There was a low hum of assent from the doctor I’d been seeing for the past few months, since my previous cardiologist had left the institute. Dr. Palmer was young, new, and up to dateon all the latest techniques. He was also like a dog with a bone about one issue in particular.
“Yes, well, considering we didn’t hear back from you last week, I thought I would call myself this time to check on your decision about the ablation. As I said at your last appointment, time is really of the essence here, and?—”
“I know,” I blurted out. “But I’ve been getting along all right with meds. Can’t I just do that longer until things pick up?”
“I’m sorry, Laney. But I can’t in good faith recommend that as your provider. Per our discussion, your arrhythmic episodes are occurring more frequently and with more intensity. Frankly, I would have recommended the procedure when you were first diagnosed, and I don’t understand how you’ve gone this long without it.”
Because I’m terrified, I thought, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to cry, even though I knew the doctor couldn’t see me.Because I watched the person I love most in the world get sicker and sicker and sicker in a hospital and never get better.
Because people who go into those places don’t come out of them.
My last doctor had been frustrated with my phobia, but he’d understood it. After all, I’d only been diagnosed with WPW when I was in high school—right before Mom had gotten sick. It was treatable with medication and breathing exercises, but only for the short term, he’d warned me. As soon as my mom was better, I’d need the surgery.
Except she hadn’t gotten better.
And so, I’d never gotten the surgery.
And now I just… couldn’t.
“I really can’t do it right now,” I said, bracing myself for the argument I knew was coming.
“Laney, I really can’t?—”
“I don’t have good insurance anymore,” I blurted out. “I had to let it—it doesn’t matter. The point is that after last month, I had to reduce my coverage to catastrophic only. I’ll be paying for our appointments and all my meds out of pocket until I’m able to get my business back on its feet, but until then, I won’t be covered for any kind of procedures until I experience some kind of, well, catastrophe, that lands me in the hospital.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I see.”
“I know it’s not ideal,” I went on. “But it’s what I have to do right now. I hope you understand, but I need to manage this for just a bit longer.”
I thought I heard a long sigh. Dr. Palmer was passionate about his patients, but he was good at hiding it when he needed to.
“Laney, why don’t you come in next week to discuss the matter further,” he said. “There may be programs at the Institute that can help you afford this.”
“Oh no, really, I?—”
“I insist,” he said gently. “I won’t charge you for the appointment. But before I’m willing to write any more prescriptions or develop another treatment plan, it’s important that we have an extended conversation about the risks and go overallyour options. Agreed?”
I sighed. There was no getting out of this. “All right. Agreed. Thanks, Dr. Palmer.”
“I have Tuesday at six-thirty available after my regular clinic hours are finished. Does that work for you?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
I ended the call and rubbed my face with my hands. A handsome face with a chiseled jaw, once-broken nose, and crooked smile appeared, as they did whenever I had closed my eyes recently. Right along with that curl begging to be tugged over his forehead.
Ronan and I hadn’t even talked once over the last week, only occasionally trading a text here and there. I assumed it was because waking up married to a nobody was fundamentally awkward, and also that it would probably take more than a few days for his lawyers to get the annulment squared away.
I wasn’t in a hurry. Every time I thought about him, my heart seemed to squeeze a little. Not in a way that was unpleasant, but it was certainly disconcerting.
The world (or at least my phone) seemed to be in tune with my state of mind, because once again, the screen lit up with the very subject of my thoughts.
Ronan
How’s my wonderful wife doing this fine Friday evening?
He liked calling me his wife. He also liked alliteration and either had a big vocabulary or a good thesaurus. So far, I’d been textually addressed as “my beloved bride”, “my superlative spouse”, and “my marvelous missus,” just to name a few. My favorite was “resplendent rib” purely for the allusion, but I’d never give him the satisfaction.
Because, despite the fact that nothing he ever said was anything short of complimentary, I couldn’t tell if I was in on whatever joke he was making or somehow the butt of it. Was Ronan flirting? Or trying to get me to flirt just to toss me aside? Was he trying to put me at ease or make me even more uneasy?