Page 106 of My Best Years

My fingers dig into the bedsheets on either side of me as I stare off into space. My vision blurs as Birdie runs her fingers up and down my bare chest, trying to calm my racing heart. She glides her hands up to my shoulders, squeezing them tightly.

“Callum, look at me.”

I slowly lift my gaze and find the lines of Birdie’s face curved with regret. She wishes she wouldn't have told me. She knows that I now realize how serious this could be.

“Like I said,” she continues, “I could be completely wrong. However, most patients with unexplained symptoms affecting their muscles and movement will be referred to a neurologist for testing. That doesn’t mean that every patient walks out with a life-changing diagnosis. It’s just part of the process of ruling out serious conditions.”

“What…kind of conditions?”

“Nope. We aren't gonna go down that road,” she objects.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know enough about neurology to give you an educated answer. And like you said, attempting to self-diagnose is only going to drive you mad. You’re going to see a doctor as soon as possible, and then we’ll go from there. Until then, try not to let your mind spiral with ‘what-ifs’. Okay?”

Too late. My mind is already going there.

ALS.

Parkinson’s.

A fucking brain tumor.

Jesus Christ.

My chest constricts as my heart threatens to race out of my body.

“Birdie,” I mutter, holding her stare. “What if it’s bad? What if it’s really bad?”

Her face falls at my concern. She brushes her thumbs along my cheeks and presses her lips to my forehead.

“But what if it’s not?” she asks, her voice soothing. “For all we know, you could be deficient in something as common as magnesium. It could be as simple as taking a supplement to relieve your symptoms.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, rubbing my palm against my stubble. “I should have been taking this more seriously.”

“Hey.” Birdie reaches up and threads her fingers through my curls. “Look atme, Cal.”

When I stare into her silver eyes, I almost forget about why I’m on the verge of a panic attack.

“I’m here to make sure that you take it seriously from here on out,” she deadpans. “I know a highly recommended physician at the hospital, Dr. Moreno. She’s one of the best doctors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. She’s the type of physician who will sit down with you and genuinely listen to every word. I’ve never seen someone care so much about their patients. I’ll text you her number so you can call her office on Monday.”

Feeling overwhelmed and, quite frankly, terrified of the news I could receive, I anxiously rake my fingers through my hair.

“Cal?” Birdie says sternly. “I’m not messing around. I won’t let you put this off.”

“Okay,” I nod, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

She arches a skeptical brow.

“You promise me, Callum? You’ll call first thing Monday morning?”

“Yes.”

I tug my lower lip between my teeth as I stare up at the ceiling. I close my eyes and focus on breathing, trying to slow my heart rate to a comfortable pace.

I feel sick. Like I could either throw up or pass out.

I just got Birdie back, and now this? I swear, the universe fucking hates me.

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