Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1

by Charli B. Rose

  “Well, I’m been feeling kind of off,” I answered lamely.

  “Off how?” Her hands poised over her laptop ready to document my ailments.

  “I’ve been extra tired. Achy. Nauseous. Some dizzy spells. Oh, and peeing all the time, but not much at a time. That’s all I think. I thought I might be . . . pregnant. Being across the country made me mess up the timing on taking a few pills. I . . . um . . . did take a couple of home tests. They were negative. But I read that they could be false negatives. I figured you could tell me for sure,” I rambled.

  “We’ll check the urine sample and let you know. The doctor will be in shortly. I’m not going to have you undress at the moment. Let’s wait for the test results before we do anything else. Wait here.” Kathleen gave my knee a squeeze then quietly left me alone with all my worries and thoughts.

  While I waited, I grabbed a magazine from the basket. Mindlessly, I flipped through the glossy pages. Nothing registered—not the latest Real Housewives drama, not the celebrity chef recipes, not the newest movie castings. Then time stood still.

  There he was. Dawson. Staring up at me from the sleek pages. A beautiful smile on his face. No dimple though. The dimple was mine. He only ever fully smiled for me. I flipped to the front of the magazine to check the publication date. Four months ago. Back when everything was perfect except our physical distance. Oh, how I longed to go back in time to then.

  I ran my finger along his cheek.

  A light knock on the door had me snapping the pages closed. Hastily, I swiped at my tear-filled eyes. “Come in,” I called around the lump in my throat.

  As the doctor was shutting the door behind her, I tossed the magazine back into the basket.

  Dr. Patterson sat on the rolling stool and scooted over to the table where I waited for her to deliver life-altering news to me.

  “Kathleen said you thought you might be pregnant?” she asked quietly.

  I nodded.

  “You’re not,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I should’ve been relieved. I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant. Had I? We were too young. Had too much going on. Had too much distance between us. So, why was I disappointed? Why did I feel like I’d lost another piece of Dawson?

  “We’ll collect some blood to be sure. But Kathleen said you took a test at home and got negative?”

  “Yeah, seven of them,” I whispered.

  “So, including the one we just ran here, that’s eight negatives. I think it’s safe to say you’re not expecting. However, your urine results did show some things that concern me.” Worry creased her brow.

  Suddenly my disappointment was replaced with worry. Doctors weren’t supposed to be concerned. They were supposed to be calm and hold the answers.

  “Your urine had abnormal protein levels and some sugar spillage.”

  “What does that mean?” I chewed my lower lip as I waited for her to answer me.

  “It’s too soon to say. It could just be a fluke. I’ve ordered a urinary sediment examination. I’m also going to have Kathleen draw some blood to get some more information. Once we have all the results, we’ll decide what steps to take next. In the meantime, I want you to collect your urine output and record the volume each day. Kathleen will bring you in some supplies for that. And try not to worry until there’s a real reason to. Do you have any questions?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sit tight. Kathleen will be in momentarily.” She patted my shoulder then quietly left me to mull over everything.

  It probably didn’t take as long as it felt, but finally, Kathleen came in, carrying a bag. She sat on the stool and pulled a paper from the bag. “You’re going to record your urine output here until you come back for another appointment.”

  All I could picture was peeing on my hand daily while trying to hold a cup each time I went to the bathroom.

  “This is a hat,” she said, withdrawing this plastic contraption that oddly did resemble a hat. “You set it on the toilet rim, do your business, check the level using the markings, dump it out, rinse and repeat.”

  I accepted the bag she held out to me. “Why in the world don’t you guys stash these in the bathroom? It would make peeing in a cup so much easier.”

  She just chuckled at my outrage while she got out everything she needed to draw my blood. “Make a fist,” she said once everything was on her rolling tray.

  I did as she asked, but averted my gaze until she said, “All done.” I hated needles and blood, especially my own.

  Mindlessly, I gathered my things and drifted to my car. I’d driven to the appointment expecting confirmation of something unplanned but wonderful.

  I drove home scared out of my mind with only the barest thread of hope to cling to.

  Dizzy deleted scene 2

  Izzy

  Izzy test results - After chapter 16 in Beats of the Heart

  My knee bounced nervously as I waited for the doctor to come in. This time I didn’t flip through any magazines while I waited. I couldn’t risk any unexpected glimpses of my heart staring back at me from the pages. I’d finally argued with myself enough that I’d reached the realization that everything was over. My heart still hadn’t managed to get the memo. For an organ tasked with such an important job, it certainly was a fragile thing.

  A soft knock snapped me out of my sad musings.

  I looked up as Dr. Patterson entered the room. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Isabelle.”

  She sat, clutching a folder in her hands.

  I sucked in a deep breath, unable to do more than nod in acknowledgement of her statement.

  “I know it’s nerve-wracking to get summoned to the doctor’s office in order to get your test results since we usually just relay them over the phone. But I wanted to go over these with you myself and ensure that you take the proper next steps,” she said, sincerity ringing in her voice.

  “OK.” I crossed my legs and shoved my hands under my thighs to keep them from trembling.

