It's as if she doesn't want to look at me any longer. Probably because the values are bad. And indicative of a serious illness.
I paddle faster, trying to rid myself of the restlessness within me. But it doesn't help. On the contrary, it drains me.
"As with your first blood test, your white blood cell count is high." She flips back a page, busy comparing something. Her forehead creases.
"So I have cancer," I say exhausted, trying to beat her to it. I knew it.
"Not so fast." She raises her index finger in a lecturing manner. "In cases of tumor diseases, high white blood cell counts almost always accompany low platelet counts. And that's not the case with you."
So no cancer? That sounds too good to be true. "What does 'almost always' mean?"
"Every body is different," she replies. Then she looks up at me. "You're worried." Suddenly, her gaze becomes piercing. "Why?"
I can't withstand her. With my eyes focused on the rugged mountain formation rising on the opposite side of the lake, I continue to paddle.
"Very interesting," she comments as if I just provided her with important clues. In the next second, I hear the rustling of papers again. "Ah, I thought so."
Although I can't be sure, I feel like she just caught me. Again. "Yes. My father had cancer. So did my grandfather. Are you satisfied now?" I ask, keeping my gaze fixed on the group of alpine choughs grooming their black feathers on the small island in the middle of the lake.
Out of nowhere, her hand lands on my knee. "I don't want to lie to you. Genetic predisposition is indeed a poor condition." She gently strokes the fabric of my jeans. Even though we don't have direct skincontact, the area where she touches me tingles. "We can conduct further examinations, but based on your findings, cancer wouldn't be my first assumption."
Not think of cancer? Nonsense. "I saw him die," I say quickly. "I don't want to end up like that." Yes, there's desperation in my voice, but she needs to hear it.
For a moment that feels like eternity, she looks at me lovingly. "I can't promise you that."
Although her words hurt, at least she's telling the truth. She's not trying to make something that will always be ugly sound beautiful. She doesn't want to twist the facts; instead, she lays them out neatly in front of her to face them head-on.
"But there's something else I can promise you," she declares.
I'll take anything. Anything she has to offer.
"Nothing can stop me from finding out what's wrong with you." She nods at me encouragingly. "And nothing will prevent me from accompanying you on your journey, no matter where it leads."
I gaze at her beautiful face in disbelief, my arms ceasing their paddling. In fact, I can't focus on anything else anymore. Only on her. Not for the first time, I realize that this woman with her sun-blond hair and unwavering determination to help me is truly a special person.
I don't deserve someone like her. I'm not worthy of her fighting for me. And she definitely shouldn't look at me the way she is right now.
As if she sees something in me worth fighting for.
There's nothing. That's exactly what I should tell her, but not a single word leaves my mouth.
"We can do this," she says, adding insult to injury.
I nod even though it's not true.
Her cheeks take on a rosy hue, then she almost recoils and quickly turns her attention back to the test results. "Let's talk about the other values," she says.
Confused by her strange behavior, I set the paddles in motion again. We're not far from the waterfall; I can already hear its muffled roar.
"Your concentration problems could possibly be due to a thyroid condition. Although your blood work doesn't indicate anything, we could do a scintigraphy to rule it out." As she speaks, she rummages in her pocket for a pen. Then she meticulously notes her findings on a blank cover page, adding three question marks. "Of course, the most likely cause is stress. But with the tranquil life you lead here..." She points at our idyllic surroundings with the pen in her hand. "We can rule that out, right?"
"Definitely," I confirm. Sure, I have stressful days at work sometimes, but overall, I lead an uneventful life. Especially since Julian's death, it's been downright boring if you look at it closely.
A frustrated snort escapes Elina's mouth. She rests her head in her hands and closes her eyes. "I must be missing something," she mutters to herself. "Think, Elina. Think. Finally. Think!"
"Maybe everything is fine," I interject. "Accidents happen, you know." When I cut my hand, I was just momentarily lost in my thoughts. It's nothing to worry about. Along with the low probability of an actual tumor growing inside me, it's a quite acceptable explanation.
"And do you think it's perfectly fine to fall asleepwhile cooking?" There it is again, her penetrating doctor's gaze. "You have concentration problems, and your blood pressure was dangerously high recently." She quickly jots down the mentioned points. Then she impatiently taps the pen on the paper. "Do you have headaches?"
