icky just talking about this. I was sure it was allergies even though I’ve never had them before.”
“And he is sure this is CSF?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s why he wanted to schedule the MRI and CT scan. Apparently they’ll be able to see where the leak is coming from, if there is a hole, and things like that.”
“When are you going in for the scans?”
This was the bad part, or the worse part. I winced. “I didn’t schedule them.” My nose seemed to take a break so I rested my hands in my lap.
His forehead creased. “What do you mean you didn’t schedule them?”
“A CT scan, I can do, Jack. I googled it and it’s only a minute, plus only my head would go in. The MRI, which is what he said they needed to see if there is a hole and where it is—that one I can’t do.”
He looked at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not okay with closed spaces.”
“You’re claustrophobic? You never panic in an elevator.”
“Elevators are fine, as long as I don’t get stuck in them. Plus, I can move. I don’t have to stay still. I talked to a nurse when I exited the doctor’s office and apparently their MRI machine is old and the type of scan he wants takes over fifteen minutes, and I can’t move at all during it—as in I’m not allowed to move or twitch any part of my body. If I do, they’ll have to start all over again.” I could feel my eyes burning with tears. I felt so stupid. “Thinking about it is already giving me anxiety, and she said they will need to close a cage on my head because apparently it needs to be stable.” I shook my head more vehemently. “Trust me, I know how stupid it sounds, but I can’t do it, Jack. I can’t.”
He stared at me for a few beats and I hoped he’d understand. “There are open MRI machines. You wouldn’t have to be closed in.”
A tear escaped from my eye and I let it be. “She said the scan he wants is complicated and those machines don’t take that scan. It has to be closed.”
He watched the tear slide down my cheek and abruptly got up to pace in front of the couch as he ran his hand over his face. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Wait.” Opening his office door, he leaned toward Cynthia. “Call Benjamin for me, tell him it’s urgent.” Casting a quick look my way, he headed for his desk and lifted his phone as soon as it started ringing. “Okay. That’s fine.”
Then I listened to him talk to Benjamin, who was apparently a doctor from what I could tell from Jack’s side of the conversation. A few minutes later, after he had explained my situation, he had made an appointment for me for the next day with an ENT specialist this Benjamin guy recommended. More doctors—just what I needed.
When he set the phone down, I got up to my feet. He met me halfway as I was headed for the door.
“We’ll meet him at eleven tomorrow morning and see what he has to say. Maybe we can get out of it without an MRI.”
“Okay,” I muttered, trying to walk past him. “I really need to leave.” The more I thought about doctors and tests, the more anxious I was starting to get, and I needed to just get out and breathe in the cold, fresh air.
“What’s wrong?” His hand curled around my wrist again, stopping me.
“Nothing,” I said, my tone a little harsher than necessary. “I need to leave. I’m already late.”
“Hey.” Dropping my wrist, he covered my cheek with his palm, and my lips started to tremble. I was one of those who couldn’t handle kindness when I was already teetering on the edge, and the gentle tone of his voice was the worst thing he could’ve offered to me in that moment.
“Are you gonna die?” His question was too much of a contradiction with the tone of his voice and his warm hand resting on my cheek, which was why I couldn’t find my words for a moment.
I blinked at him. “What?” I stuttered, shocked out of my tears.
“I asked if you’re going to die.” He pulled his hand away from me and dropped it to his side. “Is it something like cancer?” he continued. “Did the doctor say anything like that? Is it not treatable?