Page 95 of The Art of Loving You

‘Youhaveto see someone. The GP—’

‘Okay.’ I’d been kidding myself that there was no harm in me seeing Jack, real or imagined, talking to Jack, but the way I turned on my sister the second she called me out, I knew that something had to change. I had to change.

It was only an hour after Alice left that Mum had texted me the time of my doctor’s appointment for later that day, telling me she’d meet me there. I didn’t know how she’d got one so quickly. I hoped she hadn’t told the receptionist I’d had an outburst of violence. My palm stung with shame with every single recollection.

It was a different GP to the one I had seen before. There was a photo of three children on her desk displayed in a ‘World’s Best Mummy’ frame.

‘So, Libby. What can I do for you today?’ She smiled in the sympathetic way that told me she’d read my notes before I entered the room. She knew about Jack.

‘I don’t know what to say really.’ I didn’t know where to start. Not at the beginning, that was too painful.

‘What’s brought you here?’

I glanced at Mum. She was unusually quiet.

‘I don’t feel right.’ I tugged the sleeves of my thin sweatshirt over my hands. ‘I mean, I don’t expect to feel happy or anything, not after Jack, but …’

‘How do you feel?’ she gently prompted.

‘I can’t sleep but I don’t want any more tablets. I didn’t get on with the Zopiclone. I feel sick, it’s like being permanently worried. Dizzy sometimes. I had an inner ear infection when I had the flu a few months ago and my balance has felt a little off since then. I …’ Again I glanced at Mum as I urged myself to spit it out. I was a woman for God’s sake. ‘I haven’t had a period since Jack … I thought I might be pregnant.’ This time Mum glanced at me. ‘But I did a test and it was negative. I’m just tired. Really tired. I’m renovating my house, it was a shell so I don’t expect to be full of energy but …’ I shrugged.

‘Let’s have a little look at you.’ The doctor took my blood pressure, peered into my mouth, my eyes, checked my ears. She lifted her stethoscope and listened to my heart. I wondered whether she could hear it was broken, the shattered pieces rattling around my chest. Eventually, she sat down again.

‘Everything seems okay. I’d like to run a blood test to check your thyroid. Are you okay with needles?’

I nodded.

‘If it isn’t Libby’s thyroid,’ Mum said, ‘what could it be?’ Instead of the usual bravado in her words, the ‘my neighbour’s best friend’s daughter has experienced the same thing so I’m an expert’, there was a vulnerability I hadn’t heard before. I realised how much she’d been worried about me. The doctor saw it too.

‘I can understand how concerned you are, Mrs Emerson, but I’m not seeing anything alarming here. Grief can often cause physical symptoms. The stress can cause a chemical reaction in the body with glands releasing more hormones than they should. This wouldn’t be a problem in the short term but when the stress of grief continues for weeks or months and we have abnormally high levels of hormones circulating in the blood it affects our immune system.It isn’t surprising, Libby, to hear that you’re feeling so off, particularly with project-managing a house renovation. They can be very fraught.’

‘I’m enjoying it. I’ve made really good progress. I’m not used to manual work though—’

‘It isn’t just the physical,’ Mum interrupted. I threw her a look but she still carried on. ‘She’s been talking to Jack.’

‘It’s quite common – and quite comforting to talk to those who are no longer with us. It’s not—’

‘She hears his replies. She has conversations with him.’

My face flamed. ‘I am here, Mum.’

Undeterred she carried on. ‘She’s just not … herself. And she thinks he’s sent her a cat.’

‘I … I don’t.’ How could she have said that out loud?

‘Libby?’ The doctor leaned forward. There was no judgement on her face. ‘Do you hear Jack?’

I shrugged. Fidgeted on my chair. I’d agreed to come here to appease Mum, so the doctor could tell her it was normal to feel low. Tired. All of the things I had been feeling. ‘I … I like to talk to him. It …’ My voice cracked. ‘It makes me feel that he’s still with me.’

‘Have you ever experienced any hallucinations? Auditory or visual?’

‘No.’ My treacherous knee began to jiggle up and down, I fisted my hand and pressed against it so it would stop.

‘I’m … sad. It’s okay to feel sad, isn’t it?’ My attention flickered between the doctor and my mum. I wanted to tell them I felt scared too. Scared I was losing my mind. But what if I was? What if it wasn’t real? What if Jack was gone forever? I just couldn’t bear it. My lips quivered.

‘Libby, I don’t want to upset you. Of course it’s natural. But sometimes the normal grief reaction can morph into something deeper and I just want to make sure you are okay.’

‘Sorry.’ I pressed my fingers to my eyes to keep my tears back. ‘I am okay. I just miss him.’

---