Page 27 of Let Me Love You
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks. “I’m happy to come.”
“Yup. I’m a big girl, remember?”
Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to have found someone who knows everything about my condition. Epilepsy’s a bitch, and the learning curve can be pretty steep. But Mack’s taken everything in stride, including attending all of the visits to my neurologist when we decided to change my medication. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s hesitant to miss something as simple as a blood draw.
“Seriously, I’m fine,” I repeat. “P.S., what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“I was thinking ravioli with pesto?”
My mouth waters at the thought as I walk into the doctor’s office and sign my name on the check-in sheet at the receptionist’s desk.
“You’re too good to me,” I tell Mack.
“Nah, just gotta remind you how awesome I am so you don’t leave me for someone else while I’m traveling with the team.”
“Says the man who’s going to be surrounded by puck bunnies everywhere he goes.” I sit on a cushioned chair in the back of the waiting room and cross my legs.
“Trust me, Porcupine, they’ll be watching the players, not me,” Macklin says.
I snort. “I think you are seriously underestimating your sexual prowess, Mr. Golden Retriever.”
“And I think—”
“Kate? Kate Winchester?” a nurse calls.
I clear my throat and mutter into the cell, “I’ve gotta go. They called my name. See you at home.”
“Love you,” Mack murmurs.
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone and stand, heading toward the front desk.
After having my blood drawn, I’m brought to one of the small rooms and answer the standard questions. When we’re finished, the nurse promises the doctor will be in soon. I’ve had the same doctor for years and have been coming to this office for the same amount of time. But even so, it doesn’t exactly feel like a home away from home. Pulling out my phone from my purse, I find a mindless game and start playing when a soft knock vibrates through the wood door. It opens with a quiet creak.
“Hello, Kate,” Dr. Reed greets me.
Slipping my phone back into my black purse, I set it on the chair beside mine and fold my arms. “Hi.”
He heads to the small desk, sitting on a swivel stool in front of the computer screen. Once his password is typed in, he pulls up my file and scans the blood test results while I watch with bated breath.
This never gets easier. These appointments. Their diagnoses. Wondering if I’m still okay. If the medication is still working. If it’s messing with my organs. If I need to switch things up.
“ASM levels look good,” he murmurs. “Your kidneys and liver look good too.” His eyes narrow as he reads something else, and they widen in surprise.
“What is it?” I ask, my nerves getting the best of me.
“Give me one second.” The slight click-click from the mouse echoes throughout the otherwise silent room as he rereads something on the computer screen and turns to me. “I, uh, I don’t know how to say this without just saying it. Uh—”
“You’re freaking me out, Doc.”
“Your hCG levels are quite high, Kate.”
“What’s hCG?” I question.
I’ve never heard the acronym, though there’s a shit-ton of them in the medical field, so I’m not exactly surprised.
“Human chorionic gonadotropin,” he clarifies, once again nose-deep in my chart.