Page 11 of Penalized Love

I set my phone aside, unable to muster up enough energy to reply. The soup is soothing but doesn’t stop the dark thoughts surrounding me. I cannot express enough how grateful I am for my parents’ care, but being back in my childhood room feels like a step in the wrong direction.

My phone buzzes again as I finish my meal and take the medication. This time, it’s a text from Selene.

Selene: Are you home yet? I hope you had a good flight.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to put the phone down and ignore her message for now until I feel more like myself.

I stare at it for a while, debating if or how to respond. Finally, I find the words.

Me: Just got home. Exhausted. Talk tomorrow?

Selene: Of course! Get some rest. Call me when you’re up for it.

I smile faintly at her response. Selene has always been good at reading my moods, even through text, and since she knows as much as I do about my condition, I knew she would understand. I set my phone aside and sink deeper into my pillows, letting out a long sigh.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, and when it finally does, the only thing I dream of is finding answers to the medical questions that are burning a hole in my soul.

5

ISLA

My hand flies to my chest as I’m jolted awake. It takes me a second to calm my racing heart. All I can hear is the blaring sound of my phone alarm coming from my nightstand. I’ve been sleeping in later since I returned from Italy, but I need to get up early today. It’s the day I’ve been waiting for—one I’ve “affectionately” referred to as D-day, short for Diagnosis Day.

I groan as I stretch my arm out to stop the loud noise. As I sit up, a wave of nausea hits me, forcing me to stop my movements and take deep breaths.

Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. The room spins for a moment, but I close my eyes and hold myself up against the wall. A few more measured breaths do the trick, and I make my way out of my room.

I walk into my bathroom and splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll wake me up and calm me down. It doesn’t work, but at least I feel more human.

Or something like that.

With a sigh, I start getting ready for the day. Every movement feels like a chore, but I force myself through themotions because I’ve been waiting for this moment. I need answers. As I’m pulling on one of my favorite sweaters, I hear my mom’s voice coming from what I assume is downstairs.

“Isla? Are you ready?”

“Coming,” I reply quickly. I’m so ready to get this over with.

I grab my phone and take one last look in the mirror to make sure I look presentable. Even though I’ve been up for at least twenty minutes, I still look exhausted. The happiness I experienced living in Italy for the short time I was there is long gone. In its place are tired eyes that wish I could be anywhere but here.

You can do this.

The words do little to psych me up, but it is better than nothing.

I head toward the stairs and see my mom and Bella waiting near the front door. Mom has her purse and car keys already in hand. “There you are. Ready to go?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. There are a lot of thoughts coursing through my mind, but I don’t trust myself enough to voice them appropriately. All of this is a lot to take in and deal with, and if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t begun to process most of what has happened.

“I stuck a couple of granola bars in my bag in case you get hungry, and I grabbed your wallet off the counter,” Mom says as she opens the front door. Thank goodness one of us is thinking straight. I pat Bella on the head, telling her goodbye just before we leave the house.

The car ride to my new doctor’s office is mostly silent, save for the low hum of the radio. After having several tests run and an ultrasound done already, I’m not all that enthusiastic about going back for the results. While my last couple of visits have gone fine, I don’t have much hope. This isn’t my first rodeo with doctors trying to figure out exactly what is wrong with me, soI have to say my expectations are pretty low. Thankfully, Mom doesn’t try to engage in small talk because there is nothing she can say that will distract or make me feel better. Instead, I stare out the window, watching my hometown fly by. Being left to my own thoughts is all I want right now.

We pull into the medical center’s parking lot, and Mom turns off the car. For a moment, we both sit there, neither of us making a move to get out.

“You ready?” Mom asks softly.

I glance at her and see her hand hovering over the door handle. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply. That is such a lie. My stomach is tied in so many knots, and I can’t tell if it’s from the news I’m going to get or from the illness that has been plaguing me.

We step out of the car and walk into my OB/GYN’s office. After checking in, I notice that the waiting area is quiet, with just a few other patients sitting in the room. I sink into a surprisingly soft chair while Mom sits beside me on a couch. I now more than ever appreciate that my doctor is trying to make her practice a relaxing and calming space because I’m anything but. My leg bounces as I wait and try to think about the results and how my doctor might deliver them.

---