Page 18 of Love Me Fearless

Her face brightens. “On it.” She spins away.

I slip out of my office and take a moment to soak in the positive vibes. The nurse’s station where Vivian and Sepp, my PA, are exchanging a quick laugh about something as they work, the waiting area to my right where two littles are playing in the mini playhousemy dad built, my receptionist’s warm greeting to the family just walking in.

It’s been nine months of hard work, but it’s becoming my practice more and more every day. I can even see a change in my staff. Not that Dr. Boone wasn’t wonderful, but I get the feeling he was a little old-school when it came to making decisions. Vivian was downright skittish when I first took over, and Sepp seemed surprised when I consulted him.

I give the exam door a quick knock and wait for the “come in” before I enter. Inside, a woman sits on the chair against the window and her daughter sits on the exam table, her gangly legs dangling off the edge.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Greely,” I say, setting down the tablet on the small desk in the corner so I can shake Mom’s hand.

“I’m Kelly. Nice to meet you,” Mom says, offering me a weak smile, while the teen eyes me suspiciously.

I’ve grown used to the lukewarm welcome since taking over for a physician that everyone loved so much. I remind myself that it’s going to take time to build people’s trust. In that regard, time is on my side because it’s always been my plan to devote my career to the families of Finn River.

Greta’s eyes stay focused on the floor as I settle onto the small round stool. Her shoulder-length blonde hair hangs past her thin face, the tips dyed a shocking pink. She’s wearing black Converse high-tops, ripped jeans, and a faded purple hoody.

I notice that she’s filled out the mental health questionnaire provided at check-in, but I ignore it for now.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re having stomach aches, Greta,” I say. “Can we talk about it for a bit?”

Greta shrugs.

We go through a basic history. When the stomach aches started, how long they last, what the pain feels like, and if she’s noticed a pattern of onset. From her history, I know that her parents divorced last year, she’s an eighth grader at Finn RiverMiddle School, and is passionate about art and her Cocker Spaniel, Baron.

“Okay if I listen to your belly?” I ask Greta.

Her eyes meet mine for the first time. “It’s okay.”

I pump hand sanitizer into my palms and rub them together, then slip my stethoscope from my pocket and slide the earpieces into place. The exam reveals no surprises, and I even get Greta to giggle when I comment on the vigorous gurgles I hear in her lower abdomen. I tap each quadrant, watching Greta’s face for a reaction. If she had inflammation, or a festering appendix, it would show.

“I’d like to run a blood test,” I ask Greta, then glance at Kelly, who nods. Girls at this age are often low in iron and vitamin D, which could cause several kinds of symptoms.

The mom gathers her coat, like she thinks we’re done.

“Okay if I talk for a few minutes alone with Greta?” I say to them both.

Greta’s eyebrows lift.

“Why?” Kelly asks, scowling.

“It’s important for Greta to be able to share whatever she wants with me.”

Kelly eyes Greta, then me, her eyes wary. “Do you want me to go?” she asks her daughter.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Greta says.

Kelly stands. “All right.”

Twenty minutes later, Greta and I have covered a lot of ground. She’s worried about her mom, who cries at night, but she’s also worried about school and the bullies who hang out in the bathrooms making videos for their social media channels. Greta and I part ways with a plan. She’s going to try some grounding activities before bed, go on two walks per week with Baron, and hug her mom. I promise to call the school’s principal to work on the bathroom issue.

The extended visit cost me time I don’t have, and I’m practically running all morning. I finally catch a break to scan the day’s lab results in my office when my phone screen lights up with a text from Sofie.We sometimes share patients, and I’m expecting an update on one of them, but what flashes on my screen is something much different.

Louisa got checked into Evergreen Medical Center last night.

My stomach drops. I get up and close my door so I can call Sofie back.

“Did something happen?” I ask. In the background, Zach laughs with their little boy, Curren. I imagine them playing in their living room. Zach tickling him or the two of them knocking over the block towers he loves to build.

Sofie gives a tight sigh, yanking me back to the conversation. “It’s her heart, but I don’t know how serious.”

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