I’ve spent seventeen nights in the hospital this past year alone.
I’ve been to visit my doctor more times than that. Since the day I was born, I’ve been at appointments to check my health more times than I’ve gone grocery shopping.
And I’m sick of it.
Sometimes when I arrive at my doctor’s office, I sit there and stare at the building, wondering what would happen if I drove away and never went back. What would happen if I stopped having tests administered? What would happen if I stopped receiving treatment for every single cold I’m afflicted with?
I’d get pneumonia. That’s what would happen. Then I would die. At least I’d never have to go back to a doctor’s office.
The nurse takes the blood pressure cuff off my arm. “It’s a tad high.”
“I had a lot of sodium for breakfast.” I pull my sleeve back down. My blood pressure is high because I’m here. At the doctor. They call it white-coat syndrome. Any time I have my blood pressure checked inside a doctor’s office, it’s high because of nerves. But outside of a doctor’s office, it’s fine.
I lick my lips, trying to moisten them. My mouth is dry from the nervous energy of being here. I don’t want to be here. But here I am. No turning back now.
The nurse hands me a gown and tells me I can change when she leaves the room. I look down at the gown and cringe.
“Is this necessary?” I ask, holding up the gown.
She nods. “It’s a requirement. We’ll probably run a few tests today and your chest needs to be easily accessible.”
I nod and watch as she slips my chart in the door slot and starts to pull it shut. She smiles reassuringly. “Doctor will be in shortly,” she says. She has a look of pity about her, like she wants to hug me. I get that a lot. Especially from the really sweet nurses. I remind them of when they were in their formative years, young and vibrant and full of life. And they try to imagine themselves in my shoes at this age, and their eyes fill with pity for me. I’m used to it. Sometimes I even pity myself, but I don’t think that’s related to the
illness. I think, as humans, we all have a degree of self-pity.
I blow out a breath, more nervous than I’ve ever been to be in a doctor’s office. My hands are shaking when I pull off my shirt. I hurry up and put on the gown and then sit on the exam table. It’s cold in here, so I rub my hands over my arms, fighting the chills. I press my knees together and then squeeze them with my hands, trying my best not to think about the reason I’m here. I sweat when I’m nervous. I don’t want to be sweaty.
I feel my chest tighten, and then my throat becomes itchy and I start to cough. I cough so hard, I have to stand up and walk over to the sink to balance myself. There’s a knock on the door in the middle of one of my coughing fits, and I turn around to find the nurse peeking her head in.
“You okay?”
I nod, still coughing. She walks over to the sink and takes a cup and then fills it with water. But I don’t need more liquid in my throat right now. I take the cup and thank her, but I wait until my coughing subsides before I take a sip. She leaves the room again. I walk back over to the exam table, and as soon as I sit, there’s another knock at the door.
This is it.
The door begins to open and my heart starts to pound so hard; I’m relieved no one is checking my blood pressure at the moment. He flips my chart open before he looks up. He pauses as soon as he opens it, probably because he’s shocked to see my name on the chart.
I knew he’d be surprised. Hell, I’m surprised I worked up the courage to come here.
Jake immediately lifts his head and looks at me. I realize there are probably much better ways to reach out to him, but I feel like my undeniable attraction should be just as dramatic as my denial of him was. I still feel a little guilty for how we left things a few days ago. But since he walked out my front door, I’ve done nothing but mope, because the time we spent together was so good. Fun. Easy. I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Especially his parting words.
“I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”
I’ve flip-flopped all week about this. Sure, he was just making me breakfast. But when a good-looking doctor cooks you breakfast, that breakfast turns into lunch and then dinner and then breakfast again, and then trips together on the weekends and then grocery shopping together, and then all that eventually turns into being the emergency contact at the hospital.
So yeah, he was just cooking me breakfast. But because of how much I like him, that’s not where it would have ended. And the idea of him feeling forced to care for me makes me sad to think about.
But on the other hand, I can’t stop thinking about him. And when I think about him, I get this empty pit in my stomach that distracts me and makes
everything I want out of life seem to pale in comparison to the thought of spending time with him. But the idea of setting ourselves up for emotional investment just makes me sad since I know it won’t end well. So what do I do? What choice do I make? Avoid him and be sad? Or embrace him and be sad?
Either way, I’ll be sad.
So…here I am. Faking a need to see a cardiologist just so I can let him know I overreacted. And also to let him know that bungee jumping alone just sounds boring.
