Page 59 of We Can Stay
“It's not just rheumatoid arthritis.” She still won't look at me. “It's pericarditis too. That means...”
“Inflammation around the heart.” The veterinarian in me fills in the blank while the man in me tries to read the emotions she's locked down tight.
“Yeah.” Her voice goes flat, clinical. “It's when the membrane surrounding the heart becomes inflamed. It causes chest pain. Stabbing, sharp pain. It can make it hard to lie down or take deep breaths. It can be a complication of rheumatoid arthritis.”
She sounds like she's reading from a medical journal, all emotion stripped away. But I see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clench around the hot water bottle.
“I'm sorry. That sounds rough.”
The facade crumbles all at once. Her face contorts as tears spill over, and she's fighting them even as they fall, trying to hold back the flood with sheer willpower.
I shift closer, carefully draping my arm across her stomach, and press a kiss to her damp cheek. “Hey. It's okay.”
“It's not.” She swipes at the tears despite the obvious pain the movement causes. “This whole thing, it's... I haven't even told anyone about the pericarditis, and I tell Hannah everything. We go to our doctor's appointments together—at least we used to. And now I'm keeping this big secret from her.”
“Why?” I keep smoothing her hair, the repetitive motion soothing for both of us.
“Because if I don't talk about it, then it can't be a huge deal.” The words come out small, vulnerable in a way I've never heard from her.
“Just like if you keep pushing through the pain, it won't be a big deal?”
Surprise flickers across her features. “Yeah.”
“Isn't sharing about this kind of stuff exactly what the Chronic Pain Crafters group is for?”
She breathes a deep sigh. “Yes. But I don't share as much as the others do. They don't know how bad the rheumatoid arthritis is.”
“I see.”
Finally, finally, her eyes find mine. “Talking about it makes me feel tired. Like I'm trying to explain advanced math to someone who just learned long division. So I'd rather avoid that.”
“Because it's exhausting to explain, or because you think people will see you differently once they know?”
Her lashes flutter against her cheeks. “Both...and because then they might try to tell me what to do. How to live my life.”
“Makes sense.”
“I've definitely never told anyone I've dated about my health. Not to this extent.”
The words land like a gift I'm not sure I deserve. I try not to read too much into them, but hope blooms in my chest anyway.She's letting me in, showing me parts of herself she keeps hidden from the world.
“Life with a chronic condition isn't fun.” She shifts slightly, grimacing. “It's not just dealing with pain. There's always the possibility that plans will have to be canceled, that I'll get behind in life—even more than I already am. I hate canceling on people. They don't deserve that.”
“I don't mind.” The response comes without thought, straight from my gut.
Her smile lacks its usual warmth. “That's what you say now.”
“Actually...I know a little bit about that kind of life. My ex-wife struggled with depression. It wasn't the reason we split up,” I rush to add, not wanting her to draw the wrong conclusion.
“I didn't know that.”
“Yeah.” I work up what I hope is a reassuring smile. “So I know something about having to cancel plans because of health, and I'll tell you what...” I lace our fingers together, her hand small and warm in mine. “I'm perfectly fine with it. That's life.”
Relief washes across her features, though doubt still lingers in her eyes. That's okay. I'm not arrogant enough to expect instant trust just because I make promises. Actions speak louder than pretty words, and I plan to show her, day by day, that I mean what I say.
“How long do the flares usually last?”
“If I pause all work and rest?” She looks physically pained by the prospect. “A few days.”
