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Constantine brings his thumb beneath my eyes and wipes my tears. "I've never heard of this condition before. Tell me more."
"It started when I was fifteen. I'd come home from school and feel a weird tickle in my throat. I'd drink lots of water, but it didn't make a difference."
Constantine nods. "Go on, sweetheart."
I let out a sob. "I looked it up online to discover what it could be. At first, I thought it was muscle tension dysphonia. This occurs in shy people who have high levels of anxiety."
Constantine brushes my tears away. "I can see you have anxiety, boy. Especially about your health. But keep going."
A breath escapes me. "I tried some exercises for muscle tension dysphonia. Every morning, I blew through a straw and gave myself throat massages. Throat massages are where you place your hand on your larynx and move it up and down. It relaxes the muscles and brings your larynx to the proper place."
"This didn't help?" Constantine asks.
I shake my head. "It helped a little. But not enough to fix my pain. Every night, my throat hurt when I returned home from school. I was hoarse. I blew into my little pink straw—this was before we knew straws killed turtles—and tried to loosen my throat muscles. The only things that helped were proton pump inhibitors."
Constantine nods. "Omeprazole."
I nod. "That's not the first one I tried. I tested a few different ones to see which helped my throat. I landed on omeprazole. But it's so expensive to buy over the counter," I continue, my heart cracking. "The nice lady who worked at the drugstore gave me free samples of the brand-name version, but they didn't last long. I had to go to Convenient Pharmacy to pick up the generic brand. The cheap corner store. It was all I could afford. I take one every morning twenty minutes before breakfast like the package says."
Constantine combs his fingers through my hair. At last, he tilts my head up.
"I'm proud of you for sharing that, boy. I must admit, learning about this is new to me. Are you sure you don't just have acid reflux?"
I let out a gruff laugh. "This is a form of acid reflux. But it's not as easy to treat as heartburn."
"I see."
"I'm nervous, Daddy." I sniffle as fresh tears slip out of my eyes. "Why doesn't my esophagus close properly? Everyone else's does. It's not fair that I have to take these stupid pills that could affect my body and mind. I want to be like everyone else. I stay away from the natural sites that warn about the dangers of PPIs, because they make me too worried. But if I don't take the meds, I can't speak."
Constantine wipes my tears. "You have nothing to worry about, sweet boy." He kisses my cheek as he wraps me in a bear hug. "This sounds like a very treatable condition. Many people deal with issues like these. I also think you have health anxiety, boy," Constantine continues, his voice soft. "Please don't think I'm being presumptuous. But I've been related to a medical professional long enough to know you exhibit some symptoms."
Health anxiety. I furrow my brow as I hug Constantine even tighter. I'm an anxious little bean, and I look at the bleak side of things. But I've never considered I had an anxiety disorder before.
"Isn't health anxiety made up, Daddy?" I bite my lower lip and squeeze Mr. Green. "It's something college students say to get out of class."
I've seen this happen many times. Whenever I consider seeing a therapist for something like depression, attention seekers dissuade me. People love to exploit mental health and physical conditions for views. I once saw some girl who faked having Tourette's syndrome to get donations from her followers online. I'd never want to associate myself with someone like that.
"Hey." Constantine runs his thumb across my cheek. "Health anxiety is an actual condition, and so is the pain in your throat. Both are treatable under a doctor's supervision, boy."
"Okay, Daddy."
The reassurance Constantine gives me about my health anxiety, the sweetness of his words, makes me melt. It's like a firework exploding in me.
This is what I want in a Daddy. A man who listens to me about my worries and tries to assist me. A man who can set me up with a doctor I trust to help me feel better.
"I spoke to my brother yesterday after I saw your medication on the coffee table." Constantine holds me tight. "I asked him if he could look into the pills you're taking and refer you to a specialist. He agreed. He also agreed to give you a physical to make sure you're healthy."
"Really?" I cast an incredulous look at Constantine.
I think about Constantine's older brother I met in the Little Bunny Club. Gianluca made me feel so protected and safe when he put his stethoscope on my chest. I was in expert hands. The fact that Gianluca will give me my first physical in so many years is reassuring.
"I'm serious." Constantine's voice is firm. "Gianluca will check you out to make sure you're all right. I know you felt safe with him at the Little Bunny Club. I don't want you to meet a new doctor and build trust all over again."
"And Gianluca will refer me to a specialist?" My voice is breathless. "He'll make sure I see a professional to speak to me about my condition?"
This is what I want most of all. Someone trained in this specific field to examine me.
"Yes." Constantine trails his thumb along my lower lip. "Gianluca has connections all over the city. He'll hook you up with the best doctor for reflux."
