Page 3 of Lost in Love
Her dad had been correct; Dr Atkinson was something to behold. If Anna hadn’t been given a severe ticking-off from her, she might have embarrassed herself with a floppy jaw.
The room was unlike any other doctor’s office Anna had been in. It appeared to have been arranged to put you at ease upon entering. Even the cold, metal examination bed was covered in a tasteful throw and cushions, giving it the appearance of a settee. A vase of flowers on the windowsill gave off the scent of a summer meadow and blocked the view of the car park. The only thing that was missing was a collection of candles and background whale music.
Dr Atkinson directed them to two chairs opposite her desk.
“Miss Walker, I see you admiring my décor. Do you approve?”
“Yes,” was all the response Anna could manage.
“Who wants to walk into a dreary consulting room, let alone work in one?” the doctor asked rhetorically.
Anna mustered a smile in reply and checked her watch. Half past; time was ticking on. She covered her watch and looked up to see Dr Atkinson’s eyes boring into her as she picked up some papers from her desk. Anna bit her lip; she felt like a teenager again.
Dr Atkinson tucked her chair in and walked around to the side of the desk, perching herself on the corner closest to her patient.
Anna observed that there was the perfect amount of room on the desk corner that she could perch without knocking anything over. No doubt she used this move on patients to try and put them at ease when delivering bad news. Though, in Anna’s mind, it was likely the sight of crossed, stockinged legs and a short pencil skirt that did the easing. She felt her heart rate pick up and tore her gaze away. She must be more nervous for her father than she had realised.
“Now, Mr Walker, I have your test results, and it’s not good news, I’m afraid. Your scans confirm what we suspected; it is Parkinson’s disease.”
He lowered his head and nodded in response to his sentencing. Anna took his hand and squeezed it.
“Early to mid-stage three, I would hazard a guess.”
Anna felt a pang of anger rush through her. “Hazard a guess?”
Dr Atkinson looked at her, as if not expecting questions from the audience at this stage of her deliberations.
“Are doctors always in the habit of guessing rather than working from fact? Can’t the scan tell you what stage he’s at?”
A sarcastic smile spread across the doctor’s face. “Miss Walker.”
“Anna, my name is Anna,” she replied.
“Anna,” Dr Atkinson replied calmly. She put her papers down and crossed her legs in Anna’s direction. “Parkinson’s is a long-term degenerative disorder which presents with a myriad of symptoms which vary between patients at different stages. Some of these symptoms can even be found in other diseases. We carried out the scan, which I understand you were insistent on, only to rule out other diseases. No test can conclusively show that your father has Parkinson’s disease. A thorough physical examination of him had already led us to this conclusion. We cannot cure it, so we simply aim to improve the symptoms with medication. As the disease progresses, the medication can become less effective. There are typical patterns of progression in Parkinson’s which we define in stages, and we look to categorise a patient within a stage so we can monitor the speed of the deterioration and prepare patients for what may come next.”
Any attempt Anna had made to climb out of her box had been met with a forceful hand pushing her back into it. She was quickly concluding that Dr Atkinson might be the most infuriating doctor she had ever met. But somehow her own self-confidence gave Anna confidence in her.
The doctor got up and seated herself at her desk. She took a band from around her wrist and with one swift motion had placed her blonde, shoulder-length, wavy hair up into a loose bun. She opened a glasses case beside her and placed a pair of black-rimmed glasses on her nose.
Anna drew in her breath at the sight of her.
“I’m going to give you a prescription, Mr Walker. You’ll need to come back in for a review in eight weeks,” Dr Atkinson said, looking at him over her glasses.
He smiled and nodded obediently.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard of a laptop, and within seconds a printer behind her was waking up.
“Anna, do you live with your father?” the doctor asked, meeting Anna’s gaze, which was still firmly fixed on her.
“Yes,” Anna answered, quickly looking away.
“If he has any ill effects from the medication or you notice a change in behaviour, let me know straight away. He should, initially, see some improvement. I would refer you to a Parkinson’s nurse, but we currently find ourselves lacking in that department. I do have extensive experience with the condition myself, so I’m happy to be your primary contact.”
“Well, I’d rather you looked after him…” Anna stopped herself, realising she was saying the words aloud.
The corners of Dr Atkinson’s lips curled up.
Anna could have kicked herself for letting those words slip from her mouth. It looked like the doctor knew it as she leaned back in her chair and played with a pen.
