Midlife in Glimmerspell by Addison Moore

Author:Addison Moore [Moore, Addison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
Published: 2021-03-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“There’s nothing we can do.”

Dr. Goldman, the general practitioner I’ve seen for years, breaks the news to me as I sit helpless and evidently hopeless in a paper gown.

“They’re hot flashes, Billie,” he says as he rolls my way on a stool with his white wreath of hair and genteel smile. “It’s your time. But don’t worry. They won’t last forever.” He grimaces a moment. “Speaking of not lasting forever, Harold came in to see me last week. So what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

“You know”—his head bobs back and forth—“what we discussed.”

“What exactly did you discuss?” I tip my ear his way. “If there’s something wrong with Harold, I sure as heck want to know about it. I’m his—” I stop myself before saying the word wife.

“Sorry, Billie. You’ll have to ask him yourself. It’s against doctor-patient confidentiality for me to tell you. I’ve already said too much.” He taps his finger to his nose. “You know what? Regarding you, there’s a great gynecologist in town that’s been stirring things up with some alternative treatments these last few years. He’s been an all-star every year so far in his practice. He might be able to suggest something. Tell you what, I’ll do what I can to squeeze you in with him. Our offices have been working closely these past few years and he’s a good guy.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Believe me, if he wants me to make a smoothie out of the entrails of rats, I would jump on the chance. You have no idea how trying these hot flashes have been for me. Each time one hits, I want nothing more than to rip off my clothes and jump in the snow.”

He chuckles. “I’d watch the public nudity if I were you. They’ve locked people up for less.”

“Trust me, I’m building a pretty good insanity defense.”

We wrap it up and I hit the dentist, followed by the optometrist, and finally end up with what Dr. Goldman billed as an emergency appointment with the all-star gynecologist—all of which are in my old stomping grounds of Mulberry Lake. Dr. Goldman’s nurse gave me directions, and as soon as I check into the new office, I see the doctor’s name for the very first time.

“Dr. Greenly?” I mutter mostly to myself right after I sign in.

“That’s right,” the receptionist chirps. “He’s the best of the best. Are you having a baby?”

“No,” I flatline. Normally, I would have eaten up the inadvertent compliment. I mean, young women have babies and I’m forty-five—apparently a young forty-five at least to this poor girl, who I’m guessing has a severe visual impairment brewing.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’s still the best of the best”—she squints over at me—“for whatever it is you need to see him. Fill these out.” She thrusts a mountain of getting to know you forms my way, and I quickly find a seat among a flurry of pregnant women in the waiting room.

I don’t get past jotting

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