Snowy Syndromes

Snow. 

It couldn't have been real, could it?

No, it wasn't a figment of my imagination this time: bountiful, pure, white snow.

My breath fogged up the window as I longed to go into the snow, my fingers itching to reach for the delicate flakes--to mold and sculpt them to whatever creation I desired. My wish was nearly fulfilled as my hands attempted to unlatch the window's lock. However, the chill emitting from the cool metal seized any other movement I could make. But that still didn't stop me from gingerly pressing my face against the icy panels, wishing it were the snow instead. 

"Maribella? Are you pressing your face against the windows again?!" 

"No, Mother!" 

It was a simple lie, one that would provide enough time for me to pretend to do something else. I dove for the books on my nightstand and pretended to read, feigning ignorance as mother came in. 

"You're holding the book upside-down." 

"I'm trying to read from a new perspective." I stated in a matter-of-fact tone, trying to conceal the sweat from my brow. 

Mother sighed and put her hands on her hips, "Maribella Analise Roberts, how many times have I told you doing that might flare up your symptoms!" 

"I know, Mother. But it didn't this time!" I then added in a quieter voice, "I think I might be getting better..."

Mother's eyes bulged, "Better?! Better?! Are you serious, Maribella?! If you were to step foot outside this house, I wouldn't be surprised if you were to drop dead instantly."

Her words-- sharp as a razor--sliced through my heart. It wasn't the first time I'd argued about the rare illness I had since the age of four. I'd gone through many instances and incidents that resulted in red welts from arguing about going outside.

"Can you blame me for thinking that way? You've never explained any of my symptoms to me! You never even told me what was wrong with me!"

"Maribella, I don't have time for this! If I were to explain it to you I bet you wouldn't even understand-" Mother checked her watch and let out a "tsk." 

"I need to run to the hospital, a staff called in sick, behave while I'm gone." She slung a shawl over her shoulders and left, careful to not let any of the cold in.

"Yes, Mother..." 

And I was alone in the too-warm house. 

_____

'Stupid rules...stupid illness...stupid mother...' I grumbled meaninglessly under my breath. 

But maybe she was right. There was a chance I never was getting better. Maybe I'll never be able to step out into the fresh snow. 

But mother could also be wrong, maybe I wasn't really ill. There was only one way to find out.

Some sort of hidden defiance I've stowed away for years started to seep through, or perhaps I had reached that age to rebel, but I found myself exploring areas of the house I never dared to enter. The bold part of me hidden away powered my legs to go on the rickety steps that led to the attic-- it fueled my sense of injustice toward the one person who knew of my condition and still refused to let me in on any of the details. 

The steps creaked one after another, grumbling and cursing under my weight. Some of them were even cracked. 

Finally, as the last of the steps were put in their old slumber again, the attic came into view in all its dusty glory. Cabinets upon cabinets piled high with grimy pages littered every inch of the attic. One look at the carnage made it clear they were medical files. 

'Perhaps I can get some answers here.' I thought. 

I edged one of the papers into my hand, wrinkling my nose in distaste at how unkempt the place was. 

"February 23rd, 1992," the headline read. 

My heart skipped a beat, 'That's when I was born...'

The report looked normal, nothing different from a healthy baby's: average statistics, steady heart rate, etc. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Which could only mean the condition started after birth. 

I poured through more pages, more graphs, and more statistics, only to find the same result. None of the records stated anything of a frail immune system that was intolerant to the cold. Nothing pointed towards the rare illness I have. And that made me wonder if I really was ill, to begin with. 

The mass of glittery white outside continued to reflect the daylight through the window of the attic, unrelenting to the shadows cast by the roofs of the quaint houses. My eyes trailed to where the light was headed. It seemed such a waste for the brilliant warmth to only cast its shine on mere dust particles. My gaze traveled further down until the light stopped on a lonely page in the farthest corner. 

I picked it up. 

"Diagnostic test for 'Munchausen syndrome by proxy' for Maria Roberts..." 

'A diagnostic test for my mother...?' I thought, 'She never told me about this...' 

I read on, "Ms. Roberts shows clear evidence of Munchausen syndrome by proxy, a mental illness where a parent will falsify a child's condition to gain attention or to manipulate them to rely on the parent. The illness' symptoms usually have the child being oblivious toward the manipulation and will often think they are actually sick-" 

I stopped reading. Tears formed at the corner of my eyes--both from happiness and despair. It all made sense now: how despite my mother's insistence on my invisible symptoms, I never felt off. How no matter what I did, she never gave me even a sliver of information on what disease I ever had. But most importantly, my tears were a monument toward a single confirmation.

I could go outside.

I could touch the snow. 

'But why would mother do this?' She'd never been cruel, she'd never once harmed me, and she never even let me go outside, much less flaunt my supposed diagnosis. 

Nevermind that, I quickly dusted myself off and raced down the old staircase. My legs burned, but I kept on running. 

'I can go outside!' Excitement coursed through my body. 

'I can go outside.'  

The thought propelled my body forward, fueling me with an energy I never knew I had. 

'I can go outside.'

I threw open the front door, gasping for air as my muscles burned. But it was all worth it: the powder-like snow settled there as if it were a twenty-three-course buffet. The cold nipped at my cheeks and pinched them red, but they only enhanced my effervescent smile. 

Holding onto the door-frame, my foot fell in contact with the ground as I carefully took a step onto the blanket of cold.