Page 60 of My Heart to Find

THE NEXT MORNING, Iwake up and I can hardlysee. Everything is fuzzy and green. The air has an almost iridescent quality to it. But I feel like sandpaper, like gravel is lining my eyeballs, each bit of each fragment of stone pressing in to be jelly of my eyeball. It’s painful. And I can’t see because there’s a gray haze everywhere, a bit like a static you see on old TVs.

I take several deep breaths.I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.I repeat the mantra in my head.

I’m lying on the sofa, a blanket over me. I’m already contaminated thanks to the cat, two days ago—even the shower couldn’t make it right—so lying on here still didn’t feel too bad. And I couldn’t go back to my room. Part of me is still convinced there’s a cat there.

Last night, Mum left another voicemail message for Dr. Singh. He didn’t seem to be working yesterday or the day before either. But he has to today, right? He’ll be able to help me. I’ll get help.

“Try phoning him,” Mum tells me later in the morning, after I’ve eaten. “And remember to order your next prescription from him. You must run out soon.”

I nod and get my phone out. The line rings and rings.

Then a woman answers. “Hello?” She sounds tired.

“Oh, I’m looking for Dr. Singh? He’s my consultant.”

The woman makes a sharp inhaling sound. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry—I thought I’d already phoned all his patients . Dr. Singh was in a car accident at the weekend. He’s currently in a coma.”

What?

“Oh.” My voice makes a squeaky sound after the word. I don’t know what to say. I can’t think of anything. My mind is blank.

“What’s happening?” Mum asks me.

I put the phone onto loudspeaker, and then Mum and the woman are talking, the woman explaining to Mum what she just said to me.

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Mum says. “Will he be okay?”

Why didn’t I ask that? Why didn’t I say anything? I’m going to come across as a really bad person, like I don’t care.

“We don’t know what the prognosis is yet,” the woman says. “More tests need to be done once he wakes up.”

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry to ask this—but do you know what will happen to my daughter’s treatment? Dr. Singh was treating her for Lyme and the resulting encephalitis.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do anything. I’m not even a doctor, and he worked independently. I know there are other chronic Lyme doctors here too. I can email over their details. All I can suggest is that your daughter has her treatment and care managed by one of them. You should already have the test results, and I believe they can be transferred over to other clinics.”

I feel sick. The words are swimming around me. Pain radiates behind my eyes, and I still can’t see properly.

“Okay, thank you,” Mum says.

I end the call and clench my phone back to me. Mum gives me a look and asks me something, but I can’t understand her words.

I feel empty, void of emotion. Void of everything. And I know I shouldn’t be making it all about me when Dr. Singh is in a coma, but I can’t help feeling that this is where it all gets even worse.

*

“TWO THOUSAND POUNDS?” Dad exclaims.

We’re sitting at the dinner table. I feel blank, empty. Mum and he are talking about the new doctor, one Mum phoned earlier. The doctor said that he can’t continue my treatment without testing me for other things first. After Mum explained my symptoms and the return of the hallucinations, the new doctor—I can’t even remember his name—said it sounded like I could have a Bartonella infection as well as Lyme. Apparently the two are common, and he said that his clinic uses different labs to what Dr. Singh did.

“They much prefer to run their own tests, and they are more detailed and extensive than the ones Cara’s already had,” Mum had told Dad. “If she’s got Bartonella too, she’ll need different antibiotics to the ones already prescribed by Dr. Singh.”

“Then why didn’t Dr. Singh test for it?”

“I don’t know,” Mum says. “But the new one mentioned something about a genetic test too.” She looks at the notes in her hand. “Yes, for the MTHFR gene—he said he needs to know if Cara’s got that, apparently she should already have been tested for that, as it could change the type of treatment she needs or something. But he’s pretty certain that she’s going to need IV antibiotics anyway. That oral ones aren’t strong enough for her at this stage.”

Dad makes a growling sound. “Dr. Singh thought they were fine.”

“This new doctor has more experience,” Mum says.

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