I shivered.
When the doctor finally came in, he took a look at my wheelchair and then glanced at my chart. There was something strange in the way he was looking at me, but I decided it was probably like my mom said. He was likely trying to figure out the best way to scam me out of my money.
“I noticed you mentioned you can’t remember the names of the medications you’re taking,” he said.
“My mom handles all that. She doesn’t like for me to really know the names because of the placebo effect.”
He stared, then jotted something down with his pen. “I tried to look up your prescriptions in the computer, but I didn’t have anything on file for you at any of the pharmacies in town. Where do you normally pick up your pills?”
“My mom gets them for me.”
“From?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know? I’m actually just here for a pregnancy test, though. So I’m not really sure how any of this is relevant.”
The doctor licked his lips and set his clipboard down. “I’d like your permission to run some tests, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah. I came here for a pregnancy test,” I said, feeling a growing sense of frustration. These guys really were as bad as my mom said.
“I mean some additional tests. If I could draw some blood and get a urine sample, I’d be able to proceed. All I’d need is your permission.”
I sighed. “Okay? Sure. But when I called in, they said the pregnancy test is forty dollars. That’s all I brought.”
“Don’t worry about the money,” he said, still wearing that strange look on his face. “We can cover the cost of these, okay? Is there any chance you could bring me some of the pills you take, maybe tomorrow?”
“Does this have to do with the pregnancy test?”
“If you are pregnant,” he said slowly. “I’ll need to know what you’re taking so we can determine if your medications are appropriate for a growing fetus. Chances are, you’ll need to make some changes.”
“I’m sure my mom can figure that out.”
“Of course,” he said. “But maybe you can bring me some of them anyway, just to be safe?”
I eventually agreed, because it felt like he wasn’t going to do the pregnancy test unless I did.
Once he was done collecting everything he needed, he let me know that it would take two to three days to get results back from the lab. I thanked him, and left, feeling strange.
All of his questions made me feel uneasy. He’d been looking at me like he pitied me somehow. I thought maybe it was my wheelchair, but usually the most that got from people was a sad little smile or an extra glance. It wasn’t the sort of thing that made them look at me like that.
Whatever it was, it made me too curious to ignore, so I decided I would go through with what he’d asked.
I had Logan bring me back three days later when the office called and told me my results were in. I brought all my prescription bottles in my purse, feeling self-conscious with the way it rattled in my lap as I moved my chair inside the office.
This time, the nurse was looking at me strangely before I even got in the room. She stiffly told me the doctor would be in shortly.
I didn’t have to wait long before the same doctor came in my room. He looked at the bottles in my purse and seemed to recognize some by the shape, size, and color of the pills. Others just drew confused looks from him. Finally, he set the bottles down on the sink and took a deep breath.
“First of all, and I’ll assume this is good news—you’re not pregnant.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t really let myself believe I was actually pregnant, but the shadow of doubt had been growing while I waited for the test. I’d had plenty of time to imagine how horrible it would be to be pregnant with a baby from a guy who wanted nothing to do with me.
“I’m afraid the good news stops there. There’s no easy way to say this, Kennedy. Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome by proxy?”
“Is that what I have?”
“No. It may not be an exact fit here, either. But I believe your mother might. It’s when a caregiver exaggerates or makes up symptoms in the person in their care. Usually, it’s for attention or recognition, but there can be other motivations. I think—”
I stopped hearing him. His words were like a dull, fuzzy sound in the back of my head as my brain started picking up all the pieces of thread and trying to tie them together.
“What about the tests?” I asked, interrupting whatever he’d been saying.
Patiently, he pursed his lips and lifted a long page full of numbers and words I didn’t understand. “You’re perfectly healthy, as far as I can tell. There are more tests I’d need to run to be completely sure. Some of your numbers are a little elevated here and there, but I suspect that’s more because of the medications in your system and not because of any ‘conditions.’”