Page 40 of Graciously His

“Smart girl,” he says, giving me a last squeeze before turning away.

“What if—” I take another breath, trying to stand up straighter. “What if she finds another way to contact me?”

“You let me worry about that, love. It’s time for your appointment with Eileen.”

I shake my head. “I’m a mess, Nate. Maybe I could lie down instead and we could reschedule the appointment?”

“Eileen fit you in at essentially no notice because she knows what I know: this is the most crucial time we’ll have to help you. You can rest afterwards. I promise.”

“Nate, seriously, it’ll be pointless if I’m half-dead anyway—”

“Hey,” his hand rakes into my hair, tipping my head back. “Don’t fucking talk like that, Grace. Even if you give one-word answers to Eileen’s questions, it’ll count. Want me to sit in, after all?”

My shoulders slump as I realise there is no way to put this off. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure will be.” He hands me the closed laptop. “This is all set. Eileen will call in a minute or two. I’ll be in my office. You come and get me if you need me, all right?”

I nod, dejected and exhausted, but determined to keep this one medical line in place between the two of us. Nate guides me back to the desk—I refuse to think of it as my desk—and seats me gently. Then he leaves me alone.

The laptop chimes with a call. I answer, wishing I felt more prepared for this. A woman’s face appears on the screen, and I enlarge it, blocking out my own image quickly. I don’t need to see the evidence of what an absolutely shit day I’m having. I try to smile for this new woman, this doctor who has carved out time for me at no notice, and who immediately looks concerned. She’s grey-haired and rather wispy, her eyes magnified slightly by wire-rimmed glasses. The only makeup I can detect on her face is bright red lipstick.

“Hi, are you Grace?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Are you all right to talk? I know you’ve been through some terrible ordeals the last day or so.”

I shake my head. “I think we’d best get this over with. God, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that, but I’m—I’m at a lot of loose ends right now, Doctor.”

“Call me Eileen. And I want to tell you first and foremost how sorry I am for your loss, Grace. You and Nate have both been in my thoughts.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, realising that I mean it. Her sincerity is unmistakable in a quiet way I find soothing. “It’s been very hard.”

“Let me know if you need a break at any time. I’ve cleared my schedule this afternoon, so we can take this nice and slow.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, wondering how much inconvenience Nate has caused this woman on my behalf.

“Sure as cabbages.” She smiles, her glasses magnifying deep crow’s feet. “Nate told me enough about you that I feel invested in your case already. In fact, I had to stop him from telling me too much at times, just to keep my professional lines intact. I already know you’re exactly the kind of patient who needs my help the most.”

I feel myself shrink a little. “Why?”

I don’t like the idea of Nate either telling this woman too much about me, or her seeing me more clearly than I would have anticipated.

“Well, many of my patients come to me as something of a last resort. I tend to get the edge cases that make other physicians uncomfortable.” Her smile deepens, her voice warming. “And most of us integrative specialists have, shall we say, interesting medical histories of our own. We know what it’s like to be dismissed from doctor to doctor, or else to be given non-diagnoses that lead to medications or therapies we either don’t want or can’t take. Has your experience been a bit like that, Grace?”

“Yes,” I admit. “I was diagnosed with functional somatic disorder a long time ago, and one of my doctors has been considering me for a Chronic Fatigue diagnosis, but that’s stalled out.”

Her lips purse as she nods. “My approach, Grace, will be to listen to you and then, together, we’ll try to find the underlying cause of your symptoms. For example, Nate has told me that you might have undiagnosed food intolerances. We could run a battery of allergy tests, but it’ll be just as important to track your diet and history. That way, we can triangulate some measurable data and improve your life as soon as possible. Make sense?”

“I was already cleared of Coeliac,” I say, feeling I should bring it up. “But Nate thinks I have it, so he won’t let—” I pause, correcting myself, “he doesn’t want me to have gluten.”

“Setting aside his opinions, what do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, my stomach twinging.

“Well, that’s a good place to start. I don’t have access to your medical records just yet, so we can do a rundown of what you remember of your history. How does that sound, Grace?”

I shrug, feeling worried. Mother always answered these types of questions—including at my most recent appointments.