Page 77 of That Pucking New Girl

“Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome is one of those newfangled things made up to deal with whiny women,” he says. “It’s like the fibromyalgia of this age. Don’t buy into the excuses, young lady.”

“And…we’re done,” Rachelle says, standing. “I’m reporting you to the medical board for willfully ignoring your patient’s needs and touting your own beliefs about women’s health care instead of actually listening to Noor. I have witnessed her migraines, and they’re terrible. This isn’t a step that she’s taking lightly, Dr. Garcia. POTS isn’t a ‘newfangled’ syndrome, just one that’s only now getting more attention. Noor has had this since she was eight years old, she just wasn’t diagnosed until later.

“Medical treatment like this is why her symptoms have caused her so much trouble.”

I stand as well, my heart feeling like it’s breaking. I really thought this would go differently. Everything medically has been falling into place, but this doctor acts as if he’s saving my soul or some shit.

“I feel sick,” I whisper. Tears prick behind my eyelids that my sunglasses thankfully hide, but heat is wracking my body from embarrassment.

I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Leaving the house took a lot of willpower on my part, not only because my hair appears foreign on my head, but because I knew it would take a lot of mental spoons to get through it.

Rachelle wraps her arm around my waist, and I assume it’s in case I pass out. I feel more nauseous than anything else, and my sunglasses are not helping the glare of the bright lights in this room.

“One day, you’ll know I did you a favor,” Dr. García says, slamming his fist on the table.

“That’s doubtful,” I mutter, walking toward the door with Rachelle.

I’m silent as we walk out of the doctor’s practice, but I’m shivering hard by the time we hit the parking lot.

“I can’t believe he said all of that,” I say, sighing heavily. “How can someone so awful make me feel like the gum underneath his shoe?”

“Dr. Garcia is from a time in medicine where women are less than nothing,” Rachelle says. “What’s odd is the doctors on this practice’s website are all on the younger side and have great reviews. We weren’t even supposed to see him.”

“Then why did we?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I was really surprised to see him instead of Dr. Moon. The nurse did your pelvic exam and said when she stepped out that she was going to get the doctor,” she explains. “I expected a man in his early thirties.”

Rachelle pulls her phone out and searches for Dr. Garcia’s name as we walk before making a face.

“From what it looks like, he works for a hospital nearby and occasionally fills in at the practice when they need the help. He’s the father of one of the doctors here,” she grumbles. “I’m still reporting his ass. I’m so fucking mad they did a bait and switch on us. If I had known they were going to do this, I would have rescheduled.”

“This is so bizarre,” I sigh. “Is there a chance if we get another doctor at this practice that they’ll actually listen to me?”

“Yes. I’m going to sic Jared on them,” she says. “In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for someone who won’t treat you like a child looking to have indiscriminate sex with every boy you see.”

“My sex life isn’t that interesting,” I snort.

I refuse to think about how that’s kind of a lie.

“Let’s go home and give you a break from the world of assholes,” Rachelle says, unlocking the car doors. “We’ll figure out something else to help the migraines you get with your periods. The fucker didn’t even prescribe you normal birth control.”

“Ugh. I was in so much shock from that doctor, I didn’t think about that.”

Getting into the car, I force myself to focus. I definitely need to get on some kind of birth control if I’m not already pregnant from those assholes. They’re apparently allergic to condoms.

“I’ll find someone else,” Rachelle promises, starting the car. “I hate that appointments seem to be so far out for new patients. Maybe we can try a community center that accepts walk-ins. It’ll probably be basic birth control, but it’s something.”

The hormones level out my heavy periods, yet don’t keep the fallout from happening.

“I hate the medical system,” I groan, pulling my seatbelt into place.

“Me fucking too,” Rachelle agrees, putting the car into reverse. “What are you most looking forward to when we get home?”

I know she’s trying hard to shift my focus, and I take a shuddering breath. I should say I want a nap, but my thoughts will follow me. They’re sure to go dark, and today, I don’t want to go there.

“Can we do a movie or something?” I ask, voice cracking.

“Yeah, I think we can make that happen,” Rachelle says. “Are you hungry yet?”