The Speed of Light: A Novel(42)

I’ve barely finished the thought before the hold music comes to another screeching halt. “Yes?”

I blink, scramble for words. “Uh . . . is this . . . is this Dr. Montgomery’s nurse?”

An impatient sigh, barely audible. “Yes, this is Kris. Can I help you, Miss Archer?”

My moment has come—all the questions that have been rolling around in my head can finally come out. And yet I freeze, can barely manage the one reason I called. “Uh, yes. I . . . um . . . I started running—well, jogging, really. And my knee started hurting. So I thought I should check in . . . you know, to make sure it’s not the start of another attack?”

Her voice is crisp. “How long did you say it’s been going on?”

“A month or so, I guess?”

“Is it constant, steadily worsening, or does it come and go?”

“It comes and goes.” I swallow. “Depending on how long I run.”

“Then it sounds like a running-related injury to me. Have you talked to your primary doctor about this?” I open my mouth, but she continues before I can answer. “Because we encourage patients to work with their primary doctor as much as possible on these sorts of questions.” She’s barely hiding her annoyance. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Well, um . . .” For a second I falter, regret and embarrassment flooding me. And yet I’ve finally made this damn call; I better make it count. “Well, I guess I was wondering about flu shots. I mean, I know it’s not until fall, but am I supposed to get one?”

“Definitely. You need to avoid the live virus, though, so get the shot, not the nasal spray.”

“So that is a question I should direct to you guys, then.” The triumphant words come out before I can stop them.

She pauses again. “We encourage our patients to work with their primary doctors as much as possible when appropriate.”

“But what if I don’t know when it’s appropriate?”

“Start with your primary, and if they recommend you call us, then do so.” She sighs. “If that’s all, I can transfer you back to the scheduling desk if needed.”

I pause. “No, thank you.”

I end the call and throw my phone down onto the couch, punch a pillow, then look around my empty living room.

The silence is suddenly all consuming, and I sit, frustrated.

Alone.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

May 24, seven months before

The next week, I sit in the sterile exam room, my foot tapping to the rhythm of my nervous heartbeat as I wait. It’s not that I’ve ever loved going to the doctor—who does, honestly? But now, doctor visits will never be the same. I will always expect bad news or anticipate the need for a painful test of some sort.

But the instant the thick door whooshes open and I’m greeted by Dr. Reynolds’s smiling face, my shoulders relax.

“Ah, Simone, so good to see you.”

“You too.” It’s not entirely a lie; I might hate coming in, but she’s been my doctor since I first moved to Sioux Falls, and her common sense and calm demeanor have been a blessing, especially during the months leading up to my diagnosis.

She sits down and runs a hand through her graying brown hair, then folds her arms across her lap, leaning toward me. “Simone, I have to say right away that I received the complete report from the neurologist’s office, and it’s very promising that they feel they can monitor your condition for now without treatment.”

I nod, her validation washing over me like a cleansing bath.

“Now, how are you?”

I open my mouth to say something positive—I’m fine I’m great thank you very much—but instead I’m overcome, swiping at mascara-smudged eyes. Dr. Reynolds hands me a tissue, her kind smile not wavering. At last, I compose myself enough to take a deep breath. “Sorry, everything is okay, really; it’s just that I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s going to happen, and when I called the neurologist, they weren’t exactly helpful, and it’s just so frustrating.”

She nods sagely. “Everything you’re feeling is completely normal.”

More words I needed to hear. “But what do I do?”

She glances at my chart. “You keep doing everything you’ve been doing. You get enough rest, you exercise, you try to avoid stress, keep your habits as healthy as possible.”

I nod, wiping at my eyes again. “I started running. But, well, my knee has been bothering me. I think it’s related to that, but I do worry it could be MS related.”

“Hmm. How long has it been going on?”

“A month or so, I suppose? Maybe longer.”

“And it seems to happen only when you run—it doesn’t happen at other times, or steadily worsen?”

“No, just with running.”

She narrows her eyes, assessing. “Sounds like it’s running related to me, but I’ll take a closer look during your exam today, and I definitely want you to keep me posted—start logging any symptoms and how long they last.”

I nod, soaking in her advice like a plant facing the sun, and she cocks her head to the side. “Simone, did you ask the neurologist’s office these questions?”

My stomach twists. “Yes, but it didn’t go very well.”