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“Tell us what we’re looking at, Doc,” Damien says, the assertiveness in his voice taking me by surprise.
His patience is growing thin, and that’s saying a lot. He’s always the optimist, seeing the best in every situation. I can tell that his emotions are starting to get to him, though. Everything changes when the health of your child is at stake.
“Everything appears to be totally normal.”
“What? You brought us in here to tell us there’s not an issue?” I ask, my breath escaping me all at once. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched…but in a good way, if that’s possible. I can’t decide between shock and anger, but for now, I think I’ll just choose relief.
Unfortunately, the high I’m riding is short-lived.
“No, not entirely. Appearance is oftentimes inaccurate in these circumstances. I told you that I felt she would need to be referred to a specialist. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we ran the tests this morning. I had a hunch from our conversation, but I needed to know enough about what we were dealing with so that I could refer you to the appropriate specialist. I don’t see any indication of a tumor, which is good news.”
“Oh, my God. Thank you.” The words expel from my mouth, an answered prayer.
“We’re not out of the woods quite yet.” He stops my internal celebration, and my breath catches. I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions that I want off of. “You see, inflammation doesn’t show on a standard X-ray. She’ll need an injection of a radioisotope to give us a more accurate representation of what we believe to be wrong.”
“Wait, you want me to have an injection? You want to stick me with needles, again? No thanks!” Astria jumps from her chair, clearly petrified by the thought of being poked and prodded again. It’s understandable given her age, and what she’s already endured this morning. This would be a lot for an adult to handle, let alone a child.
“I promise, it’s a simple procedure where we inject dye into a certain part of your body to better view things like your lymphatic system.” He reassures her, but I can tell from the wild look in her eyes, she’s not totally convinced.
Astria slowly settles back down into her chair, “my what?” She asks, and honestly, I was thinking the same thing. This isn’t what I researched on Google.
“Astria’s panel came back showing an abnormally high white blood cell count. Given the other issues she is currently experiencing, and our initial physical exam, I have reason to believe that Astria has a rare autoimmune disorder. Of course, we need to find the specific root of what’s causing her body to attack itself. If caught early, we may have the ability to reverse some of the damage that potentially might already have occurred and give her a treatment plan for the future. I have a colleague that I’d like to refer you to. He’s at the top of his field, and really on the verge of some cutting-edge treatment using bone marrow that I think Astria might be a candidate for, given her age and present health.”
Bone marrow. That sounds invasive, but I keep my comments to myself for now. I don’t want to scare Astria any more than she already is. Instead, I focus on other questions that still need to be answered.
“Why now? Why is this happening all of a sudden? I don’t understand. She’s always been healthy. Why did her body decide to attack itself now?” I ask, still trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
This is too much information at once. I should have brought a pen and paper. Or my laptop. I need to be taking notes. I wasn’t prepared.
“It’s likely she’s had the disorder her entire life. I’ve seen cases where something like this is so recessive that it never presents. Some people live their entire lives never realizing it’s there. In Astria’s case, given her age, I believe our culprit has to do with hormonal changes in her body. She’s approaching puberty, and that’s changing the chemistry in her body which may have caused what has been a dormant disorder up until this point to begin attacking her health.”
“A little discretion, Doc. Please. My dad has bleeding ear syndrome.” Astria says, and I can’t help but smile in the midst of the turmoil inside my mind. The return of her quick wit and smart mouth tells me that she’s okay. She’s going to be okay. We all are. This is hope. Right?
“Ah, I have daughters myself. I completely understand.” The doctor’s lips tilt into a grin, and he closes her folder on his desk “Well, if you would like, I’ll have our receptionist send over the referral. I’ll make a personal phone call, and hopefully, we’ll have you an appointment by the end of the week. Is that okay?”
“Sure, of course. Thank you.” I say quickly.
I guess it has to be. I don’t want to be okay with any of this, but I’m a fighter. I’m a survivor. Damien, Astria, all three of us are.
We’ve had our share of challenges, but we’ve overcome them.
Just like we’ll overcome this one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Damien
I roll over for the fifteenth time in an hour and suddenly realize I’m in an empty bed. I fucking hate sleeping in an empty bed. Gia knows that. So why is she MIA? I have a sneaking suspicion, but I’m going to have to get up in order to verify my hunch.
For the first couple of years of our marriage, I barely slept a wink. Between a crying baby and a weeping cock, I was miserable. Knowing that just a couple of walls separated me from the one person I wanted to fall asleep with was torture. When I’m on the road, I do it out of necessity. But, when I’m home? I need to snuggle. Touch is my fucking love language.
Ugh, I throw the comforter and sheet off of my body and groan. My muscles ache from practice. I hit the gym hard after our time on the ice, needing to work through my thoughts. It didn’t work, they’re still a muddied mess of information that I don’t know how to process.
We met with Astria’s specialist this morning. It was a lot of fucking medical jargon that I don’t feel qualified to understand. Scary, terrifying shit that no parent ever wants to hear.
Apparently, the guy is some sort of pioneer in his field, which is great. On the one hand, there’s a level of comfort in knowing we’re with the best of the best. On the other hand, I don’t want to be in this position at all.
I sit on the edge of the bed, running my hands down my face. I need to shave, but I just can’t find it in me to care about my appearance right now. My brain is foggy. My girls and my career are the only two things I can focus on at the moment. Everything else is lost somewhere in the abyss.
