A Curve in the Road(63)

“Thank you, John.”

“But I respect and appreciate your decision, and I agree that it’s for the best. Do you have any idea what you’re going to do next? Where you’ll go from here?”

I think about his question and look down at my hands on my lap—no longer the hands of a surgeon.

“Not yet, but I’m considering going back to being a regular GP, maybe joining an established practice that needs an extra doc. Daytime hours only.”

“There are plenty of those in the city,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll be fighting to get you. And you know you can rely on me for an excellent reference.”

“Thanks.” I rise to my feet and shake his hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you these past few years. I mean that.”

He makes a slight grimace. “Wait a second. You’re not planning on quitting today, are you? Because there’s still plenty of work around here—follow-ups and consults—and I haven’t even begun to look for your replacement.”

I smile at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay until you find someone. I’d never leave you in the lurch.”

He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “Phew.”

I laugh, and we chat for a few minutes. Then I return to my office to work on some files. Eventually, I feel an overwhelming urge to lay my head on the desk and close my eyes. Thankfully, it’s a good time of the day for it. I have a full hour before my next appointment, so I get up, close my door, lock it securely, and lie down on the sofa to take a quick power nap.

A short while later, I wake to the sound of a knock at the door. It’s my receptionist, Janine.

“Dr. MacIntyre, are you in there? Please answer. Your door’s been locked for two hours. Are you okay?”

Oh God, has it really been two hours? I missed my appointment?

I try to get up, but I can’t move, and this time, I know exactly what’s happening.

Janine knocks again. “Dr. MacIntyre?”

I want to answer her, but I can’t even lift my hand off the leather sofa or open my eyes or call out. All I can do is lie there like a corpse, listening to the sound of her rapid knocking on the door.

Her voice grows more panicked. “Dr. MacIntyre! Are you in there? I know you are. Please answer me, or I’m going to get security to open the door.”

Please don’t do that. Just give me a minute or two. The paralysis will pass soon . . .

But it doesn’t pass, despite my intense efforts to push my eyes open and roll off the sofa.

I hear keys jingling and Janine talking to someone, and I prepare myself for the security guard to walk in and find me drooling on the sofa cushions.

The lock clicks, the door opens, but it’s not the security guard. It’s Troy—the young firefighter who rescued me from my vehicle on the night of the accident and later found Winston in the ice storm. He’s wearing heavy gear and carrying the Jaws of Life. Despite my embarrassment, I’m overjoyed to see him because he saved my life and Winston’s too.

And that is the moment I know that I’m dreaming.

He kneels down beside the sofa. “Dr. MacIntyre, can you hear me? Just try to relax. You’re going to be fine.”

I want to tell him that I’m already fine. I know exactly what’s happening to me. It’s just narcolepsy.

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Don’t be afraid. We’re going to get you out of here. We’re just setting up the equipment. Can you hear me?” He presses his fingers to the pulse at my neck and says to Janine, “She’s alive. But barely. We just need to get her out of here.”

No! I’m fine! And you don’t need to get me out of here. Just wait a minute or two. I’ll be able to move soon.

And you’re not even here.

Two more firefighters come running into my office to operate the Jaws of Life. Troy tosses a heavy blanket over my head to protect me from flying glass and steel. I feel panic and fear.

The noise is deafening, and my heart is racing. Then it occurs to me that maybe I’m not here at all. Maybe I’m back in the wreck, and all of this agony in my life has been a nightmare, just like I imagined it was on the night Alan died. Maybe none of it’s real. Maybe I’m truly dying. Maybe I’m already dead. Is this the afterlife?

Please, don’t let it be that. I don’t want to die. I want to live.

Suddenly my strength returns, and I can move my fingers and toes but not the rest of me.

Am I stuck under the dashboard? Is that the weight that’s pressing down on my legs, or is it just the paralysis? Am I truly unconscious?

I draw in a quick breath and force my eyes open.

It’s bright.

The middle of the day.

I’m staring at the ceiling in my office.

The room is quiet and empty. The door is closed. Troy isn’t here, and Janine isn’t knocking at my door.

But my heart is pounding like a drum, and I can’t stop shaking as I try to sit up.

It was just a dream, Abbie. You’re not back in the ravine, trapped in your car. You’re not dying.

But it felt so real . . . the sound of the machines, Troy’s voice in my ear, the fear of death. I truly thought I was back there.

I wasn’t, thank heavens.

I survived the wreck, and I’m still here.