I'm still riding the high from last night's successful singing debut. I hum Water Under the Bridge as I do a little dance around my room. I spot something move out of the corner of my eye and let out a yelp when I see my mother standing there, silently watching my performance.
I glare at her. "You startled me! Why are you watching me?"
"Well, I was going to tell you to get ready to go the doctor, but I was suddenly mesmerized by your performance." She's trying to look serious, but I can see she's trying not to laugh.
I flop down on my bed. "Don't laugh at me!"
She sits down next to me. "I'm not laughing! OK, maybe a little, but I was laughing with you, not at you."
I glare at her. "But I wasn't laughing."
My mother sighs and hauls herself off the bed. "Well, I can't argue with that. C'mon, we have to go. Downstairs in 10."
She leaves the room in her own, uniquely purposeful way. My mother always looks like she's late for something. She never drifts from one room of the house to the other; no, her movements suggest she's on a mission of some sort. And she usually is. She solves our problems, or at least tries her very best to, is always working whether she is grading papers, helping a student with a difficult assignment, or trying to finish her own novel. I know she's like to chuck it all and just be a writer, but, as she says, she and our father are a team and they need the whole team's income to keep our house running.
Mom is also always starting a new project. Lately, she's been talking about adopting a senior dog or maybe even just fostering one. My dad tells her she's already too busy with everything else she has to do and wants to accomplish but I'm sure he knows that saying she can't do it will just make her want to do it all the more. I'm not sure how I feel about having an old, possibly dying dog in our house. It sounds depressing, only owning this animal for a short period of time. I'd rather have a puppy that would live with us for years, maybe until Michael and I are adults. But, mom will most likely get her way and sooner than later an ancient, smelly dog will waddle into the house to live out its senior years with us.
As if on cue, she yells from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't hear any water running! Get ready now! You only have five minutes left!"
I throw on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, grab a mismatched pair of socks, and trudge into the bathroom. Teeth brushed, hair thrown up in a messy ponytail, face washed, and I'm on my way down the stairs to meet my mother. Let's see what Dr. Lim has to say about my health and maybe my future.
In between school, homework, and my slightly impressive singing debut with the band, I had to go in for those medical tests. I had another MRI but this one wasn't as bad as the ones I had in the past. The machine was newer, they explained to me, so that meant it was also bigger. The last time I was in one of these metal echo chambers, they gave me a tranquilizer that didn't calm me down at all and my mom had to stay in the room where she sat, hunched over, holding my hand through the whole thing.
This time, I was able to talk myself into going back alone and it took a lot less time. I was ridiculously proud of being able to go through this by myself. My mother stared at me in surprise when I told her she could stay in the waiting room. Besides feeling like I might actually be nearing adulthood sometime soon, I liked shocking her. She acts like the knows everything, and actually says, "I know everything" or "I'm always right" from time to time. My dad usually just rolls his eyes at her and says, "Sure you do!" in an exaggerated, sarcastic tone of voice. The thing is, she usually does know most things, if not everything, and she's usually right. I'd never admit that to her, of course, but it's true. If she knew I felt that way she'd never let me live it down.
I also had some blood work done, although I'm not sure why. I don't think that passing out like I did has anything to do with my bad back so I'm pretty sure something else is wrong with me. The thought makes my heart race a little bit. I try to imagine the doctor saying that I'm fine, it was a one-time thing, and then I go home with my mom to eat whatever I want, gluten included, and do some Netflix binging in my comfortable bed. But, I know they're going to find something and I can't overdo it on gluten-full food. I mean, I could, but then my intestines would revolt and attack me. I have a sudden vision of the stage at Isabelle's house and me, doubled over in stomach pain, with the rest of the band looking on in horror and resolve to never even look at food with gluten in it again.
We arrive at the doctor's office and, as usual, I don't want to go in. My mother humors me, letting me sit in the car for a little while. It dawns on me that she rushes me so much that we're often early to my appointments. Maybe she actually has a reason for acting like a lunatic as she shoves me out the door. Running to the car is one thing but running into the doctor's office before I've had a chance to mentally prepare myself for whatever bad news they might have for me this time is completely different. And highly stressful.
I hate it when anyone-usually my mom, of course-rushes me at the store when I'm picking something out or just browsing. I can feel my anxiety growing as she stares at me, arms crossed, sighing impatiently. I can't imagine what I'd feel like if I couldn't center myself a little bit and take some deep breaths before entering the sterile, stuffy medical building. So, maybe my mother isn't being her usual always in a hurry self. Maybe she just wants me to sit in the car so I can be more comfortable when we finally go in.
I look over at her and my eyes tear up a little bit. Then I realize that this technique of hers benefits her, too. If I'm more comfortable I'm more likely to talk to the doctor and less likely to act like a jerk. Jerkiness is sometimes a side effect of my insecurities and it really pisses my mother off. I feel less sentimental about her now.
I wipe my tears away before they can fall. "Ready? Isn't my appointment starting in like two minutes?"
She's sitting with her eyes closed and looks like she's fallen asleep which could be a possibility. My mother can fall asleep anywhere and says that if she could get paid for sleeping, we'd be rich. Her eyes snap open. "Yep! Let's go!"
