Page 9 of Take a Moment

‘It’s Alex.’ I bristle slightly, not used to hearing my full name, and not particularly liking it.

‘Of course.’ Dr Harlow purses her badly liplined lips. ‘Shall we get on then? Firstly, I know you have been through this a few times, but would you mind awfully telling me what happened to you yesterday?’

Really? Why does no one write this stuff down? I sigh inwardly to hide my frustration.

‘Yes, I can do that,’ I reply. ‘I was out for a run yesterday lunchtime, something I’ve been doing regularly for the last few months…’

I reluctantly take Dr Harlow through my well-worn story from beginning to end. She doesn’t ask any questions, just listens intently, giving absolutely nothing away, while her protégés watch on, totally mesmerised.

‘So, tell me, how are you feeling today?’ she asks once I’m done. ‘Any more nausea? Double vision? How are you feeling generally?’

I do a quick self-check. ‘I’m OK. Felt a bit nauseous at breakfast time, but I kept down my orange juice, so that’s good. No more double vision.’ I hold up my index finger in front of my eyes to confirm this. ‘I only had that before the fall. Afterwards, everything was just really blurred, but that only lasted a few hours. Generally, I’m all right, other than a sore head, some fatigue and difficultly concentrating. Probably just be a cold coming on.’

‘I see.’ Dr Harlow nods, while the two students seem to lean in even further. ‘And these symptoms: the double vision, the fatigue. Have you had them before, Alexandra?’

Seriously? She can get a medical degree, but she can’t remember what name to call me by? I furrow my brow but refrain from pointing this out. Probably best I keep her on side if I want to get home today.

‘Not that I can remember.’ I try to recount any similar episodes, but nothing comes to mind. ‘I’ve been fatigued like this before, but that’s just been my body fighting off some kind of cold or viral infection that’s doing the rounds at work. I don’t get properly ill that often. Lucky that way. My fiancé says if I wasn’t so damn clumsy, I’d be the perfect package.’

‘Have you always been clumsy?’ Dr Harlow asks.

I mull this over. ‘Eh… no, actually. It’s pretty much just been the last few years. It’s because I’m so busy with work and other stuff. Always having to do everything on fast-forward.’

My eyes dart to the male student, who’s had some kind of spontaneous reaction to this statement as if what I’ve said excites him. The moment he clocks my curious glance, his expression turns to one of fright, then stone.

‘Tell me more about that, Alexandra.’ Dr Harlow zones in on me. ‘In what way are you clumsy?’

‘Oh, you know, just walking into things, I’m not great at catching. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

A sound like air escaping from a balloon erupts from the male student’s mouth. He immediately turns a stunning shade of scarlet.

‘Roderick, perhaps you need some water for that throat?’ Dr Harlow’s voice is steely.

Roderick looks crestfallen as he scuttles off.

‘Thank you, Alexandra,’ says Dr Harlow. ‘Would you mind awfully if I did a few simple tests with you?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ I say. ‘Are these to check on my concussion?’

‘They are to check your nervous system response.’

‘Right.’ I rub my pounding head, unsure what that means.

Dr Harlow proceeds to perform some kind of sorcery as she carries out a number of bizarre visual and physical checks. She has me touch my nose, then her finger, repeatedly, asks me to resist as she pushes her hand against my arms and legs, and gets me to stand on the spot with my eyes closed and then to walk in a straight line, heel to toe. Finally, she asks me to sit on the edge of the bed while she taps at my knees with a small hammer. All the time this theatre is taking place, the remaining student peers at me from behind Dr Harlow, like an inquisitive meerkat.

Once she’s finished her checks, Dr Harlow invites me to lie back on the bed. By this point I’m relieved to be able to do so, wondering how on earth I’m going to make it back to work on Monday if I’m this exhausted from a physical examination. My balance is also off, probably from the concussion.

‘I realise I’m not in the best form.’ I’m still panting a little as I say this. ‘But is there any chance I’m going to get home today?’

‘Definitely not today,’ Dr Harlow confirms. ‘But perhaps in a day or two.’

OK, that I can live with. Monday could still be on the radar, as long as this fatigue lifts.

‘So, my concussion isn’t too bad?’ I ask.

‘Alexandra.’ Dr Harlow peers at me over her tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. ‘Did Dr Amani mention to you yesterday that there were some anomalies in your MRI scan?’

‘He did, yes. Said you were going to review them?’

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