there. She looked at it as soon as the numbers stopped going. “132.” She took a note of it on his chart. “Come on, first room on the left.”

He nodded once more and went into the room, sitting on the exam table. She came back and took his blood pressure and said, “Dr. Chance will be on in just a minute.”

“OK, thank you.” He smiled as warmly as he could at the nurse and leaned back. When she was gone, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to risk putting his earphones back in and not hearing the doctor, so he settled for deep breaths and drinking water to calm down.

He opened his eyes when he heard the door crack open. “Hey, Milo. Welcome back, nice to see you. No mom again?”

He smiled shakily. “Nope, just me.”

“OK, that’s fine. Let’s go over everything as usual. You have partial complex seizures. You graduated regular 12th grade this past year. Congratulations again.” He smiled and winked, which eased Milo up a bit. “Let’s see, your latest blood work and your EEG from August was normal. Had any seizures?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Good! Milo, that’s excellent!” he said enthusiastically. Then he turned back to his paper and said, “OK, that makes you forty months seizure free, that’s four years. Milo, this is huge.” He said then leaned closer. “I’m really proud of you, it hasn’t been easy, I know, but hopefully, within the next few months you’ll be able to fire me. The nurse’ll be in in a minute to schedule a 24 hour EEG for within the next few weeks, and when that checks out, we can wean you off of it. Good job, Milo.” He clapped him on the back and then shook his hand and walked out of the room.

The same nurse came in and said, “Can you come out in the hall and pick a date for me?” She looked at Milo’s face. “Hey, hon? Are you ok?” she asked. “You look really pale.”

“I’m fine…” he muttered. But he wasn’t. He had never been this scared about anything in his entire life.

A/N: How do you like? Message me if you’ve got any questions about anything…I’ll clear up what his seizures are like in the next chapter.