continued at the ER…

Ten minutes later, I sat in the x-ray room. The middle-aged, male technician’s demeanor was cautious—he did his best to keep his distance.

“Can you move your armrests up?” He said.

I did so.

“Ok. Now lean forward, put your arms up,  and can you hold your necklace up in your mouth? I need to get a clear image of your lungs.”

Seriously? For anyone who has FA or any coordination issues including a very weak core, you know this is not very easy.

After watching me struggle, he finally moved my chain for me and helped me grab onto a bar above me—all while standing as far as possible away from me and stretching out his gloved hand.

If Greg had been there he would’ve instinctually known how to help me and how to maneuver my chair. I missed him.

I am used to people being afraid to touch me because they think I am fragile, but this felt different. I think there was a level of distrust there that despite our PPE (personal protection equipment), COVID could still get through.

For the past two-and-a-half years, I had been so careful, so vigilant. I didn’t go to indoor restaurants and fly to see family. I always wore a mask and rarely accompanied Greg to stores. Yet, here I was and I didn’t want to get anyone else sick.

I was sent back outside after the X-ray. From here on I felt insignificant with moments of confidence creeping in. I waited an hour watching more people get called back. Finally, I was told by a nurse. “No one told me you were out here.”  Seriously? But she at least told me, after taking more blood, it would take 30-45 minutes to get my results, then I’d get to see the doctor. Knowing the path forward settled my mind.

The doctor was young—not Doogie Howser young, but young with short, sandy hair. He looked friendly and confident. I liked him but I reminded myself to be pushy about getting the antibodies. I may have to be a bitch to the handsome doctor. He sat on the other side of the room.

“Your lungs look great. I didn’t see any COVID in your lungs. But let me go find my stethoscope and take a listen,” he said after padding himself down looking for the instrument.

His words brought relief but slight skepticism that the x-rays weren’t right. My chest still felt tight.

He turned to leave and I saw black tubing coming out of his back pocket. “Isn’t that your stethoscope in your pocket?”

“Oh my God, that’s that most brainless thing I’ve done all week.” He chuckled. I was happy I wasn’t the most perplexing case he had all day. Since FA is rare, doctors often seem unsure of what to recommend for me.

He placed the stethoscope in his ears and asked me to lean forward to hear my lungs. “Sounds good. Any questions?”

I had been waiting for this moment all day. While I was happy to hear that my lungs looked and sounded clear, I had to prepare myself for a fight. I decided to start off with a soft tone and less demanding question.

“Two questions. First, why does my chest feel tight?”

“It’s the achIness of COVID.”

Makes sense. I reminded myself of the main question and did my best to sit up straight. “Because I am at high risk can I get any of the antivirals or antibodies?”

“Let’s go with the antiviral medication. I just have to check and see if it reacts with any of your other medication.”

What? No pushback? No arguing?

“Great.” I slouched in my chair. I prayed that nothing was going to interfere during the ten minutes he was gone to research. My list of prescriptions isn’t very long, but I had a feeling one of them would ruin my chances of receiving the antiviral. I included my thanks for positive results via my blood and images.

“Good news, nothing interacts with it. I called the pharmacy already. They set it aside for you. There’s a limited supply,  but you have one.”

I silently reiterated my thanks and was relieved to know I wasn’t on the bottom of some list. Despite my cynicism and the six-hour visit to the ER, I got what I needed.

I woke up the next day after my first dose, feeling nearly perfect and knowing that even with crappy balance and coordination, I had dodged a bullet.

—until the next…