Rosalie relaxed just a fraction, her fingers just slightly too tight on the steering wheel. She slipped back into French, since it was easier to talk that way about it- less open, although no one else was there to hear besides him. "Not since I was born, no," she told him. Although Rosalie's medical understanding was generally limited to bandages and different, emergency-related things, she spoke with enough resigned confidence that it was apparent that this subject was one that she knew. "It's a genetic disorder, probably, but it doesn't show up right away. I was eleven when it started getting bad. It took a year or so for anyone to realize that there was an actual reason to it and get diagnosed."
His reasons for asking would have made little sense to her had she known them, so she paused there, glancing at him from the side. "Qu'est-ce que tu veux savoir?" She didn't want to give him her life's story.