“Hy, stop,” I protest.
“There must be something else… Something we can do…”
“Enough! You’re not helping!”
Abruptly halting, Hyland flinches. That overprotective beast beneath his skin needs some serious training in bedside manners. It’s raging out of control of late.
“This has been my life ever since I fractured my skull.” I manage to spell it out in a calm voice. “It isn’t anything new. I just have a fancy label now and this bundle of joy telling me what to do.”
Doctor Fawn has the decency to smile.
“Point is, I’m dealing. You don’t need to don some white knight armour and try to rationalise this for me. Labels aside, these episodes aren’t new.”
“I’m worried about you.” He deflates, gaze sinking to the clean linoleum.
“If I may…” Doctor Fawn waits for me to nod. “It’s perfectly normal for loved ones to struggle with a new diagnosis too. Long-term conditions affect the whole family unit.”
“Ember is the one struggling.” Hyland shakes his head, disturbing loose flyaways from his ponytail. “Not me.”
“You’re shouldering anxiety too. It’s good to acknowledge that.”
“But…”
“Just something to think about.” Gathering his notes, the doctor stands with a final, pointed smile. “I’ll give you both some privacy. Take your time.”
Once he’s gone, I stare at the wheeled trolley that holds the EEG machine while Hyland pulls himself together. He circles the medical chair to squat down beside me, an oversized paw landing on my jean-covered knee, squeezing when I don’t push him away.
“Em?”
All I can do is shake my head.
“I’m sure I’ll apologise a million more times in the years to come, but I’m sorry… again. You know, for butting in. It’s hard to hear him talk about your health like that.”
“What did you think he was going to say?”
“I don’t know.” Hyland thrusts his free hand through his hair.
“This is a long-term condition. It’s not going anywhere.”
“And I knew that… I do know that.” His deep baritone radiates pure sadness. “I guess a part of me hoped he’d have found some magical solution. I hate seeing you suffer.”
“I’m surviving in my own way. You don’t need to make it harder.”
“Protecting you is making your life harder?”
“You mean when you stick your nose into my business?” I force down the growl creeping up my throat.
“I prefer to think of it as being a good co-worker.”
Laughter tumbles from my throat. “Right.”
“Unless you’d rather I had a different title?”
“Semantics aside, it makes it ten times harder when you resort to this crazy bull in a china shop routine. I’m coping in my own way, and I need you to respect that.”
His fingers tighten over my kneecap. “I hear you.”
“Good. I’m getting really tired of this conversation.”
