Rose sat down with the papers and scanned them over. “Right now, you’re experiencing tingling?”
“Toes and fingers.”
Rose looked up. “And it feels like?”
“Like my hands and feet have started to go to sleep, and with some movement I could get the blood flow going again,” Rylee said.
Rose nodded, “But you can’t?”
“No.”
Rose turned the page. “Not a vegan? So not a B12 deficit.”
“I eat a high-protein diet because I lift heavy. The protein comes from animals, and I take sublingual B12 daily. The B12 labs on the third page, you can see it’s high normal range.”
Rose turned to that page. “These are past labs, and your A1C is normal, so you’re not experiencing diabetic neuropathy.” She glanced up. “Have you ever been diabetic?”
“I’ve always had stable glucose numbers. So no, this isn’t diabetic neuropathy.”
“Ever hit your head?”
“No, ma’am. I have been on battlefields as a medic, so I was around blast concussions. But when I was with the Navy, I had an MRI to check for damage, and I was okay.”
“How long ago was that MRI?”
“Twelve—no, thirteen years ago.” Rylee lifted her thigh to unstick from the paper table liner so she could shift into a new position. “Up until the last doctor I tried, I was told these sensations were all in my head and that I should get a hobby that flexes my fingers. Have I considered taking up knitting? Apparently, if I’d move my fingers, it would make my toes stop tingling.”
Rose held a blank face. “And the last one?”
“Told me that I probably have a pinched nerve, and I might consider chiropractic.”
“Have you considered that?” Rose asked.
“No. Not my thing to get crunched around.” Rylee lifted her hand and spread her fingers. “Each to their own. But I did go to a physiotherapist, and she did what she could for me.”
“Helpful?”
“She concluded that none of my nerves were pinched.” Rylee’s physio had worked hard, trying all the tricks from acupuncture to infrared, from stretches to exercises, to massage. If it was in her care bag and could be dragged out and tried, it had been. But Rylee got no relief, and the therapist was genuinely concerned when Rylee couldn’t move the needle. “She sent me to yet another doctor.”
“And who was that?” Rose asked.
“Here, today. My physio said I should try Dr. Blanch, as he was good at figuring out difficult cases. She called them zebras. That and my office is a block away, so if I were working with Dr. Blanch, it would be convenient.” Rylee adjusted her grip on the pink napkin top to make sure she wasn’t flashing Rose. The paper had started to rip. “I don’t think this is a case of me being a zebra in a herd of horses, what with my family history of MS and all.” Rylee looked directly into Rose’s eyes and said clearly, “I need to go through the diagnostic assessments for Multiple Sclerosis. I’d like to start that process.”
Rose nodded. “This is very thorough and answers the questions I’d ask. You’ve been to a lot of doctors about this?”
“A lot. Yes.”
“And what have they done?” Rose asked as she flipped the papers back to the front page and dropped her arm, letting the papers dangle by her side.
“Until the last doctor, they offered me anxiety medications because they said that my breathing was too shallow, possibly too fast. But I think my breathing is fine.”
“Just sit comfortably. I’m going to count your breaths as I take your pulse.”
It was hard for Rylee to breathe normally with her body shivering.
“Eleven.” Rose put the pages on the exam table and pulled out a pad, writing that number down. “That’s athletic. You were breathing normally?”
“Page two,” Rylee said.
