No Shame in Size - Part 2 (Patreon)

“Soooo…”, the doctor exhaled for a second, checking over the documents he had prepared for today's patient. Brie had come in for a scheduled annual checkup, cold fluorescent light bulbs and the sharp scent of hand sanitizer greeted him. 

There were just so many things  about doctor’s checkups that were just unbearable for the feline. 

Setting the appointment. Talking about yourself. Smalltalk? Cough for me. Now inhale. Being examined. This is about you. You’re my subject. Tell me. Everything. Exhale. Good.

The wolf clothed in a white coat continued. “It seems like I’ll have to update your file. Either your specifics were not registered truthfully, or did you register yourself as being 5’9” tall?” The doctor checked the measuring device again. Brie's hoodie fit uncomfortably tight, tighter than it used to, 3 weeks ago. “I, uh,-”, he stumbled with words, “i think they should be correct.”, his hoodie cutting into his neck. 

Brie is not an idiot. He’d noticed his shoes not fitting properly anymore. His shirts riding up his midriff. Being able to look down on friends he was on even planes with before. But something about admitting “this-strange-thing-that-apparently-happens-i-don’t-know” is so, so fear inducing. He’d have to admit that something is wrong. And when something is wrong, you go out, and go get help. No, this was something that would resolve itself, by itself. Surely.

Besides, some people grow late into their 20s. Like, at 23 you can grow an additional inch. He just grew a lot in 3 weeks, at the age of 26. 

“Brie, you’re standing at a proud 6’3”, maybe a 6’4” if you wouldn’t hunch like that. And it seems like you have been hitting the gym, you’re in good physique and shape.” The canine doctor went over his clipboard and corrected his outdated data. “Must’ve been a while since you were measured.” 

Why did this feel like he did something wrong? The feline didn’t want to say anything, just to make himself smaller. Be less in the center of everything. The hunching was intentional. Looking down on his longtime health professional was just… wrong. Dr. Stilton used to be only an inch taller than he was. 

“Now as for your blood work though”, the doctor adjusted his glasses and quadruple checked his recordings. “There must’ve been a mistake with the analysis of your blood. It says you’re at 8500 ng/dL of testosterone, a boy at the peak of puberty would be at 1200. As well as your thyroid hormones, insulin, feline growth hormones, cortisol, vitamin D, and more.” The expert kept his eyes on the clipboard. Brie just looked perplexed. Those were a lot of big numbers. And this is in his body? 

“Obviously, those readings are false. If they weren’t, you wouldn’t be standing here. Or standing at all. But sadly your insurance doesn't cover an additional analysis, so I presume you’ll want to postpone this until further notice.” 

Yes. Good. Don’t really care. Get-Me-Out-Of-Here. Longer strides covered the exit than the ones last year.