Chapter Five
"Good morning, Miss Brighton."
The moment she stepped inside his office, Dr. Ambrose greeted her with a kind smile, gesturing for her to take a seat across the desk from him.
"Good morning," she murmured, then cleared her throat. This wasn't the time for staying quiet. Now that she was finally here, it was time to speak up, to tell him everything, and hopefully, to finally find out what was going on with her.
"Now then, since we haven't met before, I'd like to make sure that I have all your history," he said warmly, before glancing at his computer screen. "I see that you've filled out all the forms, but…" He frowned slightly before turning back to her. "You didn't provide much medical history."
She dropped her gaze. "That's because I don't have any." She looked up at him slowly, feeling inadequate.
"Well then, not to worry. Let's start where we are, why don't we? What brings you here today?"
"I…" She shrugged. "I haven't been feeling well for a while. Tired and just run down, really, I guess."
He nodded. "Well, since this is a getting-to-know-each-other session, why don't we go through everything? What does tired and run down look like—physically? And how long has it been going on?"
She sat up a little straighter. There was no point in coming if she didn't tell him the truth. "Probably for the better part of a year, I've been feeling more and more tired." She looked down at herself. "I’ve lost weight and I can't seem to put any back on."
When she didn't continue, he rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, still smiling. "Okay, that's a good start. Mind if I take over? It's sometimes easier to answer questions than to remember and list all the details yourself."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. "Yes, please. I think that'd help."
"All right then. So, we have the fatigue and the weight loss. Any headaches?"
"Yes."
"How often?"
"A lot."
"How many times a week?"
She shrugged. "Maybe three or four."
"And any dizziness?"
"Sometimes." She caught herself and gave him a smile. "Not as often as the headaches. Maybe once a week."
"And with the dizziness, do you faint?"
She pressed her lips together. "I did once or twice, but I haven't for a while. Probably not the last couple of months."
"Right. And forgive me for saying, but you look a little pale. Is that your normal coloring?"
"Not really, I…" She sighed. "I know I'm paler than usual and have been for a while."
"And coming back to the fatigue—how would you describe that? Feeling tired? Sleepy? Or do you mean fatigue in a physical sense, that you get fatigued easily? Any breathlessness on exertion?"
"All of them, really. I fall asleep a lot—even when I'm not supposed to. I'm always tired, every day, and sometimes I get breathless." When he smiled, she added, "Maybe once a week again?"
"Okay. And your monthly cycle—has that been affected? Are your periods heavier or lighter? Regular?"
"They've been heavier. Quite a bit heavier." That was one of the things that worried her the most.
"Right. And have you had any infections? More than usual?"
She made a face. "I have. Zia and I seem to have caught every cold and bug that's been going. Although we've been doing better for a month or two now. Zia’s my daughter."
"And the fatigue—is it getting worse?"
"I don't think so, not really. But then…" She should probably tell him that life had been a little different for her these last few weeks—since she and Zia had been staying with Charles.
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
"I haven't been working as much lately. I… we're staying with some friends, and they've been taking care of us."
He smiled. "That brings me to my next question, about your diet."
She finally relaxed a little. "I've been eating much better recently. Lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. Good food." She nodded to herself. Faye had been making sure that she ate well.
Dr. Ambrose smiled. "That's good to hear. And your daughter—how old is she?"
"She's six."
"That's a wonderful age."
"She's a wonderful little person."
"Okay, well. Do you want to hop up on there, so that I can give you a look over?"
She went and perched on the edge of the exam table, gripping the edge of it tightly as he approached.
"There's no need to be nervous. All I'm going to do is check your eyes, take a look at your nails. I'd like to feel your abdomen. And then we'll see. How does that sound?"
She nodded mutely.
"Want to pull down your lower eyelid for me, so I can take a peek in there?"
She did as he asked.
"And your nails?"
She held her hands out, and he examined her fingernails. She didn't know what that was about.
"Thank you. And I need to check your abdomen."
She sat up a little straighter as he gently pressed against her stomach. She watched his face, but it didn't give anything away.
"Thank you. And now I'd like to check your neck."
