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She releases the headboard and drops her hands to my chest, remaining seated on my cock. Gently, she runs her hands up my chest and cups my face. Her thumbs rake across the stubble that covers my jawline. Leaning down, she brushes a soft kiss across my lips before whispering, “Again?”
And we do, two more times until finally, she finds the peace she was searching for and is able to rest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gia
“Daddy, will you hold my hand?”
My heart breaks a little bit more inside my chest. Damien takes Astria’s hand in his and laces their fingers together tightly. I don’t miss the emotion that passes across his handsome features in the mirrored doors of the elevator.
Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot. She’s been crying on and off since we told her that she’d be going to this appointment today instead of school.
When we got here, they ran an initial panel of bloodwork and took her vitals. They also did some preliminary scans, but we’ve already been told she’ll need a referral to a specialist for further testing. We grabbed a quick lunch, not that any of us could actually eat, and now we’re getting ready to sit down with the doctor.
I don’t know what he’s going to be able to tell us. I’m not sure how much they can learn from the initial testing alone. I hope that they’re at least able to rule out some of my bigger concerns.
Last night Damien allowed me to lose myself in him for a little while, but the relief from the crippling anxiety I feel was short-lived. Seeing our daughter so upset was hard, but seeing the fear in her eyes and knowing we couldn’t take it away? That was torture.
None of the books or websites on becoming a parent prepare you for these moments. When they’re small you fear for their safety. Will they choke on a grape? Will they fall down from the top of the slide and get a concussion? So many worries. But it never goes away. It only amplifies over time, and your worries become more complex with every passing day.
Just when you think you’re out of the woods. Bam! It’s something new and scarier than your last fear.
We walk together, through the waiting room and sign back in at the front desk, only to be ushered back immediately.
Fear gnaws at my gut. I want to cry. I want to turn around and run. I want to hide away on an abandoned island somewhere with our little family and pretend this isn’t happening. Whatever this is.
But I can’t.
I have to be brave for Astria. I have to be strong. I’m not sure I’d be standing here at all if it weren’t for the strength of the man next to me. Maybe it makes me selfish, but I’m pulling every ounce of strength I can from him right now.
We follow a nurse in a pair of blue scrubs down a long hallway. I’m transported back in time. Why does it feel like I’ve lived this all before? The similarities are few and far between, but the feeling of paralysis is the same. I’m once again rendered helpless. The fate of our future is in the hands of a doctor who probably already knows the outcome.
I walk blindly into an office with burgundy and hunter-green striped wallpaper. A large mahogany desk sits in the center, and matching wooden bookshelves line the walls. A framed certificate hangs on the wall directly behind the desk, giving this man more credentials than the internet, I guess.
We take our seats across from the desk in silence. We don’t have to wait long. Astria’s pediatrician walks in and takes his seat behind the desk. He places a manila file folder down gently in front of him.
Despite the fear and anxiety, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re in the right place now. I genuinely like Astria’s pediatrician, and I trust him with our little girl. Maybe this short, older man with fluffy white hair and caring blue eyes was always supposed to be here, telling us whatever news it is that he’s about to deliver.
Just maybe, the trials we’ve already gone through have been to prepare us for this moment. I have to believe there’s a reason for all of this beyond what we can see. I can’t believe that this is for nothing. My mind refuses to allow me to believe we experience tragedy and harm and gain nothing.
Sensing my rising level of anxiety, Damien scoots his chair over and wraps one arm around my shoulders, while still managing to hold Astria’s hand. Her dark hair is pulled up into a ponytail that falls down her back. Her tears are gone. She sits stoically, her back straight, and her features hiding every emotion I know she must be feeling. She reminds me so much of her father in moments like this. She’s so much braver than I was at her age. She’s so strong.
The doctor’s eyes crinkle in the corner with wrinkles as he smiles softly at Astria. “Astria, it’s good to see you again. You’ve grown nearly two inches since I saw you at your last check-up. Let me guess. You’re a hockey player, like your dad?”
I see Damien squeeze Astria’s hand lightly in my peripheral. My knee starts to jump with nervous energy, and I cross one ankle behind the other forcing it to stop.
“Yes, sir.” She says softly, lacking her usual confidence.
The doctor drums his fingers on top of the folder before continuing. “I want to thank you all for being here today for this.” He subtly shifts his focus from Astria to all three of us, making sure to make eye contact with both Damien and me, which I appreciate. “I know your schedules are very busy. When you called yesterday, I knew that we needed to see Astria sooner rather than later. Her symptoms, while not excessively concerning independently, together, give me some cause for hesitation.” My heart leaps into my throat. I bite the inside of my cheeks, hoping to keep it together for just a bit longer.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I understand how difficult it is to be worried about a child. I worry about each and every one of my patients as if they are one of my own.” He continues, finally opening the folder in front of him, and shuffling around the papers inside. I crane my neck to see, but all I’m able to make out is black ink and a few X-ray images that mean nothing to me.
“Thank you, for agreeing to see us on such short notice. We can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.” Damien speaks for all of us, which I’m grateful for. I’m nervous that if I open my mouth the tears will come out, and I’m doing everything I can to keep them at bay.
The doctor pushes back from his chair, taking the X-ray images with him. He stands and walks to a light board on the wall to our right. He flips a switch and the lights come on. Placing the film up on the illumination board I tilt my head to the side and try to make out what we’re looking at.
It’s definitely images of her head, neck, and maybe shoulders. I’m no stranger to film, but this is so far from my area of expertise. I look for a black circle. A shadow. Anything that might indicate a tumor or cancer of some sort.