  “I’d hoped that my initial concerns would prove to be unwarranted. But alas, I’m afraid that’s not the case. Your urine analysis showed abnormal amounts of red blood cells plus cellular casts. I’m not an expert, but I can tell you it’s a sign of your kidneys not functioning properly. Add in the blood test results which showed extremely high creatinine and BUN levels, and I’m certain your situation is urgent. I’ve been doing some research about what your next steps need to be. You have an appointment with the hospital for some imaging to actually see what’s going on with your kidneys. I’ve put in a call to a colleague of mine from medical school. When he calls me back, I’d like permission to discuss your case.” She looked at me expectantly.

  “Sure.” I was too shell-shocked to say more.

  Dr. Patterson squeezed my knee. “Whatever this thing is, I don’t believe it’s been going on very long. Your symptoms haven’t been persistent for more than a few weeks. And the test results don’t seem to indicate long term problems. Try to remain positive.” She got to her feet.

  “Thank you doctor.” I shook her hand.

  “Here are the orders for you to take to the hospital. They’re expecting you.”

  Dizzy deleted scene 3

  Izzy

  Meeting Beckett - A couple weeks after Beats of the Heart

  People bustled everywhere along the corridors outside the sterile office where I waited. Suite 201. The place where I would find answers hopefully.

  Inconspicuously, I glanced around. Everyone was huddled in the waiting room in pairs. Everyone except me. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell Mom and Dad what was going on. There was no need to worry them until there was a reason. Right?

  Right. I nodded to myself.

  The only other person who I would’ve wanted here wouldn’t have been able to even if things weren’t over. Even if I could stand to look into his beautiful face.

  I was on my own. And I could do this by myself. I sat up straight.

  “Isabelle Clark
?” a chipper sounding voice called.

  As I ducked my head and walked toward the waiting nurse, a sense of déjà vu overtook me. When I reached her side, she gave me a wide smile then led me to an office.

  I frowned as she indicated I should sit in one of the seats around a table to the right. Without a word, she left. I figured this would be like a normal doctor visit. Vitals check, sample collection, long waits half-dressed on an exam table in a cold room. Instead, I sat in a leather chair at a round, wooden table. Soft music flowed through hidden speakers.

  And the oddest thing of all was I didn’t wait long. The door opened, and two men strode in.

  As I scooted my chair back to get to my feet, the older gentleman in front waved me away. “Don’t get up on our account,” he said in a booming voice. He sat next to me and offered me his hand.

  I shook it. “Isabelle, I’m Dr. Roger Miller, and this is Dr. Beckett Thomas.”

  The man who followed him in stepped to the side. He gave me a bright smile. It made his dark brown eyes sparkle. I took his hand. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.

  It was odd for both of them to be smiling at me when there was a possibility they were there to deliver bad news. Was a pretty smile supposed to soften the blow?

  The men settled around the table then opened their folders.

  “Isabelle, Dr. Patterson referred your case to me. We were friends in med school. She has kept up with my research over the years just as I’ve kept up with hers. I have to agree with her that you’re a perfect candidate for my study,” Dr. Miller explained.

  “Your test results indicate that you’re in kidney failure. So far the tests don’t give us any indication of cause. But just because we don’t know why your kidneys are failing doesn’t mean we can’t try to treat your condition,” Dr. Thomas continued.

  “Kidney failure? How? I’m relatively healthy and young. I don’t understand,” I said with a frown.

  “Unfortunately, we can’t always give definitive diagnoses. The field of medicine advances every day. But there’s a reason we say that we’re practicing medicine. We don’t have all the answers, so everything is practice. We’re going to send you upstairs for some tests,” Dr. Miller spoke in an oddly soothing manner.

  I frowned. “More tests? How can there be any left to run?” Ever since my follow-up appointment with Dr. Patterson, I’d had over a dozen tests conducted.

  “I know it’s overwhelming. And we do have a treatment plan in place for people who are in kidney failure with no diagnosis as to the cause. But it would be better for you if we could pinpoint the trigger so we can approach your situation more directly. Without the cause, we have to be more aggressive in our treatment plan,” Dr. Thomas explained.

  With a heavy sigh, I conceded that they knew best. “In the grand scheme of things, what’s a few more gallons of blood drawn and a couple dozen more pokes and prods?” I replied sarcastically.

  “That’s the spirit,” Dr. Thomas said with a chuckle. “Come on, I’ll show you where to go.” He stood and gestured for me to exit the office in front of him.

  Once we were in the hallway, he moved smoothly into place beside me.

  As we waited for the elevator, he said, “I know it’s a lot to take in. Is there anyone you want to call to be here with you? I can delay the more invasive tests until you have someone here to hold your hand.”

  There was only person I’d ever want with me, and that was no longer a possibility. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No, I’m waiting until I know more before I worry my parents.”

  “I understand,” he said as the elevator doors slid open.

  Once again I found myself sitting in the waiting room alone. This time when my name was called, it wasn’t a nurse. It was Dr. Thomas.

  “Hope you weren’t waiting out here too long, Isabelle,” he said as he closed the door behind me.

