Let it All Out

Daniel furiously slammed his bedroom door shut before falling face first into bed with defeat. Tears began to form in the ten-year-old’s brown colored eyes, but he immediately batted them away with his Jimmy Hendrix t-shirt sleeve. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Daniel blurted out while his head violently shook from side to side. The tears were now crashing down his neck like a waterfall.

Daniel’s hope had slowly dwindled over the last thirty minutes. He was more than used to waking up several times throughout the night from a repeating graphic nightmare of his past. Memories of being struck down by bullies’ fists in the third grade. But, never before had Daniel been in as much distress as he was at two in the morning on December 12th, 2008. As a blizzard clobbered Southwest Minneapolis, Daniel sat up in bed trying to regain control of his body.

 His pleas for help were drowned by grunts and struggles to breathe. Daniel tiptoed across the hall and into his parent’s bedroom, where he was met with his mother’s terrified gaze.

 “Honey! What’s going on?” she trembled.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Daniel blurted out between grunts and tears.

His mother jumped out of bed and embraced her son.

“It’s okay…It’s okay,” she gently whispered.

The Pickett family worked throughout the early sunrise to free their Subaru Forester from its snowy prison. Daniel’s uncontrollable sounds pierced through the otherwise silent car ride to the Park Nicollet emergency room. His father wore a determined expression while marching up to the front desk. 

“How may I help you?” A young female asked while peeking out from behind her computer monitor.

“Something is horribly wrong with my son!” Walter declared while motioning Daniel over to the desk.

Daniel’s head hung low as he approached.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he blurted out.

The receptionist fastened a cheap rubber band around Daniel’s left wrist, moving quickly as though defusing a bomb (or in this case, just trying to keep it quiet).

The hands on a large clock hanging on the back waiting room wall, patiently moved in circles for the next ninety minutes. Daniel and his parents then waited another twenty-five minutes before the exam room door creaked open.

Dr. Lomnart looked to be in his mid-to-early thirties and wore an enthusiastic expression while covering his hands in soap. He then dragged a single paper towel from the dispenser, vigorously wedged it between each wet particle on his pale white skin, crumbled it up into a tight ball, and slowly tossed the object into a nearby waste basket.

“Nothing but net!” the doctor victoriously declared.

Walter rolled his eyes. 

His wife, Carry, nodded. 

Daniel’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Your face! It’s moving! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Daniel said before toppling over from a series of grunts and nearly falling off of the exam bed.

“Woah there, little guy. It’s okay.” the doctor smiled, gently repositioning his patient.

Walter and his wife exchanged nervous looks. And then, with some telepathic connection that constantly baffled Daniel, agreed that Walter would start the conversation.

“Doctor. Your body is twitching just like our son’s. Do you know how to help him?”

Dr. Lomnart allowed his body to freely move for a brief moment, before taking a deep breath and calming it down. 

“Yes, and no,” he said. “There are certainly things that will help make your son more comfortable, but unfortunately, there is not a permanent cure for Tourette Syndrome.”

“Please, I’m willing, Fuck! Fuck! to try anything,” Daniel begged.

“Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be back in a jiff,” Dr. Lomnart promised while exiting the exam room.”

Tears once again formed in Daniel ’s eyes as a barrage of grunts constricted his breathing.

Both parents carefully wrapped their arms around their struggling son.

“Mom, Dad, it’s okay!” Daniel declared. “We may not know, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, why this is happening, but for the first time today, I have hope!”

Dr. Lomnart returned moments later holding a brown paper lunch bag. With a playful expression, he produced a green pocket-sized notebook and handed it to Daniel. 

Daniel tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

“As I said, there’s no permanent cure for Tourette syndrome, but many have found coping mechanisms which allow them to live fully functioning lives,” Dr. Lomnart explained. “I would like you to try writing in this journal every morning for the next week, and then report back to me.”

Daniel’s expression quickly turned to pure excitement.

“I love writing! My teachers say, Fuck! Fuck! that I am really good at it!”

Dr. Lomnart gently nodded.

“What kind of things would you like him to write about?” Walter asked.

“Anything and everything that comes to mind.”

The doctor then lowered himself to his patient’s height and gazed into their eyes.

“But, the most important thing, Daniel, is that you include all of the struggles you are experiencing. If you start swearing, I want you to write those words in the journal! And, if your grunts make it hard to breathe, I want you to describe that feeling in the journal! Let it all out, Daniel.”

“Let it all out.” Daniel softly echoed.

“Let it all out.” Dr. Lomnart repeated.

The Pickett family later left the emergency room with a smile on their faces. Uncontrollable swear words and grunts once again bounced off their vehicle’s walls, but it was different this time. Daniel's parents no longer felt helpless to an unknown disease. They now felt prepared to help their child slay his inner dragon.

Early morning journaling quickly became the highlight of the ten-year-old from Minneapolis’ day. However, it was not always a pleasant experience. Daniel often felt alone as he poured out his thoughts to empty pages in hopes of being understood by the silent object.

 By the time he finally reported back to Dr. Lomnart, nearly a month had passed since the emergency room visit. The doctor recommended attending a support group. Unable to find a local group that focused on those with Tourette Syndrome, Daniel decided to start his own. 

And whenever a new member walked into the room, swearing and shaking with embarrassment and fear, Daniel handed them an empty journal. 

“Let it all out,” he would tell them with an encouraging smile. 

“Let it all out!”