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Psychosomatic
“...and on the last page, you’ll find tables and charts containing the results of your bone marrow assays—both the aspirate and the core needle tissue sample. Just like the skin biopsy and the liver biopsy, we detected no abnormalities when we ran the samples through the magic-separating centrifuge. Entirely healthy and curse-free cells throughout.”
Dr. Hoofstadt gave Stygian a moment to corroborate his summary, as this latter read through his lab results with an increasingly disheartened expression. An uncomfortable silence hung between patient and caregiver, disturbed only by the crackling of the fireplace in Dr. Hoofstadt’s office study.
“Now I know that in your case, no news isn’t good news. After all, you’re undeniably putting yourself through no small amount of physical and financial stress in consulting so many diagnosticians like myself. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no plans of leaving the matter unresolved.”
“Yes, I… I would very much like to get to the bottom of this.” Stygian flipped back to the front cover of the lab results, and tossed them aside onto Hoofstadt’s desk. “I suppose we’ll just have to go through with it, then? Test the theory I brought up last visit?”
“I’m afraid my stance on that particular theory has not changed, Stygian.” Hoofstadt swiveled in his chair, resting his gaze on the fireplace. “A brain cell biopsy would not only be incredibly costly and invasive, but there is a nonzero chance of severe complications. I’m sorry, but I cannot sign off on such a thing.”
“But where else could it be at this point? We’ve examined every organ in my body by now, the only place left is the place I’ve always suspected: In my mind!” Self-conscious of his sudden outburst, Stygian crossed his hooves and tried to calm himself. “Doctor… Don’t you believe me when I say I still feel a fragment of the Pony of Shadows lurking within me?”
Hoofstadt treaded carefully to give a politic yet medically responsible answer: “There are doctors of the mind, Stygian, and then there are neurosurgeons. In my professional opinion, your case indicates the services of the former. I can give you a referral.” In one magical motion, he scrawled out the names and addresses of a few of his colleagues on a loose sheet of parchment, and passed it over to his patient.
“I don’t want to go back to the psychiatrists. I don't. There’s no help for a case like mine. They say it’s just guilt, they say it’s just post-trauma, but they’ve never treated a patient once possessed by an ancient evil which… I’m sorry, I’m making a nuisance of myself again, aren’t I?” Stygian respectfully levitated the referral into his cloak pocket before standing up to leave. “I appreciate your help so far, Doctor. But I’ll find somepony else.”
“I wish you the best of luck, Stygian. Sincerely.”
The door shut softly behind him, leaving the doctor alone once more with that familiar and somber fireplace crackle.
Dr. Hoofstadt gave Stygian a moment to corroborate his summary, as this latter read through his lab results with an increasingly disheartened expression. An uncomfortable silence hung between patient and caregiver, disturbed only by the crackling of the fireplace in Dr. Hoofstadt’s office study.
“Now I know that in your case, no news isn’t good news. After all, you’re undeniably putting yourself through no small amount of physical and financial stress in consulting so many diagnosticians like myself. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no plans of leaving the matter unresolved.”
“Yes, I… I would very much like to get to the bottom of this.” Stygian flipped back to the front cover of the lab results, and tossed them aside onto Hoofstadt’s desk. “I suppose we’ll just have to go through with it, then? Test the theory I brought up last visit?”
“I’m afraid my stance on that particular theory has not changed, Stygian.” Hoofstadt swiveled in his chair, resting his gaze on the fireplace. “A brain cell biopsy would not only be incredibly costly and invasive, but there is a nonzero chance of severe complications. I’m sorry, but I cannot sign off on such a thing.”
“But where else could it be at this point? We’ve examined every organ in my body by now, the only place left is the place I’ve always suspected: In my mind!” Self-conscious of his sudden outburst, Stygian crossed his hooves and tried to calm himself. “Doctor… Don’t you believe me when I say I still feel a fragment of the Pony of Shadows lurking within me?”
Hoofstadt treaded carefully to give a politic yet medically responsible answer: “There are doctors of the mind, Stygian, and then there are neurosurgeons. In my professional opinion, your case indicates the services of the former. I can give you a referral.” In one magical motion, he scrawled out the names and addresses of a few of his colleagues on a loose sheet of parchment, and passed it over to his patient.
“I don’t want to go back to the psychiatrists. I don't. There’s no help for a case like mine. They say it’s just guilt, they say it’s just post-trauma, but they’ve never treated a patient once possessed by an ancient evil which… I’m sorry, I’m making a nuisance of myself again, aren’t I?” Stygian respectfully levitated the referral into his cloak pocket before standing up to leave. “I appreciate your help so far, Doctor. But I’ll find somepony else.”
“I wish you the best of luck, Stygian. Sincerely.”
The door shut softly behind him, leaving the doctor alone once more with that familiar and somber fireplace crackle.