Page 1 of Broken Secrets
CHAPTER ONE
The medical officelobby smells faintly of sanitizer and stale coffee. A toddler shrieks near the fish tank while her mother scrolls on her phone. I hear sounds of a man coughing into his sleeve. The few remaining fish dart in frantic loops as if they’re trying to escape their glass prison.
I check my phone again, tapping my fingers impatiently on the screen. I haven't received a text from Mom. She promised she’d be here but the parking lot outside holds nothing but strangers’ cars.
The receptionist slides a clipboard toward me without looking up. “Fill these out and bring them back when you’re done.”
I take it from her and sink into a nearby chair; crossing my leg and balancing the clipboard over my knee. Maternal side of the family history: easy. Mom’s side is an open book, diabetes, high blood pressure, panic disorder. Paternal side: blank. Always blank. I tap the pen against the page, half-hoping answers will appear out of nowhere. They don’t.
“Olivia Kline?” a small voice calls. I look up from writing and see a nurse smiling as she sees me. I stand up and follow her to the back and into a cramped exam room.
“Step on the scale,” she says.
I slip my shoes off, she weighs me, then writes it down on her clipboard.
“Against the wall for height.”
I move away from the scale and approach the height chart using the wall for support. She lowers the stadiometer over the top of my head, and then she writes a note on her chart.
”Sit, please.” She says and grabs the blood pressure cuff and placing the clipboard down on the counter. She wraps it snug around my upper arm, the Velcro keeping it held tight. With each mechanical hiss it squeezes harder and my fingers start to tingle.
“Is it supposed to feel like my arm’s about to explode?” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
The cuff deflates at last, leaving my arm tingling and marked with red indentations.
“Blood pressure’s a little elevated,” she notes, tone as flat as day-old soda.
She clips a pulse oximeter on my index finger and I stare at the numbers blinking green on its little screen waiting like it’s a pop quiz I didn’t study for.
“Pulse is elevated too,” she murmurs. “Doctor will be right in.”
She walks out and shuts the door. Leaving me alone with the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint tick of a wall clock. I swing my legs from the exam table and the paper crinkles underneath me with each movement. Through the thin walls, I can hear muffled conversations, a phone ringing; and everyday sounds of other people’s medical dramas.
My phone buzzes against my leg and I pull it out of my pocket. I unlock it and read a text from my mom.
MOM
So sorry, sweetie! Emergency at work - patient crisis. You’ve got this! Text me after. Love you!
Exclamation points and hearts, all sunshine in a bubble. Easy promises look good on a screen but don’t always hold up in reality.
Dr. Jensen knocks once and enters wearing a crisp white coat. She smiles as she reaches out to shake my hand. I accept with a smile back.
“Olivia, right? What’s been going on?”
“My heart races sometimes like it’s trying to escape my chest. And I get dizzy. Lightheaded. Sometimes it feels like I can’t get a deep breath.”
She nods, jotting notes as I speak. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few weeks? Maybe longer. I thought it was stress from school and soccer.”
“Any family history of heart problems?”
Here it is. The question I’ve been dreading. “On my mom’s side, my grandmother had high blood pressure. But my dad’s side…” I gesture helplessly at the blank forms. “I don’t really know anything about my dad’s medical history.”
Dr. Jensen glances at the clipboard, then back at me. “It’s not uncommon. Lots of families lose track of medical information.” She flips through my chart. “Your vitals show elevated blood pressure and heart rate. Given your symptoms, I’d like to play it safe and refer you to a cardiologist.”
My stomach drops. “A heart doctor? Is something wrong with my heart?”
