A glance at page two, and Rose nodded, “Yes, good job on your dedication to exercising.” She slid the pad and pen away and gathered the papers.
Rose lifted Rylee’s document. “I’m going to scan these into your file, and I’ll share this with Dr. Blanch. He should be in in a minute to see you.”
As Rylee said thank you, Rose stood, tight-lipped and worried. She gave Rylee a nod and left.
Alone again, with nothing but a poster of the muscular system and a painting of a duck to look at, Rylee was once again aware of just how cold that room was. She turned her phone over and looked at the time.
An hour late.
The nurse’s name was Rose. It was an unusual name. It was Rylee’s middle name, Rylee Rose, because her mother liked poetry and letter sounds that repeated. Rylee Rose Jones. Five letters, four letters, five letters made her mother happy with the symmetry and pattern. And if her mother was happy, her father was happy, so he signed off on it.
Rylee was fine with it. It was a good enough name.
But the fact that her nurse was named Rose, too, had to be a good omen.
The delay and the inhospitable conditions were making her angry. Wasn’t this what detectives did to people accused of a crime? They put the defendant into an extra-cold room to heighten their survival instincts and make them want to lash out? It was a tactic that included isolation, anxiety, and power imbalance. All of that might mean the defendant had less control over their emotions and their tongue. The same felt like it could apply here, but Rylee needed to keep a tight rein. So Rylee spent the next few minutes trying to convince herself that this boded well.
She couldn’t account for the temperature of the room, but surely the delay in care meant that Dr. Blanch was thorough and listened carefully to his patients. Once he got to Rylee, he’d weigh her experiences and symptoms, and she’d start moving through the process of getting a proper diagnosis. A clear yes or no on MS was the most important. She needed it physically so she could start the meds that would slow progression, and to allow her to apply for the various drug trials she’d been researching for her next steps.
Rylee also needed it for her psychological health.
The medical gaslighting was an exhausting mental load.
It was embarrassing.
It was demeaning.
Frustrating.
Yes, Rylee was frustrated.
There was a tap at the door, and after Rylee called out, Rose came into the room, handed Rylee back her spreadsheets, and moved to stand by the counter, blank-faced.
Well, that didn’t bode well.
Rylee turned to find a jowly man with reddish skin and orange-ish hair, dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope thrust into his pocket.
“I’m Dr. Blanch.” He stood in the doorway, one foot in the room and one foot in the hallway, with the door pulled up to his rounded belly to shield Rylee—clutching her pink napkin shirt closed over her boobs—from anyone passing in the hallway. “You’re here about a tingling sensation. Have you considered that this could just be where you are in your cycle?” Dr. Blanch asked. He retained his position as far away as he could be from Rylee, leaving a hand resting on the doorknob.
Rylee blinked at him. “My cycle?”
“Hormones and anxiety. Have you tried yoga and meditation?” He asked with his furry eyebrows lifted high.
“Yoga?” Rylee pronounced slowly as she shook her head with incredulity. “I have a family history of MS, three generations on my father’s side.” Rylee lifted her spreadsheets and thrust them at the doctor.
“Do you want some medication?” He dropped his eyebrows in confusion.
Rylee leaned forward and focused on the man with a look she used when she needed things done. “For what exactly?” The words were a hard-edged cudgel.
“Anxiety.” He shifted his focus to the nurse. “Rose, figure out which one she wants, and we’ll put it through.” He turned back to Rylee. “You should try one of the meditation apps on your phone. Learn to breathe deeper.” His fingers lifted from the doorknob he’d been grasping, and he used the flat of his hand to show Rylee how to breathe in and out. “You’ll be alright,” he assured her in a warm paternal voice.
And he walked out the door.
Walked right out the door.
Rylee blinked; her mind had gone blank.
The nurse said something, but Rylee just let her jaw go slack. It hung there, gaping in her astonishment. Rylee had felt so good about today, so hopeful. Years of doctors dismissingher concerns were about to be over. “Rylee?” Rose called more firmly.
