Despite having written a bunch of experimental stories, this is the first time I am trying writing in female first person, so kindly excuse me if I am terrified of how it turns out.
Votes and comments are welcome to let me know how well I did/spectacularly I failed.
Thanks to Eliya, who has made the medical jargon in the story authentic. Any further discrepancies are due to me taking undue liberties despite her better advice.
"You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly."
- Sam Keen
* *
We sit on adjacent seats in the waiting room of Dr Li's office. The seats are comfortably padded for those awaiting their turn. A quick look around reveals more patients and would be patients. Over time, I have grown accustomed to seeing the same set of looks. Some resigned to their fates, others vaguely hopeful. I have spent much of the last few years in waiting rooms like this one.
It's not as bad today. I can almost walk unsupported. My limbs are weak , but not as much as other days. I like the padded armrest on the chairs here. Most doctors are satisfied by having minimal furniture and I have grown used to the cold metallic feeling of the cheap seats.
Not Dr Li. The waiting room is tastefully decorated. Art, photographs and the obligatory few drug adverts adorn his walls. Enya can be heard faintly in the background, a refreshing change from the irritating chimes in other such rooms.
A boy sits on the opposite side of the room. He looks no older than ten and is engrossed in the first comic he found on the rack beside him. I patiently wait for him to look up and meet my gaze. He smiles weakly.
Kids shouldn't have to be in rooms awaiting diagnoses, but they do lift some of the bleakness. I always try to make a young friend while waiting for yet another attempt to determine my fate.
A hand grips mine. I look to see Sloan has returned with coffee. She has her red hair tied neatly behind her head. It makes her look older than she is. I've occasionally teased her about how she has the fashion sense of my grandmother.
"The doctor will see you now," says the receptionist.
Not letting go of my hand, Sloan guides me inside the office. It is considerably smaller than I expected. Or maybe it looks smaller because of the deep brown walls which segue into mahogany carved shelves stacked to the brim with books. A man in a white coat with a receding hairline sits in a plush recliner behind an ornate desk.
"Have a seat," he says, rapidly entering keystrokes on his desktop.
"Doctor Montgomery, I presume," he asks looking up for the first time. She nods.
"Then this is..." he says, glancing back at the screen.
"Mia Soros," I squeeze out of my dry throat. "I'm the sick one. You can tell."
"Doctor Fraser called me up specifically about your case. I've known her for over thirty years and this is the first time I have seen her unable to come up with a diagnosis."
"Which is why we're here, aren't we?" says Sloan. "Did Dr Fraser send over all her test results from Johns Hopkins?"
"She did and I got your mail too. You've burnt through a truly impressive list of doctors before me."
"Well, you've seen the list of symptoms, the episodic nature of whatever this is. She's been diagnosed ten times with hardly a change. She's getting weaker, her immune system is all over the map, her liver panel is consistently inconsistent. No therapy has improved her condition for more than a few months."
Dr Li looks perplexed. He scans through the test results on his screen. Sloan takes out a binder and places it on his desk.
"The weakness is the most debilitating symptom but she's started getting fevers more often which are not connected to any focus infection we can identify. She's nauseated and exhausted more often than not. And I can't tell if her lack of focus is neurological or just a side effect of how weak she is. Here is my copy of her records. I've grouped them into separate files from Langone, Mount Sinai and Mass General. They detail her admission records, treatment plans and her symptoms at the time, as well as my notes from the interim."
He takes out one folder and browses the first few pages to get an idea of what he's up against.
"Most of this information is in her records but I appreciate the way you've organized this. Dr Fraser speaks highly of your practice."
"I haven't worked in some time, Doctor. I'm at home with Mia, where I should be."
There is a moment of silence.
"I'm begging you, please tell me what's wrong with my Mia."
Just for the briefest instance, I see Sloan crack. The weight of carrying around a polite façade finally proves to be too much and she lets a sliver of emotion creep through her defences. Her voice quivers slightly.
I find the strength to close my fingers around her palm. I'm grasp her as firmly as my tired muscles will allow and whisper "It's okay."
"I'm sorry," she says, regaining her composure.
"No problem. Is she still on the regiment Dr Fraser prescribed?"
"Yes," replies Sloan. "I administer her IV's and other medications myself. In addition, we do have a nurse and a physiotherapist."
"I'm a doctor myself," she goes on. "But of course I can't treat Mia. She's my wife. It's frustrating, Dr Li, watching her suffer and being powerless to do anything. So I'm her primary caregiver, but not her doctor. You come up with the treatment plan and I'll make sure she follows it."
"That's not a problem, Doctor Montgomery. You're here because Doctor Fraser believes this is an autoimmune reaction we haven't seen before. We have to do a more thorough investigation of her antibody titers."
"You believe that? Her white blood cell count dips every few months and it doesn't correspond to a worsening of her condition, just leaves her open to infection. She's been hospitalized thrice with pneumonia just the last twelve months."
"I can't say for certain yet, but I've spoken with Doctor Fraser and I agree that we must exhaust any genetic abnormality before we consider other possibilities."
"And what possibilities might those be?"
"That is not for me to posit just yet." He looks at me uneasily. "I know this is difficult. Is it possible to speak with you alone, Doctor Montgomery?"
"Mia knows all about caregiver burnout, Doctor. As do I. But I am determined and I expect the same from you."
"You are an example to us all, Doctor," he says, looking over her notes. "Her white cell count has been stable for a few weeks now. You are following Doctor Fraser's regiment?"
"Yes," replies Sloan. "Though I'm concerned about boosting her immune system if what you are suggesting might be true."
"It is a fine balance, but as you've noted, the lack of one can be equally devastating on her health. We will take blood today and I will be in touch next week if any of the labs show promise of a diagnosis. I'd also like to present her case to some of my team. If things are inconclusive then I will be in Manhattan next month and we can do a bone marrow biopsy there so that you don't have to bring Mia all the way back up here.
"She'll be a challenge," Dr Li concludes. "But her case is complex and I plan to devote much of my attention to it, I can promise you that."
"Thank you, Doctor," she says. "Before we go, I wanted to speak with you about neoplastic possibilities as well."
It takes only a minute or so of the nitty-gritty of my condition for me to zone out. I've already heard enough polysyllabic medical terms to last me a lifetime.
My hand stays firmly clasped in hers. It's important.
