My Life in Shambles(56)

That part of the story I had told so many times. The next part is different. “I was healing for weeks, right? I still got dizzy sometimes and there was a weird buzzing down my spine, but my head just took a hit so that’s normal. I assumed that I’d go back to the game soon. On New Year’s Eve, before I met you at the pub, I had an appointment with my neurologist. I’d just gotten the bad news from my nan, so more bad news was the last thing I expected. But he told me that they noticed some things on the MRI scans and they aligned with my symptoms, especially the more we talked.”

I pause. “Do ye know what the myelin is? It’s a fatty tissue that covers your nerves, sort of like how an electrical wire is covered. Well … I had lesions that appear as scars on my myelin, in places where it was lost. Scarring in my brain and my spinal cord. The scars disrupt the impulses of the nerves. Those are the symptoms of MS. That’s what the doctor thinks I have.”

And there it is.

The truth.

The words I have been avoiding ever since Dr. Byrne told me, the words that ripped the world as I knew it apart.

I expect to hear her gasp in shock, but Valerie just nods, frowning. “Many scars,” she says softly.

“What?”

“That’s what multiple sclerosis means. Many scars. Kind of like me.”

“Yeah. In a way, like you. Except you’ve been getting better ever since your accident. And me? I’m only going to get worse.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“How can I not? You’ve been with me in this short amount of time and it’s getting worse as the days go on.” I’m having a hard time trying to hide the fear in my voice.

“There are treatments.”

“How do ye know? Are you an expert?”

She tilts her head sympathetically. “No, but I know people with MS. My aunt has it. She’s improved it with her diet.”

“Improved it but not cured it.”

“You know there is no cure. You just have to learn to live with it and manage it.”

“I don’t want to learn to live with it!” I yell, the words roaring out of me and taking both of us by surprise. I try and breathe and calm down but it’s too much, all of this fucking shite. “I don’t want it at all. I want my life back. I want to go back to the game and go back to being normal, go back to worrying about nothing. I don’t want to lose my dad. I don’t want to lose myself.”

It’s fucking breaking me.

I close my eyes and try to breathe, the frustration and anger and sorrow billowing up inside my chest like thick smoke, suffocating me.

“You won’t lose yourself, I promise,” Valerie says, climbing on top of the center console to put her arms around me, burying her head in my neck. “I won’t let you.”

Instinctively, I hold her, as tight as my body will allow, breathing in her smell, feeling the comfort of her heart and the hope in her promise.

I hold her.

And hold her.

And hold her.





15





Valerie





“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Padraig asks for the millionth time.

“Get. In,” I say sternly, pointing at the passenger seat beside me.

He takes another look at the B&B, as if he’s never going to see it again, and reluctantly gets in. “Jesus, your legs are short,” he says, adjusting the seat.

“No they aren’t. Your legs are long,” I tell him. “Now buckle up.”

“Oh, you can bet I’ll buckle up. I should have brought a helmet.”

“Hey, you were the one who crashed this car. You don’t get to be snarky.”

“But it’s fun,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

It’s been a week since Padraig lost control of the Cayenne and went into the ditch. The SUV itself didn’t suffer any damage other than a minor dent, but Padraig hasn’t been so lucky.

He’s been doing better since then, in terms of his MS. But mentally, I think he’s really taken a beating. He’s done nothing but apologize profusely for the accident, drowning in the guilt and shame of it all.

Honestly, I’m just so glad that he finally opened up to me.

I’ve been doing nothing but reading up on it and learning the best that I can. But still, the fact that it has been getting worse meant that he had to make another doctor’s appointment, and that’s where we’re heading today, back to Dublin for a night.

Of course, I don’t think he should drive anymore, not until we see the doctor, and he also doesn’t want to tell anyone in his family what’s going on, so getting a ride there was out of the question. It was either he drives or I do.

I adjust the rearview mirror and see Agnes standing in the doorway to the house, waving goodbye. They’d wondered why I was driving so I had to tell them I was a pro at this point and drove his car all the time.

Luckily this thing isn’t standard because then we’d be stalling before we even get going.

I start the car, roll down the window, and wave goodbye, and then we’re off and I’m taking this car down the driveway at roughly one mile an hour.

Padraig stares at me for a moment. “You know the car can go faster, yeah? It’s a Porsche.”