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in a barrage, melding together—Did she worry excessively? Had she experienced symptoms for six months or more? Was she unable to control her worry?
She felt numb, defeated, as she replied with dull affirmatives to far too many of the questions.
One of the med students, a pudgy, earnest guy no older than Tess, reported her case. He stood nervously at the end of the bed, reading notes from a rolling monitor station. “Miss Delaney is a twenty-nine-year-old female, height, sixty-seven inches, weight, one-hundred-nineteen pounds, with no previous history of health issues. She was brought in by...” He consulted the monitor. “A friend or coworker who became worried about her when she exhibited a variety of symptoms, including shortness of breath, elevated heart rate, disorientation, blurred vision....”
She felt like a different person, lying there, or maybe an inanimate item about to be put up for auction. Anyone within earshot could hear her story. The med student reported the replies to her “lifestyle choices” and results of the labs done in the ER. In flat tones, mercifully free of judgment, he told the attending physician that she was underweight and smoked. Her blood pressure and pulse were elevated. A chem panel revealed that she was not on drugs nor was she the victim of poison. The patient reported that she had experienced these symptoms before but never with this intensity.
When the student finished, the attending, an older man, stepped forward. “Your labs are in,” he informed her.
“That’s a relief,” Tess said. Her voice was thin and strained, but at least she was beginning to sound like herself again. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I’m sure you are. However, we do need to discuss the differential diagnosis—”
“The what?”
“Your condition.”
“Condition? I have a condition? I do not have a condition. I have a meeting with—” Her heart sped up, and two of the monitors betrayed her.
A student adjusted her oxygen flow. The doctor wheeled a monitor into view. “I’ll show you the results. There’s nothing physically wrong with you.” He went over her EKG and ultrasound, her blood tests and urinalysis. “However, your symptoms are real, and the good news is, very treatable. Have you ever heard of generalized anxiety disorder? Sometimes referred to as GAD.”
“Anxiety disorder?” She hated the sound of that. “Disorder” applied to her housekeeping habits, not her health. “You mean, I had an anxiety attack?”
“You’ll want to follow up with your primary care physician.”
“I don’t have a doctor,” she said. “Doctors are for sick people.”
“In that case, you’ll want to find one to monitor your condition and help you treat the disorder with lifestyle changes.”
“My lifestyle is fine,” she said, and despite the extra oxygen, the monitor beeped faster. “I have no desire to change it.”
“There are risks—particularly to your heart.”
“My heart?” She swallowed, trying not to freak out again.
“Left untreated, your symptoms could result in heart damage due to cardiovascular stress. There are further tests for cardiovascular disease. Again, I would urge you to take this up with a physician.”
“What are you?” she demanded. “Chopped liver?”
The man had an intractable poker face. “It could be situational. What’s going on in your life?”
It was the first personal question he’d asked her. “Everything,” she said. “I’m missing what’s probably the most important meeting of my career. Some stranger showed up this morning with a crazy story about my... It doesn’t matter. I just need to pull myself together and get out of here.”
“You won’t get far if you don’t deal with this,” he stated. “I have a list of referrals for you. And here’s a pamphlet with some information on panic disorders. There are things you need to start doing right away in order to avoid lasting health effects....”
Wonderful, thought Tess. This was just too good to be true. In the space of a single day, she had found her grandfather, only to be told she was probably on the verge of losing him; she’d been informed that she had a sister she’d never met, and now this.
A Condition.
Five
In the bleak light of the emergency room, Tess put herself back together as best she could. A nurse came into the curtain area with some forms and more literature. His gaze took in her scattered belongings, the now-quiet monitors. She didn’t bother trying to find a mirror; she knew without looking what she’d see—a wrung-out woman with donut powder on her clothes, bed-head and no makeup. Who wanted to see that?
“Is someone coming for you?” asked the nurse.
“What, for me?” Tess frowned. “Nope, don’t think so.” Jude had come along with that guy, with...Dominic. She hadn’t seen either of them since she’d been wheeled into the curtain area next to a guy with matted hair, raving about the apocalypse.
“Maybe you could call someone,” the nurse suggested.
“A taxi,” she said. “That’s all I need.”
He regarded her for a second, then drew the curtain aside. “Good luck. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” She felt slightly dazed, or maybe disoriented. In the waiting area, anxious people sat in molded plastic chairs or paced the tiled floor, clearly anxious for news of their loved ones. A quick scan confirmed that neither Jude nor Dominic had stuck around.
On the one hand, it was a relief to get out of this place. Yet on the other hand, she couldn’t deny the fact that it was kind of depressing, having no one to bring her home from the ER.
Shouldering her heavy bag, she looked for the exit, feeling resolute. She didn’t need anyone. She needed a cigarette in the worst way.
No more smoking. That was in bold type on the doctor’s list.
The hell with him. She was going to find a convenience store. She was going to buy a pack of the nastiest cigarettes she could find and—
“Everything all right?” Dominic Rossi appeared before her. His coat was unbuttoned, his hair mussed, as though he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Waiting for you.”
“Why would you wait for me?”
He regarded her with complete incomprehension. “I brought you here. I’m not about to ditch you.”
She was startled to hear this from a complete stranger. Even Jude had taken off when it was clear she wasn’t knocking on heaven’s door.
“Oh. Well, okay, then. I’m supposed to pick up something from the hospital pharmacy.”
“It’s this way.” He gestured down a gleaming corridor. “I’ll wait here.”
“You don’t—”
“But I will,” he stated simply.
Surrender, Tess, she told herself. For once in your life, let somebody help you. “Be right back,” she mumbled, and went to the pharmacy counter. A few minutes later, laden with more literature and pamphlets, she rejoined Dominic in the hospital lobby. It was hard to believe that only a short time ago, her heart was beating out of her chest. Seeing only concern in his eyes, she felt obligated to explain herself to him. “So it turns out I wasn’t on the verge of dying. I don’t know what came over me. Or rather, I suppose now I do. The doctor says I had a panic attack. I just thought it was an adrenaline rush. But it turns out it’s some kind of...disorder. How embarrassing.”
“That’s