Chapter 59
HANNAH
The nurse named Amy checks my weight, marking down the results on a clipboard. I’m afraid to look at the scale, afraid to see my lapse in keeping up with my health, and she accuses me with a bony finger. Yelling at me for not sticking with my regimen and failing.
Instead, she smiles and escorts me to room three, going over my vitals, right down to the stupid blood pressure cuff that makes my arm feel like it’s going to explode.
Amy gives me a hospital gown and draws back the curtain, letting me know that Dr. Ghoshel will be in shortly.
I strip down to my underwear, leaving the back exposed, and sit on the crinkly paper, swinging my legs back and forth.
My pulse quickens while I wait, letting my thoughts run rampant, my phone hiding under my pile of clothes on the corner chair—the entire ride into the city, not a single response from Noah.
I smack my forehead, realizing I never canceled our practice, and I’m about to get my phone, when a light knock stills my movements.
Dr. Ghoshel peeks her head around the curtain, giving me a kind smile. “Hello, Hannah, how are you?”
“Not bad, a little tired,” I confess. Okay, more than tired. I’m fucking exhausted.
She takes a seat at the computer and types away, while I give her the rundown of how I’m feeling. When I tell her my period is late, she clicks away on the mouse, most likely finding my recent test results.
She states that my blood pressure is good; however, my weight has fluctuated, putting me closer to the line of pre-diabetic.
It’s my test results that raise the most concern. My A1C levels went back up, putting me back at a 6.1, which explains the delay with my menstrual cycle.
My heart sinks in my chest, and I scold myself for going so off script and getting distracted by other things and people—one singular person.
“It would be ideal to put you back on metformin,” she says, touching my breasts as I lie there, making sure no unusual lumps have taken form.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, threatening to fall. How goddamn embarrassing.
She can sense my inner turmoil and continues the full body examination in silence, having me bend over to check my spine, right down to listening to my heart.
Dr. Ghoshel rolls her chair and sits in front of my legs. “Hannah… It’s okay to feel discouraged.”
Jesus, Doc, must you call me out like that? Tears spill, landing on my exposed knees. “I don’t want the medicine.”
“Although I can advise you, I can’t force you.
Hannah, I’m going to recommend a nutritionist, okay?
I think if you want to continue on your own, it would be a good idea to get one, at least to steer you toward the right foods to help combat PCOS.
Sugar is your biggest enemy, and the nutritionist can help with alternatives. ”
“They’re not going to force me to eat like a rabbit, right?” I hiccup in between tears.
She shakes her head and laughs. “No, Hannah. They’ll help with a food plan that better suits your individual needs.”
Dr. Ghoshel puts in a referral to a nutritionist; luckily, she’s in the same building. I get dressed, then check my messages, finding them stale, and worry that Noah took my “just sex” comment to heart.
I can lie all I want, but it stings, it really does, knowing that I might’ve hurt his feelings. Heck, I’m pretty sure I hurt my own. Noah is unexpectedly someone I want to lean on, but my walls won’t allow it. The higher it’s built, the harder it is to climb and take refuge in my heart.
I can’t bear another mistake or another heartbreak.
And I think Noah is capable of being both.