We check in with the front desk and take two seats in the main waiting room. I'm not sure what I want right now. I know that I need to find out what's wrong with me, but what if it's really bad? Or what if they really haven't figured anything out yet and I have to go in for more testing? I hate medical tests. This isn't earth shattering news. Who likes them, really? So what's worse? Hearing really bad news or hearing that they have no news at all?
I feel my mom staring at me. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" I have no idea what she's talking about.
"Stop worrying so much. I can see that brain of yours moving a mile a minute."
She's spooky sometimes. Before I can respond I hear someone call my name and it's time for us to follow the nurse back to the exam room. She tells us Dr. Lim will be right with us and quickly leaves the room.
He must be running behind because we have to wait in that small room with spotty cell reception for another 20 minutes before he finally knocks on the door and opens the door. I'm waiting for a text from Isabelle about our next practice but give up. Nothing is working on my phone right now and even though I know I can't use it, I reluctantly put it down next to me on the exam table and focus on the doctor.
"Hi Carter!" Dr. Lim enthusiastically shakes my hand and then turns to my mom and does the same as he says hello to her.
My mom leans forward expectantly as Dr. Lim gets right to business. He taps a few keys on his computer keyboard and brings up images from my MRI.
"OK! This is Carter's most recent MRI. Let's compare it to the one she had last year." More tapping and we now see two images, side-by-side.
Dr. Lim points to the same area on both. "Here, you can see that, unfortunately, Carter's disks have degenerated further. You usually don't see this kind of damage in someone so young. So, while we're not sure why, we do know that she has limited options at this point."
My mom's eyes suddenly look wet like she's trying to hold back tears. "OK. So, now what?"
Dr. Lim sighs. "Well, I recommend that we work on strengthening Carter's core." He turns to start explaining it right to me rather than to my mother.
"Carter, I'm going to send you to a pain management clinic and I also recommend that you start taking yoga classes to help with that core. It won't fix things, but it will help with the pain."
I smile and nod, not sure I want to go to yoga.
My mom smiles, too. "I'll go with you! We could also do Pilates, right?"
Dr. Lim nods. "Yep! That would work, too." Suddenly, I feel a little better. Maybe I'll like yoga or Pilates, whatever that is. And my mom will be there so I won't have to talk to anyone if I don't want to. She usually does all the talking no matter who she's with.
After thanking Dr. Lim, my mother asks the question I've been dreading. "What about the blood work and the fainting spell Carter had?"
"I was just getting to that, I promise." Dr. Lim must have unlimited patience to deal with impatient parents like my mother.
My mom sighs a little too loudly and settles back into her chair and I hold my breath. I'm not sure I want to know the answer to this.
He glances back and forth between us. "The blood work was inconclusive. Carter, you have some of the markers for fibromyalgia, which could explain what happened to you, but the tests don't indicate that you have it, specifically. We just have to keep an eye on you for now and retest if necessary. I'm sorry. I know you were looking for some answers."
My mother clears her throat. "Do you have an opinion on what this might be, even though the results aren't specific?"
"Unfortunately, no, but if I'd had to make a general guess I'd say that it has something to do with Carter's diet and that she needs to go entirely gluten free, not just gluten free here and there. I also recommend that she eat at regular intervals and that she stay away from dairy as much as possible. From what she indicated on her patient info sheet, dairy upsets her stomach and then the day she passed out she also ate food with gluten in it and not much else. This could be a perfect storm with her anxiety issues that resulted in the loss of consciousness. The yoga can help with the anxiety issues, too, so I really recommend you give it a try."
No dairy? I want to cry. I love cheese. Like seriously love it. First I have to give up all things breaded and now cheese? I can't do this, I think. I really can't.
I catch my mother watching me out of the corner of my eye. "You can do, this, Carter." She's reading my mind again.
My mother and the doctor both stand, signaling that the visit is almost over. "Thank you again, Dr. Lim. I'll keep an eye on Carter's diet and let you know if anything else happens."
We all shake hands and then mom and I are on our way home. I look over at her as she pulls out of the parking lot. "How the hell can I give up cheese?"
She sighs. "You'll have to wean yourself off, like someone trying to give up cigarettes."
I press my forehead against the cool car window. "I guess. I'm pretty addicted to cheese so maybe that'll work."
"It will. Trust me."
I trust my mom. I just don't trust myself around cheese. We drive the rest of the ride home in silence so I grab my phone. I haven't checked my messages in a while and there is one waiting for me. I assume it's from Isabelle because no one else texts me but my heart skips a beat when I see it's from Thomas, and then it sinks a little bit when I realize it's actually a group text.
Thomas: thought of a band name
Isabelle: yeah? what?
Thomas: Depressed Scumbags. we can have a grunge look
Everyone starts typing at once.
Eli: dude that sucks
Isabelle: that makes my suggestions look good
I don't want to hurt his feelings but that's pretty bad, so I type: not sure i like it. talk about it at practice this weekend?
Isabelle: it's terrible! but yeah we can talk about it, i guess. practice next Saturday?
Thomas: see you Saturday but if you don't come up with anything else i say we use it
Eli: no man...just no. see you guys then
Isabelle: can't wait!
Me: bye see you guys soon
I close the message and smile. For the first time ever, I have plans for next weekend. I close my eyes and think about how I can tell Thomas his band name sucks while still letting him know I like him. If I can sing in this band, maybe I can do that, too. I'm full of surprises these days.