“Uh-huh.”
His eyes were trained on the computer monitor. “It says here you wanted to see if you could manage this without medication.” His attention lifted to me.
I took a breath. “Yeah. I’d prefer that.”
He nodded before looking back at the computer monitor and then at me. “Based on the monitoring report from before…” He lifted a hand, wiggling it back and forth in the air. “You're on that line.”
“What line?”
“The line where I'd like to recommend medication. I’m concerned that these episodes are occurring weekly. You're young, and I want you to be comfortable with medication before we do that. It looks like this last round of monitoring was from two years ago when you were diagnosed.”
I braced myself for the lecture. When none came, I let out a sharp sigh.
“You can look up at me. I'm not going to lecture you,” he said dryly. “Most people are nervous about going to the doctor and even more so when they have an actual medical issue. SVT is manageable. I want to see what's going on for you now. Are you comfortable wearing a heart monitor again?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll get you set up with one before you leave.”
“You have one here?”
“There are some downsides to being rural, but an upside is when I order things, I keep a small stock so I don't have to send you somewhere else.”
“Well, that's handy.”
He flashed me a grin. “We'll schedule an appointment in two weeks and discuss your options when we get that report back. Sound like a plan?”
I nodded. “That's it?”
“That's it. I'm curious, though. Your records don’t indicate any known family history of cardiac issues.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know of any.”
“Have you ever asked?”
“No.” My cheeks felt hot.
“If you feel comfortable asking, these things are good to know. They help us make informed decisions.”
“I'll ask,” I said quietly.
“You don't have to, but it would definitely be helpful.”
He stood, holding his hand out. “Good to meet you,” he said as I shook his hand. “Hope to see you around town or maybe at a yoga class.”
“Thank you,” I called as he departed the room.
Moments later, I walked quickly to the waiting area. The receptionist smiled up at me. “Carla is getting your monitor ready for you.”
A woman came through the doorway behind the reception desk. She had auburn hair and a lithe build. She smiled at me. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I returned.
“This is Lacey, Quinn's wife,” the receptionist said.
“You don't have to announce it every time I come out. I was just stopping by to print something. My printer broke,” Lacey explained.
The receptionist grinned. “Your printer has been broken for over two months.”