“I need to sit up,” I say.
“Okay.” Greer leans in and helps me sit, then move my legs to the edge of the bed. It’s then I notice she has a small baby bump that she rubs gently. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened?”
“Probably just a panic attack,” I say as the two of us wrestle my binder off. Quickly, I tug the hoodie over my head. It’s soft. Warm. And smells just like Catfish does when he’s showered.
“High compression?” Greer asks.
I nod. My chest isn’t naturally small. And the high compression is the tightest I can get to flatten it. “But I’ve only had it on for a few hours today.”
I don’t mention that I wore it for nearly double the suggested eight hours every day this week.
“Contrary to popular opinion, panic attacks don’t cause you to pass out. Maybe hyperventilation would. Are you on any new medication?”
I shake my head.
“Do you take testosterone?”
I look at Greer. “That’s kind of personal.”
“In exceptionally rare cases, testosterone injections have been linked to pulmonary oil micro embolism, which can be fatal. And side effects are trouble breathing, sudden chest pain, dizziness. And even fainting.”
The distrust I have for the medical profession overwhelms me. I wrap my arms around myself. “Look, I’ve seen doctors like you. You want to know all the details just to stretch those billable hours, but then you don’t help. So, while I appreciate you coming, I?—”
“Wren. You’re safe.”
Those two words again. Safety is more than not being killed. Safe is finding someone to trust with your whole heart. Safe is a place, a home, that carries mostly good memories. Safe is feeling affirmed by friends as you are, with space held for who you need to become.
You’re safe.
Words I wish were true. I saw the way Grudge…
I feel dizzy again. My head is shoved between my knees before I even realize I feel faint again.
“Stay there and listen to me,” Greer says. “There’s no charge for me being here. Not a cent. I was in the clubhouse because this was once my soon-to-be-husband’s club. He was president, before Grudge. I came into this world by choice. I saw you go down. I’m asking the questions because I have to rule everything out, make sure that it’s nothing more serious. But, if I was guessing, you just had a panic attack, on top of an anxiety attack.”
“There’s a difference?” I ask. My words are muffled.
“Anxiety attacks are slower to build. They range from mild to severe. Symptoms become more intense over time because they can last months. And it starts to feel impossible to climb downout of them. Panic attacks come on fast. They’re severe and come without any clear warning. But the symptoms peak and subside fast.”
When the world stops spinning, I lift my head, and there’s a glass of water being offered to me. I take it and sip it. “No. I’m not on testosterone. I think I might want to be on a low dose. But the doctor I went to see a few years ago refused to write me a script for it. I think I want top surgery too.” I place my hands over my chest. “But I don’t have the right support structure for recovery.”
“If you need help with deciding any of that, or funding any of that, come see me. I run a truly not-for-profit medical clinic. You want a serious conversation about testosterone and surgery, I will have it with you and will help you navigate the path to both things happening. And there’s room at my place if you want to come stay with me after you have surgery. I used to be a surgeon, a fucking good one, so I’dreallybe able to help after. Not just as a friend, but medically.”
I look up at Greer and realize she’s been nothing but kind, direct, and respectful. There’s a flicker of hope in my chest. It’s unfamiliar. But if Greer is genuine, then maybe she can help make things happen for me. “Thank you.”
“Now, I’m gonna ask some really personal questions.”
The small laugh I offer is packed with sarcasm. “Like the questions you were asking weren’t?”
Greer shakes her head. “Are you being coerced or forced to do anything you don’t want to by the men out there?”
“Is this like the motorcycle club version of Ask Angela?” I ask.
“You know, we could debate whether that response was sarcastic or sardonic all day. But I’m offering you an out. If you don’t want to be here, I will walk you out with me right now, and Butcher will help me make it happen.”
“He won’t go against his men.”
Greer smiles. “For me, for you, he would. Plus, he and King are old friends. We’d figure it out. But if simply being here is causing you so much distress, I?—”
