Stess-Induced Behavior [Griff]
Sept 12, 2011 14:20:48 GMT -5
Post by Alexander McKenzie on Sept 12, 2011 14:20:48 GMT -5
University was supposed to be a time of growth. You were supposed to figure out what you wanted to do with your life. You were supposed to make friends, go to class, and at the end of the day, find time for things like homework and girlfriends.
Alex had thought he was doing well. He had thought he’d been balancing everything as best he could.
He just hadn’t expected the stress.
Only a few weeks in, and his classes were already demanding, his homework and projects complicated. When he wasn’t studying, spending time with Conrad, or working at the Kafe, he was with Ann. Normally, she was his saving grace. But when both of them were tired and frustrated from a hard day of lessons, it was all he could do to just stay awake with her.
Stress does funny things to your body.
At first, it had just been small. A cold. An inconvenience at most. He’d had dozens of colds in his lifetime, and, as usual, he’d self-treated with over the counter medications in a vague effort to feel better. Let the damn thing run its’ course, and be done with it.
The thing was, it wasn’t going away. After a week, Alex became a little more concerned. No, his immune system had never been the greatest, but it should have kicked in by now. Like he always did when he was worried, he began to become hyper-aware of his body. He monitored the smallest bruises, he checked for fevers.
All while trying to keep his concerns from Conrad and Ann. A task that became more and more difficult, the more stressed he got. Things weren’t getting better, and he knew it was causing a little rift in his relationship. Ann would ask him what was wrong, and he’d brush it off as nothing.
And he would continue to do so, until he was proved wrong. Not that she was believing that it was nothing.
That was what had landed him in the office of one Dr. Griffin Jones. He was seeking answers, because the last thing he honestly wanted was to get sick again, and not in the sense of cold or flu. Maybe he was being paranoid, neurotic, whatever label anyone wanted to slap on him. He considered it being proactive. He wasn’t due for blood work for a good six months or so, and there was no way he was going to sit and wait around until then.
A science textbook had been on his lap in the waiting room, and once his name had been called, he’d settled in the chair in the corner of the exam room, still reading. It gave him something to focus on until he could meet with the doctor. At least studying was productive.
Alex had thought he was doing well. He had thought he’d been balancing everything as best he could.
He just hadn’t expected the stress.
Only a few weeks in, and his classes were already demanding, his homework and projects complicated. When he wasn’t studying, spending time with Conrad, or working at the Kafe, he was with Ann. Normally, she was his saving grace. But when both of them were tired and frustrated from a hard day of lessons, it was all he could do to just stay awake with her.
Stress does funny things to your body.
At first, it had just been small. A cold. An inconvenience at most. He’d had dozens of colds in his lifetime, and, as usual, he’d self-treated with over the counter medications in a vague effort to feel better. Let the damn thing run its’ course, and be done with it.
The thing was, it wasn’t going away. After a week, Alex became a little more concerned. No, his immune system had never been the greatest, but it should have kicked in by now. Like he always did when he was worried, he began to become hyper-aware of his body. He monitored the smallest bruises, he checked for fevers.
All while trying to keep his concerns from Conrad and Ann. A task that became more and more difficult, the more stressed he got. Things weren’t getting better, and he knew it was causing a little rift in his relationship. Ann would ask him what was wrong, and he’d brush it off as nothing.
And he would continue to do so, until he was proved wrong. Not that she was believing that it was nothing.
That was what had landed him in the office of one Dr. Griffin Jones. He was seeking answers, because the last thing he honestly wanted was to get sick again, and not in the sense of cold or flu. Maybe he was being paranoid, neurotic, whatever label anyone wanted to slap on him. He considered it being proactive. He wasn’t due for blood work for a good six months or so, and there was no way he was going to sit and wait around until then.
A science textbook had been on his lap in the waiting room, and once his name had been called, he’d settled in the chair in the corner of the exam room, still reading. It gave him something to focus on until he could meet with the doctor. At least studying was productive.