Page 127 of Our Long Days
Her cries are a symphony.
We spend the evening lost in one another until the clock strikes midnight.
The end to another long day and the beginning of our next.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
florence
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
Arms folded,Dex’s frame swallows the plastic chair sitting across from the doctor. Partly hidden by his Moore Lumber cap, his expression is indecipherable. A granite statue, his knuckles are white and he’s unnervingly silent.
It hurts my soul knowing he attended these appointments alone until today.
I reach over, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips. His gaze meets mine. “We brave the storm. Together.”
He inhales and nods.
Dex pulls his hat off when the doctor enters, bending the bill nervously as he stands to greet the middle-aged woman.
“Dexter. I see you finally made the appointment,” she greets, passive but friendly. Her gaze cuts to me. “Who do we have here?”
I stand, offering my hand. “Florence. Nice to meet you.”
“My girlfriend,” Dex adds, his tone upbeat for the first time all morning.
Oh, there go the butterflies.
“Good. It’s important to have support.”
Once we’re seated, a white desk separating us, she steeples her fingers under her chin. Dex’s hand fumbles with mine. I squeeze hard.
“There’s been no change or evidence that your recent attack left any permanent damage to the auditory nerve. Fluctuation is normal. You experienced that with your left ear, but this is low frequency hearing loss, not sensorineural.”
Relief drips over his muscles, coiled tight under his white T-shirt.
Doctor Accetta checks the patient file on her desk. “It appears you’re fulfilling your prescription regularly now. What’s changed?”
I like Doctor Accetta. No nonsense, straight to the point—exactly the type of physician this stubborn man requires.
Dex isn’t subtle when he turns my way. “New priorities.”
“Well, keep it up.” The doctor levels him with a look. “Any thoughts about additional treatment?”
Rolling his shoulders, he hesitates.
“You’ve been my patient for over ten years, and I see plenty of men in trades experience a range of hearing loss. Do you know what most have in common?” the doctor asks.
He doesn’t answer. His grip is almost painful.
“Lack of acceptance. If they ignore the problem, it’s easier to pretend it doesn’t exist. There’s no cure for Ménière’s, but it’s treatable. You know this. Your symptoms will be more manageable if you set time aside and prioritize your health.” Her gaze flits to me. “I’m guessing there’s a reason Florence is here today?”
He straightens in his seat. “She was the kick up the ass I needed to come in today. I’m ready to take this seriously.”
She dips her chin, satisfied. “Good. It’s about time. Now, let’s discuss next steps.”
I listen closely, taking notes, which gets Doctor Accetta’snod of approval. Two hearing aids versus one. Steroid injections. Surgery. No decisions are made today, but it’s a step, an enormous one. He schedules another appointment for two weeks’ time, when he hopes to have weighed all the options.
