Reaves reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm proud of you."
She gripped his hand tightly. She couldn't speak—there was no way she could explain how much his words meant to her.
He gave her an encouraging smile. "You'd better get in there. It's finally time to make a start on getting you better. I'll be right here waiting until you come out."
"I… you don’t have to. I could…"
He held her gaze, his expression steady. "I'm going nowhere."
When she reached the door, she tapped lightly. The name on the brass plate—Dr. Henry Ambrose—settled something inside her. She'd researched all the doctors she was eligible to see. This guy's photo had called to her. He was older and he had a kind smile. He looked like a wealthy Napa gentleman—reminded her of Charles in a way. And although she'd started out thinking that she'd like to find a younger female doctor, she'd kept coming back to Dr. Ambrose.
"Come in."
She pushed the door open and went inside. She was about to find out if her instincts had guided her right. She inhaled deeply—she was about to find out a whole lot more than that.
Chapter Five
"Good morning, Miss Brighton."
The moment she stepped inside his office, Dr. Ambrose greeted her with a kind smile, gesturing for her to take a seat across the desk from him.
"Good morning," she murmured, then cleared her throat. This wasn't the time for staying quiet. Now that she was finally here, it was time to speak up, to tell him everything, and hopefully, to finally find out what was going on with her.
"Now then, since we haven't met before, I'd like to make sure that I have all your history," he said warmly, before glancing at his computer screen. "I see that you've filled out all the forms, but…" He frowned slightly before turning back to her. "You didn't provide much medical history."
She dropped her gaze. "That's because I don't have any." She looked up at him slowly, feeling inadequate.
"Well then, not to worry. Let's start where we are, why don't we? What brings you here today?"
"I…" She shrugged. "I haven't been feeling well for a while. Tired and just run down, really, I guess."
He nodded. "Well, since this is a getting-to-know-each-other session, why don't we go through everything? What does tired and run down look like—physically? And how long has it been going on?"
She sat up a little straighter. There was no point in coming if she didn't tell him the truth. "Probably for the better part of ayear, I've been feeling more and more tired." She looked down at herself. "I’ve lost weight and I can't seem to put any back on."
When she didn't continue, he rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, still smiling. "Okay, that's a good start. Mind if I take over? It's sometimes easier to answer questions than to remember and list all the details yourself."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. "Yes, please. I think that'd help."
"All right then. So, we have the fatigue and the weight loss. Any headaches?"
"Yes."
"How often?"
"A lot."
"How many times a week?"
She shrugged. "Maybe three or four."
"And any dizziness?"
"Sometimes." She caught herself and gave him a smile. "Not as often as the headaches. Maybe once a week."
"And with the dizziness, do you faint?"
She pressed her lips together. "I did once or twice, but I haven't for a while. Probably not the last couple of months."
