A Curve in the Road(60)
“I will.”
I quickly end the call and go take a seat at the kitchen table, where I ponder the fact that I felt like I had something to hide when Zack caught me on the phone with Nathan just now. I tell myself there’s no need to feel guilty. We’re just friends. But I’m not sure Zack would understand that. I’m not even sure I understand it myself. It makes me think about how Alan behaved over the past few years. How he kept so much hidden from me. I can see now how it was possible, and I don’t like how that makes me feel.
The following week, I report to the sleep lab for my overnight analysis. Electrodes are attached to my head and body to measure things like heart and respiratory rates, electrical activity in my brain, and nerve activity in my muscles. The tests reveal exactly what we suspected: significant abnormalities in my sleep cycle, with REM occurring at inappropriate times.
Upon my next meeting with Dr. Tremblay, he shares the results with me. He is somber as he explains that I am indeed afflicted with narcolepsy.
Seated in a chair on the opposite side of his large desk, I take a moment to digest this news. I close my eyes, rub at my temples, and can think of only one thing, which I say out loud.
“I want to kill my husband right now, but unfortunately for me, I can’t because he’s already dead.”
Dr. Tremblay says nothing, and I realize it was a harsh statement and he’s probably shocked. But I don’t care because I’m mad as hell. And he doesn’t know the half of it.
I let my hands drop to my lap and clasp them together. “I suppose we should start talking about treatments.”
He agrees and launches into a long description of all the medications available, what they can do to help improve my symptoms, and what side effects I can expect.
He also informs me that I should stop driving until we get everything under control, because statistically, people with untreated narcoleptic symptoms are ten times more likely to get into an accident. He assures me that it’s only temporary, because once we find the right balance of medications, I’ll be as safe and capable as anyone else on the road—outside of philandering husbands who are lying to their wives and driving drunk, of course.
I’m only half listening to Dr. Tremblay, because I can’t get past the anger I still feel toward Alan, and now the fog is rolling into my brain again. I find it difficult to concentrate. Some of what the doctor says goes in one ear and out the other, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve already researched all the recommended medications and side effects and statistics about accidents. I know everything inside out, and I already know which drugs I want to try first.
We settle on what my treatment will be, and I leave his office, knowing I won’t be able to return to the OR anytime soon. As I ride the elevator down, I can’t help but think of the terrifying split second when Alan’s car clipped the back end of mine on the highway and sent me tumbling down the embankment, totaling my SUV, nearly killing me and our dog, and possibly causing this irreversible neurological condition.
I’m so angry with him I want to hit something. There’s a pounding in my ears, and I fear I’m going to collapse again because of this intense anger I feel. But I don’t collapse. The rage flows through me, my muscles remain strong, and the elevator doors slide open. I step off without incident.
As I call a cab to take me home, I realize it was sheer force of will that kept me on my feet just now, because I don’t want to give Alan the power to hurt me anymore. I want to live, and live happily, and in order to do that, I need to do my best to stop fixating on his betrayal and the anger I feel. I need to focus on how I’m going to manage this condition and move on with positivity and determination, not vitriol, which will only bury me in ugly emotional muck. That won’t help me at all.
I know this because I’m still stuck in that muck, and I want to be free of it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A few weeks later, I come home after work to find Zack on the sofa watching television. Winston greets me at the door, tail wagging, and I bend to give him a pat. “Hey there. How are you doing?”
He licks the back of my hand and follows me eagerly into the kitchen, where I drop my keys into the bowl on the counter.
“How was your day?” I ask Zack.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Just okay?” After seventeen years, I can read my son’s moods like a book, and it’s obvious that something’s on his mind. I take a seat beside him on the sofa. “What’s up?”
Winston jumps up between us, and Zack rubs behind his ears. “Jeremy just got into the premed program at Western.”
My eyebrows lift. “Wow, good for him. That’s a tough program to get into.”
Zack stares at the television. “Yeah, he’s pretty pumped.”
I watch my son for a moment, and I know exactly what he’s feeling because I’m feeling it too. I know him too well, and his pain is my pain. His joy is my joy.
“What about you?” I ask, picking up the remote control and muting the TV. “Are you not pumped about going to Dal?”
We had this conversation at Christmas, and I knew then that Zack would feel like he was missing out if he had to stay at home because of me.
He merely shrugs. “It’ll be fine.”
“Really? I don’t think so. It’s only five blocks away.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Listen, you know I’ll be okay if you go away to school. I’ll miss you of course, but I have Winston to keep me company.” I stroke the fur on Winston’s back. “And it’s not like you and I would never talk to each other. We could text every day. Seriously, Zack, if you want to go away, I’m all for it. It’s not too late to apply. I don’t know when the deadlines are for scholarships, but—”