Chapter 39 Skylar
Skylar
By the time I’m done with my telehealth appointment with Dr. Richardson, my hands are shaking. They always shake when I leave a doctor’s office, but it’s usually because I feel awful about myself.
This doctor treated me with respect. Listened to me. Answered my questions. Didn’t bring up my weight. He also gave me answers. For the first time in five years, answers.
I hurry outside. I’m late to meet the girls for lunch. I knew I’d need support after today’s appointment regardless of the outcome, but I never thought we’d be celebrating.
Happy tears spill down my cheeks. I’m so overwhelmed. And there’s someone I need to tell before Emy and Analia.
I haven’t spoken about anything of substance with Pike since we broke up, but surely medical news is different. One short phone call won’t scream, I miss you so much it hurts.
I dial his number.
It rings once. Twice. Three—
“Hello?”
My heart stops. I almost forget to breathe.
“Skylar?” His voice is low, deep, and so familiar it makes my stomach twist. “Are you okay?”
“I—uh, yeah.” My voice is small, not at all what I intended. “Yeah, I’m fine. Hi.”
There’s a beat of silence. Neither of us seems to know how to fill it.
“Hi,” he repeats, a little softer. I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. “What’s going on?”
“I, um…” My mouth goes dry. Hearing his voice again sends an ache straight through me. But I swallow that down. “I wanted to thank you for encouraging me and the girls to meet. They were who I needed at the time, and I’m glad you were able to see that. So, thank you.”
“Of course. I’m glad it worked out.”
“I also have some news. I had my appointment with Dr. Richardson today.”
I’m met with another beat of silence. I wish I could tell him this in person and feel the reassuring weight of his arms around me.
“And?” he prompts gently.
“And…I was right. I do have stenosis—narrowing of the veins that drain the cerebrospinal fluid from my brain into my bloodstream. And it’s severe.”
“That’s…wow. Skylar, that’s huge. I mean—” He pauses. “Not that it’s good that it’s severe, but I’m glad you finally have answers.”
“Me too.” My voice cracks slightly. “What’s more exciting is the stenosis likely isn’t caused by my pressure.
When they did my LP, they drained my CSF beforehand to see if my veins opened up again or not.
They didn’t, so Dr. Richardson thinks it’s from damage inside the veins—arachnoid granulations. ”
He’s quiet again, and I can almost picture him processing the information. Pike’s never one to react impulsively. He thinks things through, tries to see all the angles.
“What does that mean for you?” he finally asks.
“It means if I get stented, it might stop the intracranial hypertension.” Saying all this out loud makes it feel even more real.
“That’s incredible news.”
The tightness in my chest eases just hearing the support in his voice. But the part of me that misses him, that longs for more than just his support as a friend, aches even more. I try to shake it off.
“Thanks, Pike. It’s a lot to process. I’m hopeful, but brain surgery is—well, brain surgery, you know?”
“I know,” he says softly. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. You’ve got time to think about it, right?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah. I do.”
There’s another silence, but this time, it’s heavier. I can feel the weight of what’s not being said between us hanging in the air. We’re both avoiding it, and maybe that’s for the best. But it’s hard not to feel it.
“How,” I start, and have to clear my throat. “How are you?”
“I’m actually in New York City with Jax and Grace,” Pike says after a moment, and there’s scattered chatter behind him.
The idea of him being away—especially with them—takes me by surprise. Are they just catching up, or is there something more? Mostly, I wonder if he can be himself around them now after their conversations in Whistler, or if he’s still faking being okay.
“Can I call you when I have more time?” he asks.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“No, I’m so glad you called. I really want to hear more—if you want to talk, I mean.”
“I’d like that,” I say, my heart skipping a beat. “I’d like that a lot.”
“I should have some time on Friday.”
“Friday works.”
“Friday it is. And, Skylar?” he says. “You’ve got this. Whatever you decide.”
“Thanks, Pike.” I should hang up, but there’s one more thing I desperately need to say. “Please don’t think you always do the wrong thing, because it’s not true. I’m sorry I let you believe that. You do so many things right.”
“Skylar…”
“Okay,” I whisper. “That’s it. Talk to you soon.”
We hang up, and I stare at my phone, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Friday can’t come soon enough. But for now, it’s enough to know that he’s still there, that he still cares.
With a deep breath, I head toward the bagel shop to meet the girls. There’s so much to think about. While my mom will see no reason not to get the surgery, Emy and Analia understand that every treatment comes with risks that need to be weighed against the potential benefits.
I can see the trolls laughing at me now.
If they thought I was too much before, imagine what they’d say if they heard the words brain surgery.
Or does this finally put me in another category—the pity category, where they no longer mock your health condition but still despair for your loved ones who put up with it?
I don’t want to be in that category either. I just want someone to love me for me.
I start my car.
I love me for me.
And I’ll be okay. Somehow.
I find another number on my phone, one that always makes my stomach churn whenever I call it. I attach my Bluetooth and start driving.
The admin takes me off hold when I’m halfway to Bruegger’s.
“Hello?” I say. “I’d like to leave a message for Dr. Wharton. Yes, I’m a patient.”
I rattle off my name and birth date.
“I see you’re due to schedule your two-month follow-up,” the admin chirps.
“No, I don’t want an appointment. I’d like to leave a message.
That referral Dr. Wharton denied me for a CTV?
Said I just needed to lose weight to cure my condition?
Well, I got the scan. It turns out I have ninety percent bilateral venous sinus stenosis, which is likely causing my intracranial hypertension.
My weight has nothing to do with it. In fact, I’ve had the same narrowing in my veins since Dr. Wharton first did initial scans on me several years ago.
He didn’t even note that on the report. Please let him know he’s fat-shaming and gaslighting his patients.
And, also, that I’ll be reporting him to the board. Thank you, have a nice day.”