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Larry took a deep breath, met his gaze head on. Premonition filled Adam. This was going to be bad. Very bad. Like maybe he didn’t want to know after all bad.
“I wish I could say it was perfect, too, but it wasn’t.” Larry didn’t seem in a hurry to tell Adam the results, seemed to be struggling with how to wrap his tongue around the words.
“Just get on with it,” Adam spat out, no longer willing to wait patiently for the results of the scan he’d gone for yesterday morning.
Did he have a brain tumor? It was the explanation that kept running through his mind. Then he’d tell himself he was being foolish, a hypochondriac of the worst kind. Of course his scan was going to come back normal. Of course he was going to be just fine and have a future with Liz.
Brain tumors didn’t happen to regular guys like himself. Not in the prime of their lives.
“Your MRI showed demyelization of gray matter in your brain.”
Demyelization? The breakdown of the protective lining around nerve cells? But…
“What does that mean?” Even as he asked, possibilities ran through his mind. Demyelization. An autoimmune response. His body was attacking itself? Why the hell would it do that? Why now?
Larry took another breath. “It means I’m going to schedule you to see a neurologist in Jackson.”
“A neurologist?”
Larry looked at him oddly. Adam imagined he did sound a bit odd, but Larry was talking about his body, his life, his future. Could he help it if he was asking questions that as a physician he should know the answers to? Questions he did know the answers to? A neurologist specialized in diseases of the brain and nervous system. Demyelization diseases such as…no, he wouldn’t go there. Wouldn’t think the worst.
“There’s a specialist in Jackson. He’s involved in multiple sclerosis research.”
Damn it. He’d just decided not to go there. With Larry saying the words out loud, he couldn’t help but go there.
“MS?” Did he sound as blown away as he felt? MS. He could end up paralyzed, completely dependent on others for even the most basic of things. He didn’t have MS. He couldn’t have MS.
“I want you to see Dr Winters. I put in a call to his office as soon as I got your report. He’s out of town at a convention until next week, but you’re scheduled for an early morning appointment on his first day back in the office.”
“MS?” he repeated. There had to be a mistake. The MRI must be wrong. This wasn’t happening to him.
“With the demyelization, I have to consider MS on the list of differential diagnoses. You know that. You’ll need further testing before any diagnosis can be confirmed, but I suspect Dr Winters is going to verify my suspicion.”
Adam winced, knowing what that further testing would involve. “A spinal tap.”
Larry nodded. “And evoked potential testing, where an electrical impulse is applied to various parts of your body to see how the nerve cells conduct the impulse and if there’s any demyelization of the peripheral nerve cells.”
Adam attempted to digest what he was being told. MS. Him. It couldn’t be true.
Visual changes. Pin-prickling sensations in his fingers. Numbness in his hands. Fatigue. Muscle aches and weakness. Headaches.
Hell. It could be true.
If it was true, his entire life would never be the same.
If true, he would lose everything he’d ever held dear. His career. Liz.
Because there was no way in hell he’d ever tie Liz to a doomed man, and if he had MS that’s exactly how he saw himself. Doomed.
CHAPTER THREE
FROM where Liz spoke to the director of the assisted living facility where she was donating Gramps’s medical equipment, she glanced toward the man coming through the automatic glass door.
Despite the gloom of the occasion and her grief of the past week and a half, her heart lightened at seeing Adam. Her gaze met his blue one and she flashed a quick smile at him, but he looked distracted. Actually, he’d seemed distracted all morning.
Bless him, he’d been really busy in the OR ever since he’d run into complications with a breast cancer patient’s mastectomy on the day after Gramps’s funeral. He’d spent the night at the hospital in case the woman had problems during the night. Since then, they’d gone to dinner a few times, but he’d been distracted, his mind obviously on work.
Kind, dedicated, dependable, decent—all those words described the man carrying in Gramps’s nearly new walker.
