Saving Meghan(7)

People said Meghan looked like her mother, with the same electric-blue eyes, but there were features of her father’s handsome face present as well. Despite her frailty, Becky’s daughter was still a beautiful girl, but the smile that lit her face now was just an echo of who she once was.

Becky stepped out of the ER bay with her phone pressed to her ear. She had Dr. Walker’s number in her contacts, same as the neurologist, pulmonologist, and various other specialists she could summon like Aladdin rubbing his magic lamp.

“Hello,” a man’s voice said after the call rang through.

“Gary, it’s Becky Gerard. I’m sorry to call your personal number, but you told me to phone anytime I had a problem, and, well, I have a problem.”

Gary. Married. One daughter in her early twenties. Cornell grad. Living in New York, working as a lab tech at Mount Sinai Hospital. Thinking about medical school, to her father’s delight. He’ll probably be tan from his vacation to Costa Rica. Oh, if Cora had had access to social media in her heyday, it would have been like an addict mainlining their favorite drug.

“What’s happening, Becky? What’s going on?”

Dr. Walker’s concern sounded genuine, although Becky knew he’d take great interest even if she called about a leaky faucet. That’s because she had helped him by spending a couple of hours reviewing his daughter’s rental agreement, and then a good thirty minutes on the phone with her, dispensing advice about getting rid of the application and amenity fee, making sure she had the right to use the outdoor space, and how not to get charged for damages that were there before she moved in.

No surprise, Dr. Gary Walker was deeply grateful for Becky’s help. Was she ashamed to use her real estate experience to ingratiate herself? Not in the slightest. By her count, Dr. Walker had examined Meghan at least half a dozen times now for various episodes—scary heart palpitations, shortness of breath, unexplained chest pain—and he always took Becky’s calls.

Becky recounted the situation for Dr. Walker’s benefit, though he’d already heard about the incident on the airplane. As Becky had feared, cell phone video of her had wormed its way onto the internet, making headlines in the online editions of Boston newspapers, getting minor mention on some national news outlets, and plenty of traction on Twitter and Facebook. Becky’s phone had exploded with text messages from worried friends, all of which she would return later.

“Don’t worry, I’m actually at the hospital now,” Dr. Walker said. “I’ll be down in a minute to check on Meghan.”

“Thank you so, so much, Gary,” Becky said, her voice drenched with gratitude. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”



* * *



THE CURTAIN to bay 12 parted, and in stepped a slight man in his late fifties with sandy hair, a trim beard, and, yes, a tan. Becky turned her body as she went to Dr. Walker so that Carl would not see her touch his arm. Gestures like this were like deposits into an investment account that over time would pay hefty dividends. Dr. Walker had given Meghan a thorough examination, and returned to give an update on the test results. Judging by the warmth of his smile, Becky relaxed.

“Is Meghan okay?” Becky asked nervously.

“My initial answer is yes; she’s fine. But is this the first time Meghan’s fainted?” Dr. Walker’s penetrating gray eyes hinted at some concern.

“Well, you know she’s had spells of feeling very weak and dizzy,” Becky said, reliving in her head the many times she’d brought Meghan to see Dr. Walker. “And episodes where she seemed out of it for a moment or two, but she’s never fainted.”

“That’s right.” Carl nodded in agreement beside her.

“Well, Meghan’s EKG shows a mildly prolonged PR interval. It’s probably nothing to worry about, but I think we may want to do some more tests.”

“A what?”

Over the years, Becky had acquired an enormous amount of medical knowledge in her quest to help Meghan, but there were always new terms to go along with her daughter’s new and puzzling symptoms. Each time Becky heard a new word, it came with a fresh pulse of anxiety.

“The PR interval is the time between the first and second wave on an EKG,” Dr. Walker explained. He showed Becky a printout latched to his clipboard illustrating the peaks and valleys of Meghan’s heartbeat. “See, here’s the P wave, and then this sawtooth pattern is the QRS complex, followed by this hump called the T wave.” Dr. Walker stood close to Becky, their shoulders touching, as he traced the line with his finger. Under any other circumstances, the proximity would have made her feel uneasy. This time she welcomed the contact and hoped Carl did not notice.

“The distance between the P wave and the QRS is the PR interval,” Dr. Walker continued. “It should be less than point-two seconds. Meghan’s is about point-two-four seconds. Not too long, but still, something we should keep an eye on.”

“What does that mean?”

Becky asked the question knowing the answer he would give. It was the same answer she’d heard time and time again, the same one she had gotten after countless blood tests that had contributed to her daughter’s intense needle phobia.

I don’t know.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Walker said. “I do want to see Meghan in my office for some more tests.” Surprise, surprise, Becky thought. “Here’s the number to schedule an echocardiogram and make a follow-up with me.” He handed Becky a card. “Until then, please check with us if she is started on any new medications. Certain ones might need to be avoided if she feels faint again. I’m sure you have lots of questions, but, Meghan, I suspect you’re anxious to get back home after spending a full day with us. You’re always welcome, but I’d prefer you stay away.”