Chapter 6
Evie
Why are doctors allowed to say stuff like that? It should be illegal.
“The . . . good news?”
Dr. Ramirez offers a stiff, pursed lipped nod. My chest tightens. “Well, the good news is your back isn’t broken. No breaks or fractures to speak of.”
I exhale through my nose and allow myself to relax into the crisp pillows, though I still feel on edge.
I can sense the other shoe is about to drop judging by the look on Dr. Ramirez’s face.
Plus, I’m in far too much pain for there not to be some kind of deeper issue going on here.
Unless this is all in my head, which I sincerely doubt.
There are a lot of things wrong with my head, but I doubt convincing myself I’m experiencing chronic lower back pain is one of them.
“However . . .” he continues hesitantly, sitting down on the stool in front of the computer.
A pit forms in my stomach as he glides closer to the screen and pulls up an x-ray image of my spine.
“I did notice a slight abnormality in your lower spine—right here.” He pulls a pen from his coat pocket and circles a spot on my spine.
“Do you see that there? That’s an opening in your vertebrae. It’s—”
“An opening?”
He nods, folding his hands across his lap. “It’s more common than you might think.”
“I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “But an opening? What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” he explains, looking apologetic. “Sometimes, people are born with gaps in between the bones of their spine. It’s called spina bifida.”
“Spina bifida?” I’ve cared for clients with spina bifida before, and I would know if I had it. This guy is off his rocker. “I don’t have spina bifida.”
“Maybe not the kind you’re familiar with—which is often a more severe version. Milder forms like this,” he nods at the screen, “often go undiagnosed.” He shrugs. “Some people go their entire lives without even knowing about it.”
A mild form of spina bifida? How does one have a mildly open spine?
I’m getting more and more worked up by the second, and I think Brandon can tell. He presses his hand against my leg, telling me to calm down so this man—a doctor with an inability to get on the patient’s level, clearly—can continue spouting nonsense.
Dr. Ramirez apologizes, sensing my shift toward hysteria. “Let me walk this back. I’ve spotted a small gap in your spine right where it meets your pelvis. This opening could be the result of a milder version of spina bifida.”
“I had no idea there was a milder form of spina bifida.”
He nods, allowing me to absorb this information. “Typically, it doesn’t interfere with the normal function of the spine.”
“Okay, so . . . what do I do? I mean . . . about it?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, and it irritates me. “That depends.”
“On . . . ?”
“The severity of the condition.”
“Okay . . . ?”
Dr. Ramirez shoots a quick, apprehensive glance at Brandon. “Are you in pain normally? Or was the accident when the lower back pain began for you?”
I hesitate, afraid of my own answer.
Dr. Ramirez takes pity on me. “Symptoms of a condition like this could manifest as lower back pain, incontinence, or weakness or numbness in the legs. Perhaps pain in the bowel or genital area.” He gazes at me evenly. “Have you experienced any of these symptoms?”
My mind spins as I gaze down at my complicated lower half. I can feel Brandon watching me, and my cheeks warm. I have experienced all of those symptoms. But I’m not about to talk about my poor bladder control and chronic UTI problems in front of him. No way.
“Evie?” Brandon prompts.
“Huh? I, uh . . .” I scratch the skin below my ear, unsure how to navigate this situation. “I—”
“Back pain,” Brandon interjects, who is now my spokesperson, apparently. “She’s always complaining about her back.”
I glare at him.
Dr. Ramirez nods. “That could very well be related.”
I swallow. “And if it is?”
“Well,” he hedges. “I’d recommend seeing a specialist, like a neurologist. They’ll provide a proper diagnosis and offer more guidance. What do you do for work?”
I shrink back into the bed. I already get enough flack from people about my chosen vocation. I don’t need to add fuel to the fire. “I’m a caregiver.”
“Well, if you’re doing a lot of heavy lifting, that may be what’s aggravating your back. Consider taking some time off, and if that helps—well, then you can reevaluate.”
Grimacing, I tug the scratchy blanket tighter around my body.
I can read between the lines. What he means by that is, find a new job.
I care for people with all kinds of health conditions, and lifting and transferring is a significant part of the gig.
Never in my life did I expect to have a health condition of my own—and one that could interfere with my ability to take care of my clients. Many of whom I love like family.
The revelation makes me want to weep. I love my job. But it’s the people I love the most. What would I do if I couldn’t provide them care anymore? It would crush me. My life is meaningless enough as it is; I can’t lose the one thing that gives me a sense of real purpose.
“Well,” Dr. Ramirez begins, gently patting his legs before rising. “If you don’t have any other questions, we can get your discharge papers drawn up and get you out of here.”
I never said I didn’t have any more questions, but I’m sure he’s busy. And I’m still processing the information he’s just thrust at me so carelessly. Oh, yeah, that? No big deal. Just a hole in your spine. A form of spina bifida—you know, that genetic neural tube defect.
Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to begin if I knew what questions to ask.
“I’d recommend seeing a neurologist at your earliest convenience if the back pain persists. An MRI should give you more insight,” he says flippantly, tucking the swivel chair in.
“Okay . . .”
I look at Brandon for reassurance, feeling like a lost, helpless child for the first time in a long time.
He squeezes my hand before standing. He shakes the doctor’s hand, and they exchange a few pleasantries, but I can no longer hear a word they’re saying.
Something about a referral to the university. A mutual connection of theirs.
It’s like I’m not even here anymore.
And then Dr. Ramirez is gone, leaving my life flipped on its head like my totaled Corolla.