Occam's Razor

Very few times Harold has recalled feeling angry, but it would surprise no one that at least one of those times would involve Chad. Despite their somewhat similar fields–Harold’s regarding health of the body while Chad’s regarding health of the mind–they seemed to act like magnets of the same pole, repelling each other. It wouldn’t do Anderson any good if the two doctors were constantly at a disagreement. So after the boy suffered his second seizure in the same week, Harold decided to approach Chad sans reluctance.

Chad turned his eyes up from his paperwork as his door was opened, eyebrows quirking up in a knowing look–all while Harold entered with drive but drew a blank the second he was supposed to speak. Harold floundered for a moment, blinking cluelessly before narrowing his eyes.

“… Well? What does he have?”

Chad chuckled a little bit in response, his head shaking as he thumbed through his papers. “Definitely not epilepsy.”

Harold’s furrowed brow raised as he struggled to believe the man. 

“What do you mean by ‘definitely’? I’ve treated patients with epilepsy before and his condition is—it ticks off all the boxes.” He began to count on his fingers. “His confusion, his–his auras, his muscle twitching, his blacking out—That’s not something you can wave away.”

“And you can’t be certain that he does have epilepsy.” Chad tilted his chin down and kept his smirk just a smidge condescending. “I’m sure the kid is very convincin', but you can’t fool a brain scan, let alone three.”

Harold leaned in, posture now defensive. “Are you saying he’s pretending?”

The other man shrugged. “Saying? No. Insinuatin’? Maybe. Kids lie to get out of doing shit all the time. Haven’t you ever made fake vomit t’ fool your parents into staying home? And–no offense–but you come off as the gullible type. If I were him, I’d seize all day long to get out of a physical. Consider it a Occam-Schmaccam’s sorta’ thing.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not taking this seriously,” stressed Harold, to which Chad deflected with ease.

“You wanna see the brain scans?” Chad made his way to the back of the room to tap his pen against monitors. “Come on, I’ll point it out to ya’ nice and easy.”

“See that? How that one’s all dim? That’s an epileptic brain. It’s an irregular firing of electricity, like a power outage. Alvin's on the other hand…”

His pen made circles around the monitor before tapping again, making little clinking noises on the glass. “It’s night an’ day. This kid’s a Christmas tree compared to that brain. Granted, there’s some suppression, similar to a panic attack or a bout of intense stress—but you can’t tell me that’s epilepsy. You would hafta’ be a complete dolt to do so.”

Harold’s heart sank at the evidence. He could feel his face flush from humiliation, but a spark of a rebuttal popping into his head.

“What if it’s an allergy? You can’t just overlook that.”

Chad crossed his arms and cocked his head. “You’re right, I can’t. But, that’s not my argument. If it is an allergy, then correct it. I don’t like watchin’ him seize—it freaks me out. All I’m saying is that it won’t have any impact on his integration, so it’s no longer my problem. You see, Clyde? We’re on the same page for once.”

Harold shut himself up, grasping the flaps of his long white coat and heading out the door.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Clyde,” Chad called out. “It’s not a competition.”

The door slammed shut, and all was soon quiet.