Page 28 of The Girl He Loves

I take a seat next to a woman who looks like a deer caught in headlights. I know that look. I’ve had it several times. It’s fear. Fear of what the doctor will say. Fear of how you’ll handle it. Fear of the billion unknowns that you can't even begin to wrap your mind around. Will my child be okay? Will he have a good life? How can I bear as much of his burden as possible for them him?

She stares at the clipboard, her pen hovering over the page. But not moving. Only blinking. She's dressed well, makeup done, hair styled. But she's missed a button on her shirt, and her nails looked chewed from worry. I used to look like her when Tyler’s seizures were new and I thought, if I kept life the same, they'd disappear as suddenly as they'd come. But like this woman next to me, I was falling apart inside, and it was creeping its way out.

I touch her arm, and she jumps.

“First time, right?” I say quietly.

She nods. Tears puddle in her eyes. I don’t say it’s going to be okay because I don’t know. We never do.

“You can do this,” I say. “It’s okay to be scared. There’s so much to take in. Just go one step at a time.”

“How old?” She gulps. “How old is your child?”

“Eight next month, but he was diagnosed at four. Yours?”

“Four. She’s just a baby.” The tears spill down her face.

“I know. And it’s so unfair. What’s her name?”

“Madison.”

I take the clipboard from her then write Madison on the form. “What’s your name?”

“Lisa. Lisa Foster.”

I stick out my hand. “Hi, Lisa Foster. I’m Heather Michaels.” We shake, and I squeeze her hand softly to give her strength. Then I write her name on the correct line on the form. “Can I help you with this?” I tap my pen to the paper.

She nods.

We fill out the form together. Me acting as scribe. She tells me about Madison, and I tell her about Tyler. I invite her to the Facebook support group I run for parents of kids with learning difficulties and epilepsy. She joins on the spot.

“Doctor Carpenter is amazing. She’ll say a lot today, but everything she tells you she’ll have on paper for you to read later because you won’t remember everything from this appointment. But you can reach out to me if you need to go over it again afterward or have any questions. I can try to help.”

Lisa nods.

I give her a side hug. We’re from the same tribe. It’s the our-kids-have-a-diagnosis-and-we’re-scared tribe.

Doctor Carpenter is standing in the doorway that separates the waiting room from the back offices. She smiles at me. “Heather, you ready, or do you need a few minutes?”

I ask Lisa if she’s okay. She nods. Following another hand squeeze, I leave her behind to follow the good doctor and wait for the news she has to share. Good or bad.

We take a seat in her office, and she smiles. “That was something out there. What you did for her.”

I shrug. “Mom helping a mom.”

“Not a lot of people are good at that. Working with scared parents.”

“Maybe because I’ve been there it’s easier?”

She studies me for a second. “I have a personal question, and I apologize for being so nosy, but did you go to college?”

I blow out a sigh. “I’m almost done. I have a minor in psychology and I’m looking at getting my bachelors in child studies.” This is what Jamison called the new track she wants to put me on.

Doctor Carpenter's smile gets large. “Heather, I have an opportunity you might be interested in.”

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