“Really? From what Ryker always told me, you keep an emotional distance from your patients and their cases.”
So, why would the medical professional in him wonder what this feels likeemotionally?
Blake was quiet for a long moment, his eyes distant. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with honesty. He told me about the teenage patient he’d lost, about how his belief that it was his emotions that resulted in her death that shaped his approach to medicine.
“But I only found this diagnosis because I let myself care. That night, it wasn’t medical training that made me notice your sniffling; it was the thought of you crying alone that kept me listening. All these years, I’ve been fighting against the very thing that led me to the answer.” He scratched his temple. “Makes me wonder if maybe I got it wrong. If caring isn’t a liability at all, but something that makes me see what the tests and textbooks might miss.”
I could see the change in him in the softening of his features.
“Please,” he said finally, his eyes finding mine, “tell me what this feels like for you.”
I took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “I think I’m in shock.” Behind that shock was a tsunami of emotions. I could feel it pricking the back of my eyes with tears, constricting my throat, making my chest ache as I replayed the last year of my life.
“It’s weird,” I continued, my voice wavering. “You’d think right now, all I would feel is elation. And I do. God, I do. I finally have a diagnosis, a treatment plan. I finally have hope that I’ll feel better.”
My hands twisted together in my lap. “But there are so many people out there right now who are suffering, being told by the medical community that nothing’s wrong with them. My heart breaks for them.”
Blake leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, waiting for me to continue.
“You know, after my experience, I’ve come to believe there’s a bell curve of doctors. The vast majority are good, doing their best. But there’s a small percentage that give everyone else a bad name, and when you meet those doctors …” My voice cracked. “It’s soul-crushing.”
Blake’s hand found mine, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
“Most people are incredibly busy,” I continued. “If someone’s going out of their way to set up appointments with doctors, it means something’s wrong. They’re reaching out for help. If the doctor doesn’t have the answer, that’s okay. What’s not okay is tossing them around like a hot potato with no follow-up. What’s not okay is implying, or downright telling them, that there’s nothing wrong with them, that it’s all in their head.”
Blake’s entire body stiffened. “Someone said that to you?”
I nodded, the memory sharp as glass. “Six minutes. That’s how long I was in his exam room. He spent the first minute telling me all my tests were normal, that he found no physical evidence of my symptoms. He spent the next five minutes telling me it was all in my head, that he thought I had psychological issues, in the most patronizing, condescending tone imaginable.”
Blake’s jaw hardened, his eyes midnight dark. “What was his name?”
“I’m not telling you this so you can avenge my honor.” I wiped a tear. “I’m telling you this because as a doctor, you need to hear what some patients go through before they land in your emergency room. A lot of patients are fighting a war with their bodies, with the medical system, with medical professionals who make them feel hopeless or like their concerns aren’t valid.” My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “And when enough people don’t believe you, it starts to take its toll. There’s nothingmore isolating than having the very people who’ve taken an oath to protect you be the ones who hurt you.”
Blake’s shoulders rose with a deep, angry breath.
“You start to wonder if maybe itisall in your head. And you go through your days, getting sicker and sicker, those words echoing in your mind: that you’re doing this to yourself.” The tears were flowing freely now. “I spent over 365 days in this battle, and there were times when I’d lay my head down at night, alone in my bed, sobbing, wondering if I could cope with another day of it.”
I wiped my cheeks with my free hand. “By the time I landed in your emergency room, I had decided to give up fighting for answers. Not because I wasn’t a fighter, but because I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get off that roller coaster. It seemed no one believed I was sick anyway. But thankfully, you encouraged me to keep going. One last time. And now, it’s finally over.”
Blake stood, pulling me up with him and into his arms. I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
“Thank you,” I whispered against his shirt. “For giving me my life back.”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head. We stood there in silence, the weight of the past year finally beginning to lift, replaced by something light, something beautiful.
If only it could have lasted.
63
TESSA
“You look so much better.” Scarlett’s tongue poked out in concentration as she applied the topcoat to my pinkie nail, the fresh polish gleaming under Blake’s kitchen lights.
“Do I?” I wiggled my other fingers, admiring her handiwork.
“Girl, you were starting to resemble the Crypt Keeper there for a hot second.”
I shot her my best death glare, which only made her grin wider.