  “Nah. So, how come you came to get me instead of a nurse?” I asked as I followed him down the corridor to the office we met in a few days ago.

  He shrugged sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to waste any more time while waiting for someone to bring you back.”

  “Sounds ominous,” I said, only half-teasing as I took a seat at the table.

  The firm press of his lips and his silence were answer enough. I clasped my hands nervously in my lap, subconsciously spinning the red and pink friendship bracelet wrapped around my wrist. Red thread of fate my ass.

  “Just spit it out, Dr. Thomas,” I finally said when I could take the silence no longer.

  He sighed heavily. “Call me Beckett, please.”

  “Fine, Beckett. Quit stalling and tell me what’s wrong with me. Or do we need to wait for Dr. Miller?”

  “Dr. Miller was called away to an emergency and rather than wait for him to return or reschedule, I decided to meet with you myself.”

  I waved my hand for him to continue.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, but we still don’t know exactly what has caused your symptoms,” he announced quietly.

  I slammed my back against the cushion of my chair. “That’s just great. As if life hadn’t screwed with me enough already, I had to contract some mystery illness that no one else in the world has,” I spat out sarcastically.

  “I didn’t say no one else in the world has it. There are a few others out there whose symptoms match yours. Unfortunately, diseases don’t get named until enough people present with symptoms. The same goes for treating a lot of new ailments. Your test results indicate that you are in fact in kidney failure, so we don’t have the luxury of time to search for a cause. We need to start treatments now, and we have to put you on the transplant list.”

  All the anger drained out of me. My hands fell to my sides as the gravity of my situation fell heavily on me.

  Beckett scooted his chair around to my side of the table. Gently, he lifted one of my limp hands. “I know this is probably a shock to you.”

  “Understatement of the year,” I muttered.

  “Do you need a minute before I continue?” he asked, giving my hand a squeeze.

  I shook my head, ready to get it all over with.

  “We’ll get you signed up for dialysis which will improve some of the symptoms impacting your daily life. Though we’re also going to start aggressive treatment of the unknown underlying cause because once you get a new kidney we don’t want it to be attacked by whatever is going on with you. So, the relief may not be quite as apparent. Understand?” He paused.

  “How long does it take to get a transplant?” My mind was focused on the end goal, getting to a place where I’d be completely healthy again.

  “Normally about five years for an organ from a deceased donor. But we’ll create a Kidney Kampaign for you, which will allow us to search through living donors,” Beckett explained.

  “Living donors?” I asked.

  “Yes. Humans only need one kidney to survive. So, there’s a network of people who’ve agreed to donate one of their kidneys. Usually siblings are the fastest match option. But with you being an only child, we need to reach farther. The longer you’re on dialysis, the more the success rate decreases. I don’t want you on dialysis for years.” His gaze shifted to the papers spread out on the table.

  It felt like there was more he wasn’t saying.

  “If I don’t get a transplant for some reason, what is my prognosis?” I somehow managed to get the question out without falling apart.

  “We can’t say for sure. There are documented cases of people living on dialysis for twenty, thirty years even,” he answered with a tight smile.

  “On average, how long?”

  “Five to ten years,” he said softly.

  I could be dead before I even turned thirty. My stomach heaved at the thought. Never getting married. Never becoming a mother.

  “And honestly with your condition, plus the experimental treatment, without a transplant you wouldn’t have that long.” The sympathy on his face was my undoing.

&nb
sp; The tears fell unchecked down my face. Panic filled his eyes. Beckett scrambled to grab some tissues for me. He sat quietly and let me sob. When I finally managed to wrangle my emotions into submission, he patted my hand.

  “You want to call it a day or hear the rest?” he asked cautiously.

  “May as well tell me everything so I can get all my self-pitying over with at once,” I said and forced a smile to my lips.

  “We’re going to use chemotherapy to treat the underlying cause—”

  “You think I have cancer?” I interrupted.

  “No. Chemo isn’t just used to treat cancer. We use it to treat autoimmune disorders too. And your test results lead us to think you have some sort of rare autoimmune disease.”

  I drew in a deep breath. I only heard disease and chemo. All the other words meant nothing. Staring at the table, I arranged the Kleenex I’d managed to rip to sodden shreds.

  “So what happens next?” I finally asked.

  “Dialysis will start immediately. We’ll do a few treatments on consecutive days to help get your blood filtered well. Then we’ll switch to three times a week. We’ll also go ahead and put in a port for the chemotherapy. I have the chemotherapy pills ready for you to start taking today. Next week, you’ll get your first chemotherapy infusion. To start with you’ll get two or three infusions a week. We’ll adjust as needed after a month. We may be able to drop it to just a couple per month. But we also might have to increase them. Each patient’s condition responds differently. So until we actually start treatment, we can’t develop a long-term plan,” Beckett explained.

  “So, I need to move to Atlanta?” The prospect of uprooting my life both appealed to and terrified me. I loved my little corner of Charleston. But there were no memories of Dawson to haunt me in Atlanta.

  “You’ll need to be here for at least the entire first month. After that we might can arrange for you to only have to travel here a couple of times a month.”