Page 150 of Fighting Chance

I saw every day how hopeless they were feeling. It wasn’t until one severe emergency visit that it changed. A doctor had just placidly told my mother I could barely move, let alone open my eyes, because Iobviouslyhad endometriosis. I wasn’t even on my period or at a time in my cycle where I’d be flaring up.

My mother lost it.

All her smiles and positive attitude flew out the window —I also think running on two hours of broken sleep had a hand in this—she screamed. Momma Bear Carson—who wouldn’t hurt a fly, who never raised her voice besides to cheer someone on—screamed.

That one moment fueled by five years of pain, heartache, dismissal, gaslighting, and unanswered questions was what finally got me answers.

A doctor who was visiting town saw my mother at her breaking point, begging the doctor to do his job and search for what wasreallywrong, and stepped in.

Dr. Montary was my saving grace.

It took her an hour of poring through my file and asking me questions to tell me she thought I had lupus.

One hour.

Despite knowing what it could possibly be, being diagnosed was a different story, an entire new battle for me and my family to face—years upon years of searching for something that would work to manage my symptoms. Years spent on useless hope,disheartened breakdowns, pills that never worked, treatments that did more harm than good. Endless trips around the country only to leave sobbing.

That was my life. Managing doctors and appointments and realizing that to get what I needed, I had to be the perfect mix of sweet and stern.

And I need to do it again with this asshole.

Who the hell recommends a generic birth control that comes with a literal sheet of side-effects the size of the Bible while they’re currently taking heavy medication?

It’s negligence.

I shouldn’t have to do his job for him. If I was unaware and trusted doctors blindly, I’d be screwed.

With anger simmering in my veins, I take a calming breath and smile at the man when what I really want to do is throttle him. Kieran would be proud of me for swearing at him in my head, although something tells me if Kieran were here beside me, he’d be doing more than swearing in his mind.

“That would be great. Are you certain it’s safe for me to take beyond the standard long list of side-effects?”

“Side-effects are common with all drugs but yes, Miss Carson, it’s perfectly fine,” he says as if I’ve bored him to death. Whistling as he looks at his computer again, he asks, “So what do you have? Jesus, you’ve got a long rap sheet.”

I’m clenching my teeth so tightly I swear they might snap. “Lupus.”

“Ahh. I’ve not had a patient with lupus before. If you ask me I think it’s too inconsistent to diagnose. Coming and going like that, it’s more likely you just have a weak immune system and you catch a bug too often.”

Did he just…

Snatching the prescription he holds out for me, I keep my hands at my sides so I don’t cause bodily harm. “Thank you for your input but I was diagnosed at seventeen?—”

“There’s a large portion of the medical field who don’t believe in the disease.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

And he is clearly one of them.

He looks at me over the rim of his glasses. “I wish you all the best, Miss Carson, and that you find what works for you to finally settle that weak immune system and fight off those bugs.”

My fists are clenching the wheel so tightly my knuckles have turned white.

I scream.

I scream bloody murder so loud and for so long that my voice cracks, until the anger gives way to what it’s masking—pain.

Sobs wrack my body so thoroughly I’m forced to pull my car over on the side of the road.

It never fails to amaze me when this happens.