8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Meg
O nce they released me from the hospital, I took the rest of the week off even though I felt a little guilty. It wasn’t as if I could say I broke my leg or I actually had a TIA because some doctors thought I did and others didn’t. I wasn’t only confused, I wondered what I did to cause the problem in the first place. Was there anything I could have done differently? Whatever happened, I never wanted to be in that much pain again.
The whole experience had been terrifying. The fact that I actually might have had a small stroke made me think hard about what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I’d been coasting for too long, working in the library, going out with friends, being a doggie mom to Maya. The problem was I wasn’t really taking care of myself , at least not my future. I wanted more out of life than to become an old-maid librarian and lose my identity in my career like my mother. I wanted kids, a husband, and a house with a big garden.
Maybe I had a little PTSD because I didn’t want to drive my car and I sure as hell didn’t want to be a passenger in one. Most of all, I didn’t want to talk to any of my coworkers and try to explain what happened. They’d all think I was nuts.
Maybe I was nuts. Maybe I’d just imagined the whole thing. The vascular guy seemed to think so.
Was Mom imagining things, too?
Holy kamoly, what if we both needed to see psychotherapists?
No wonder my mom abhorred going to doctors. They couldn’t even agree on a diagnosis.
I sat at my home-office desk in a nook of my apartment tucked away behind purple boho curtains depicting the tree of life. Maya, my tiny Chihuahua, curled up on my lap while I scrolled through listings of houses for sale. Perhaps I’d start from the bottom of my goals and work up. At least a girl could dream.
We both startled when my phone beeped with a Facebook voice call. Maybe I wasn’t up to talking with anyone at work, but Lance was a different story. My heart performed a swan dive as I swiped up the icon. “Hello?” I answered, trying not to sound too anxious, too needy, or too excited.
“Hey, Meg. How’re you doing?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
I let out a long sigh as if he’d reached through the line and rubbed my shoulders. “I’m pretty good—wish I could give you a hug.”
“I know, right? I’d love to hug you back.”
I reclined in my chair and put my feet up on my desk, crossing my ankles, scratching my little dog behind the ears. “That sounds delicious.”
“I did some checking and wanted to make sure your doctor gave you a blood thinner.”
“Yes. They’re having me take low dose aspirin and they’ve changed my blood pressure meds.”
“Good. Um…excellent.”
“Are you at work?”
“I’m on break. Why?”
I lowered my feet and clicked the next page of house listings. “You just sound a little distracted is all.”
“Me? I’m never distracted.”
“Of course not,” I agreed, finding a cute little brick house—one I could see the two of us living in, raising kids, growing a vegetable garden. Maybe we could do the whole off-grid solar thing. “Did you know there’s a Moya Clinic branch in La Crosse?” Yeah, I was trying to be stealthy, but also cringing because he just might see through my not-so-innocent question.
“Really? I thought you said you were at Gustafsson Hospital.”
“I was because that’s where Elaine took me,” I explained, even though that’s not why I brought it up. “Have you ever considered moving to Wisconsin?”
Did I really say that out loud? My cringe morphed into a grimace.
“Nah. I’m an Ohio boy through and through.”
“ The Ohio State, huh?” I asked, all but smacking myself upside the head. It was way too early in our relationship to start up any conversations about moving, especially since as of the last night on the ship there was no relationship. Before I could shove my proverbial foot all the way into my mouth, I shut down my web browser and resumed petting my dog .
“So…” I said, changing the subject. “I’ll bet you hate it when people ask you medical questions.”
“Yeah. Pain in the ass…um…except from you, of course.”
“Seriously, you don’t mind?”
“Well, yeah. I’d love to have you in my arms right now,” he repeated.
I didn’t care. I could listen to him repeat himself all day especially if he was talking about giving me a much-needed hug. “There’s no place I’d rather be, too.” I bit the corner of my mouth. “Um…there is one professional question I wanted to ask you if it’s okay.”
“Sure, anything.”
“What do know about FMD?”
“FM what? Huh?”
“Fibromuscular dysplasia.” I’d messaged him about Mom’s CT scan but he hadn’t replied yet. “Anything?”
“How do you spell it?”
Maya started to fuss so I set her down. “F-i-b-r-o-m-u-s-c-u-l-a-r.”
“What was the other? D-something?”
“Dysplasia.”
“Yeah, can you spell that, too?”
Maybe he hadn’t slept well. I was used to people asking me how to spell difficult words, but it was odd to have a doctor ask. Nonetheless, I spelled dysplasia for him, then he asked me to wait while he looked it up on his medical network.
“Just reading about it now,” Lance said. “It’s a rare vascular disorder with twisted and torturous arteries. You don’t have that do you?”
“I don’t think so, but my mom does.”
“Huh,” he mused.
I looked at my phone and shook my head. “Did you get enough sleep last night?”
“Oh, yeah, slept great.”
Well, I couldn’t expect him to be an expert in FMD or even know about it. After all, it was super rare. “That’s good.”
Lance chuckled. “My mother tells everyone I’m the world’s greatest sleeper.”
Interesting. “I guess as an ER doc, you have to nap when you can, right?”
“You got it, Babe.” He cleared his throat. “I sleep on vacay. I’m thinking about cruising to Belize next.”
I mentally added Belize to my bucket list. “That sounds amazing. When?”
“Not sure—got to wait until I can take some time off again.” The sound of a truck engine rumbled over the line. “Hey, I gotta run. Later, Babe.”