Page 91 of Broken Beyond Repair
Beatrice took the seat opposite him, resting her handbag on her lap. She didn’t intend to be in the seat any longer than was necessary.
“Have there been any further attacks since I saw you last?”
“No.” Thankfully, although the mere thought of what had happened to her on that aeroplane two weeks ago was enough to induce another one. Fighting for air, a simple breath, was the scariest moment of her life.
“And the list of symptoms you gave me last time, you’re still experiencing them, yes?”
Beatrice nodded. The list — sudden onset of sweating, a racing heart, the feeling of panic, nausea, loss of appetite, brain fog, insomnia, headaches — was similar to the symptoms she reeled off to a doctor about seven years ago when she was informed she was perimenopausal.
As if reading her mind, the doctor asked, “When was your last period?”
“Over a year ago.”
The doctor nodded. “Hmm, so you’re post-menopausal now. Well your blood work and MRI show there is nothing physically wrong with you. You’re in perfect shape.” He dropped his glasses down his nose and poked his lips with his finger. “Your schedule, I understand, is somewhat frantic. You’ve cancelled two appointments with me already.”
Beatrice responded with a flat smile. She’d been avoiding the results, unnecessarily apparently, if there was nothing physically wrong with her.
“I’d say you have anxiety, Miss Russell.”
“Anxiety?” Beatrice laughed. “Nonsense.”
She’d been through hell in her life and not once suffered from anxiety. The doctor’s stern face told her he was serious about his diagnosis.
Her head shook in disbelief. “How? Why now?”
“That I can’t tell you. A common cause is overworking.”
“I’ve always managed my schedule perfectly, thank you.”
If this was another doctor referencing her age again, she was going to scream.
“It could have been triggered by something. You said previously the attack happened shortly after take-off. Do you have a fear of flying?”
Beatrice shook her head. That day had been particularly busy. She’d been in England for a couple of days staying with Alison whilst she carried out promo work for the film release. The day she was due to fly out to LA, she spent in the board room of Alison’s office, signing the first batch of books. Alison travelled with her afterwards to the VIP lounge, stopping for coffee and going over her work schedule for the next few weeks. The last thing she’d done was scribble a note to Sydney for Alison to send on to her with a signed book. She’d struggled with what to write, finally deciding on a short message, refraining from adding,I miss you, at the bottom. Before she put it in the envelope, she’d rubbed her wrist on it.
A low, drumming sensation began in her chest.
“Have you experienced trauma recently, a big, life-changing event? I understand you broke your leg some months ago. Sometimes physical problems can cause mental anguish that we don’t realise until it later manifests with physical symptoms.”
Beatrice stared at him, mystified as to how a broken leg would cause her body to behave in that way.
“No, the symptoms started after my leg healed. After I left England.”
An image of Sydney standing outside the VIP lounge at Heathrow lodged itself unhelpfully in her mind. She could see herself hug her, remember how her body felt against her own. Then she’d walked away with nothing other than a simple yet heartfelt apology.
The drumming in her chest intensified. She dragged her fingers down either side of her warm, tingling face, pushing and pinching at the skin in the hope of relieving the tightening. Blowing out a slow breath made her head feel even lighter, like it wasn’t attached to the rest of her. The doctor’s mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear him; her ears were muffled as if full of cotton wool. She closed her eyes, hoping that would stop everything, but it only made her more aware.
She opened them again slowly and took what breath she could get as her chest resisted her.
A glass hovered in front of her.
“Here, drink this.”
She reached for the glass with two hands and gulped at the water. Her mouth was so dry. The doctor took the glass from her and placed it on the desk. He grasped her wrist, searching for her pulse, stopping as he found it.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked.
“Someone.”