I can see the surprise on Jake’s face, but he holds it in well. He glances at my chart again. “According to this, you’re here because you’re experiencing excessive heart palpitations.”
I can see the grin he stifles before looking back at me. I nod. “Something like that.”
Jake’s eyes scan me from head to toe for a moment, and then he sets the chart on the counter and pulls his stethoscope to his ears. He straddles the stool and sits, rolling toward me.
“Let’s take a listen.”
Oh, God. I’m not really having heart palpitations. He knows it was just an excuse to show up here. Now he’s about to listen to my heart just to be an ass because he knows I’m nervous right now. And it’s going to be beating stupid fast because he’s even better looking today with his white coat and stethoscope, straddling a rolling chair. If he actually listens to my heartbeat right now, he might call for a defibrillator.
He rolls his chair right up to the exam table. Right up to me. We’re eye to eye now as he lifts the stethoscope and places it over my heart. He closes his eyes and lowers his head as if he’s actually concentrating on my heartbeats.
I close mine because I have to calm down. Him listening to my heartbeat is making me completely transparent. I keep my eyes closed, even when he pulls the stethoscope away from me. There’s a quiet pause, and then in a low voice, he says, “What are you doing here, Maggie?”
I glance up at him, and his eyes are searching mine. I suck in a deep breath and then slowly release it before saying, “I’m trying to live in the moment.”
He sighs, and he’s so stoic right now, I can’t tell if it’s a good sigh. But then I feel his hand on my knee, his thumb brushing over the top of it. He searches my face and then reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s all I want,” he says. “A few moments here and there. I’m not asking for your entire timeline.”
I stare at him, completely infatuated with his mouth and his blue eyes and the words that he just said. I nod a little, but I don’t really have anything to say. I just want him to kiss me. And so he does.
He takes my face in both of his huge, warm hands and presses his lips to mine as he stands, kicking the stool away from him. I sigh against his lips. I grip the collar of his white coat and take his tongue as he pushes my knees apart and slides in front of me. I’m so thankful I was forced to put this gown on. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist as he lowers me to the exam table and leans over me, kissing me with extreme urgency. But he breaks that kiss with the same urgency seconds later, breathing heavily, looking down on me with heated eyes. He shakes his head. “Not here.”
I nod. I wasn’t expecting this to happen here. I can tell he’s about to pull back, but then he pauses, looking at me with so much hunger, I can practically see his ethics melt right to the floor. He kisses me again, and the way his hand is sliding up my thigh has me forgetting that he’s a doctor and we’re in a clinic and I’m technically on record as his patient now. But none of that matters because his hands feel so good, and his mouth even better, and I’ve never had so much fun visiting a doctor before.
He’s making his way to my neck when he pauses and glances at the door. He immediately pulls me up, giving my gown a quick tug over my thighs. He spins toward the sink and turns on the water.
The door opens, and I swing my head toward the nurse who is now standing in the doorway. Jake is casually washing his hands, trying to pretend he didn’t just have his hand halfway up my thigh and his tongue all the way down my throat. I’m trying to catch my breath, but his hands and his kiss have left my already weak lungs aching for air. I’m practically gasping.
The nurse gives me another concerned, pitiful look. “You sure you’re okay?”
After my coughing fit earlier and now this, she probably thinks I’m near my deathbed. I nod quickly. “I’m fine. Just…shitty lungs. Side effect of CF.”
I hear Jake clear his throat, attempting to cover a laugh. He gives his full attention to the nurse.
“They need you in three,” she says. “Kind of urgent.” Jake gives her a nod. “Thanks, Vicky. Be right there.”
When she closes the door, Jake covers his face with his hand. When he looks up at me, he’s grinning. He pushes off the counter and walks past but turns toward me. “Put your clothes back on, Maggie,” he says, backing toward the door. “I’ll come over tonight and take them right back off.”
I’m smiling so stupidly when he leaves the room. I hop off the table and walk over to the chair to retrieve my clothes. Feeling another coughing fit coming on, I cover my mouth, still unable to stop smiling. I’m so glad I showed up here.
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. Pressing my hand on the counter for more balance doesn’t do anything either because here it is. Hello, old friend. I can feel it about to happen before it actually happens. I always do.
As soon as the room begins to spin, I allow my knees to buckle so the impact isn’t as hard when I hit the floor.