She closed her eyes and tensed as he felt her neck, checking her lymph nodes. Her heart rate picked up when he asked her to raise her arms so that he could check her armpits too. Next, he felt along her collarbone.
She could barely breathe. She'd read online what this was about. Swollen lymph nodes could be a sign of…
She couldn't finish that thought. She refused to. But that didn't stop her hands from shaking as she joined them together in her lap when he was done.
"Let's move back to the desk, shall we?"
They both moved back to their chairs, and she stared at him as he rested his elbows on it and leaned forward with that same kind smile.
"What do you think's wrong with me?" she blurted out.
"Well, Miss Brighton, there are a lot of things that can cause your symptoms." He seemed to hesitate—only for a moment, but it was there, she was sure—before he added, "And most of them are very fixable."
Her breathing stopped. Most of them. What was he trying to say?
She tried to focus on his words as he continued. "I don't want to guess. What we need to do is find out. So, I'd like to run a full blood panel. Blood count, iron, B12, thyroid, and a few other things. Does that sound all right to you?"
She nodded mutely.
"Okay, well, we can get that done while you're here today. And then I'd like to see you back in a week, when we have the results." She finally remembered to breathe again—until he added, "Sooner, if anything comes back that we need to talk about."
She stared at him, unable to make herself speak.
"Do you have any questions?"
She shook her head. She had a million of them, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get them out.
"Okay, then." He turned to his screen again. "Before you go, though—I understand that you don't have much medical history of your own. Nothing documented that you can share. But I see that you didn't fill out any of the information about family history either."
He didn't ask the question, just raised his eyebrows.
"I… I don't know it. I don't remember my parents. I was raised by my aunt. She…" She swallowed. "The last time I saw her was seven years ago. I know she died a couple of years ago, but I don't know what of."
She avoided his gaze, not wanting to see pity in it. Or to have to explain any of it.
"All right then. That's not a problem. I just wanted to make sure that we had all the available information. When you go back out front, Clara can see about getting your bloodwork done. And I'll see you again soon."
When she finally dared look at him, there was neither judgment nor pity in his gaze. Only kindness.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Ambrose," she said as she got to her feet.
He rose and led her to the door. "You're most welcome. We'll see you again soon."
~ ~ ~
After Alara had gone in, Reaves chatted with Clara for a while. She'd worked here for as long as he could remember. He hadn't told Alara yet, but Henry Ambrose was a close friend of his dad's, and he'd been their family practitioner for most of Reaves's life.
When Clara got busy on the phone and then disappeared into the back, Reaves picked up a magazine, but he couldn't focus on it.
Setting it back down, he took his phone out, but there was no one he wanted to talk to.
Instead, he scrolled through his camera roll, smiling at photos of Zia and his dad he'd taken the other evening, when the two of them were watering the sunflowers down the side of the house.
He looked up when Clara came back out through the door behind her desk.
"Your friend shouldn't be much longer now," she told him.
He wanted to ask what was going on, what was taking so long. But he didn't. Alara would tell him as much as she wanted him to know when she came out.
The minutes dragged by and he was starting to reconsider—would it really be so wrong of him to ask?
A moment later, the door that led to the treatment rooms opened, and Alara came out. He quickly got to his feet and hurried to meet her, before forcing himself to slow down. It wasn't as though he could give her a hug, even though he wanted to. By the look of her, she could use a hug.
"How did it go?" he asked, when she didn't say anything.
She nodded. "Fine. It was fine."
Fine was the last word he'd use to describe her. She looked kind of gray. Her shoulders were set, and there was a cotton ball taped to the inside of her elbow.
"He took some blood," she said when she saw him looking. "I have to come back in a week."
"Okay." He held her gaze, hoping that she'd give him something more. But she just shrugged before turning to Clara. "Do I need to make an appointment?"
"I'll give you a call to set it up, once we have the results."
Alara stiffened at his side. When she opened her mouth, but no words came out, Reaves stepped in.
"Thanks, Clara. We'll see you next week."
He put his hand at the small of Alara's back and guided her outside. Once they were back at his Land Cruiser, he opened the door for her.
"Are you all right? You look pale."
"I am. I'm fine, thanks." She climbed in without looking at him.