Saving Meghan(25)

Becky never shared her self-doubts with Carl, because she feared he’d question every time she took Meghan to the doctor’s for run-of-the-mill childhood stuff: stomach flu, bad colds, and coughs. He’d call her overly anxious. He’d pressure her to admit she was trying to work through her unresolved childhood trauma or the devastating loss of their firstborn, or even inventing illnesses to keep Meghan in the safety of the medical system.

“I’m sorry it upsets you to hear me say it,” Carl said, “but I have to be honest. I’m beginning to wonder if you truly want Meghan to get well.”

Without her even realizing it, Becky’s hand lifted and swung toward Carl’s face. She slapped his cheek with her open palm. The smack made a loud sound that brought a deeper hush to an already tensely quiet waiting room. Carl rubbed gingerly at the spot where Becky had struck him with a stunned expression.

“Feel better?” he asked. His hooded eyes grew shades darker.

“You’re an asshole.”

Carl leaned toward her. Fearing retaliation, Becky pulled away.

“Tell me you don’t need the attention, that you haven’t become addicted to it. That you’re not like Cora.”

“That’s crazy, and you know it.”

“Then tell me. Convince me. Because I think you’ve learned so much about medicine that it’s made you paranoid. You think any cough is tuberculosis and a rash is scarlet fever.”

“What about Dr. Fisher’s mitochondrial diagnosis? You think he made that up?”

“The tests were inconclusive,” Carl reminded her.

“Well, then, do you think Meghan faked fainting?” Becky asked.

Carl gave it some thought. “I think it’s possible she believed she had to faint,” he said. “Because it’s what we’ve come to expect of her.”

Becky had to look away. When she looked back at him, her eyes were flooded with tears. “And you think I put those expectations in her head?” Her voice trembled slightly.

Carl was quiet for a moment. His renovation business had taught him to think first before speaking because often what he said was taken as a verbal commitment. “I think it’s a possibility, yes,” he eventually offered. “I’m not saying you’ve done it intentionally. I’m asking if we’ve created a self-fulfilling prophecy here.”

We. Whatever Carl believed, at least he was implying they were in it together.

“Maybe Meghan believes if she’s not sick, she doesn’t have a purpose. It’s how she gets attention from us. Isn’t that what your mother taught you?”

Yes, thought Becky. She taught me how to get attention. Taught me how to play the game.

Before Becky could respond, Dr. Fisher entered the waiting room. Becky studied Dr. Fisher’s expression as he approached, probing for signs that he was about to break her heart with devastating news. To her eyes, he looked deathly worried, his brow furrowed into deep creases, concern etched everywhere. Her thoughts tumbled with possibilities derived from her vast medical knowledge.

Crohn’s disease … pancreatitis … kidney stones … cancer …

“Meghan seems to be doing fine,” Dr. Fisher began.

Becky blinked, and Dr. Fisher’s expression no longer seemed quite so alarming. In fact, his countenance was rather affable and suggested more concern for the parents than for the patient. Carl’s accusation continued to worm about in Becky’s head. Was she imagining symptoms that weren’t really there?

“However, I’m concerned,” Dr. Fisher continued. “Let’s go where we can speak in private.”

They followed Dr. Fisher in silence to a meeting room just beyond the entrance to the ER. On the walk, Becky stopped second-guessing herself and felt a stab of anger for letting Carl get to her the way he had.

He’s so selfish, she thought. He doesn’t want a health crisis, because it takes away from him, his time, his business, his damn hobbies. He wants it over with so that his life can cruise along the way it did before.

Becky kept those thoughts private as she settled into a cushioned seat beside Carl.

“I don’t know what’s causing Meghan’s stomach cramps or blurred vision,” Dr. Fisher said. “I’m honestly a bit baffled by the rapidity of these new symptoms. This isn’t like the muscle weakness, headaches, and fatigue you’d see with mito. This was an intense gastrointestinal issue. Mitochondrial disease tends to progress more insidiously, a slower burn, and the symptoms tend to be a bit harder to pinpoint. Meghan’s complaints are very specific and very sudden.”

Becky looked anxious. “Meaning what, exactly?” she asked.

“Meaning something else might be going on with her that’s not mitochondrial disease. I’ve consulted with Dr. Amanda Nash, who heads up our GI practice here at White Memorial, and reviewed Meghan’s case with her. I’d like a consult, and I think it’s a good idea to have Dr. Nash examine Meghan. It could be we stay the course with the treatment for mitochondrial disease, keep working with the dietician, and continue to give her the mito cocktail, but it could be we have to change tactics altogether, or perhaps we’ll have to manage two distinct issues simultaneously.”

“Dr. Nash, you said…” Carl’s voice trailed off.

“You know her?” Becky asked.