Page 82 of Lift Me Up

So when I say I arrive at this new doctor’s appointment with a binder for myself and a copy for the doctor, I am not kidding. It gets tiring to try and explain all that you are, all that you've been through, all the things that have failed you in medicine, and then to hear them say you've tried it all and there's nothing left for you. It's completely exhausting. This time, Noah is by my side, holding my hand, encouraging me that maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time, there will be answers. I appreciate his hope, but I can't say that I match his enthusiasm as much as he wished I would.

The long drive 3 hours away from home for a possible let down, is not my ideal date with Noah, but he walks down the street, head held high and a skip in his step, excited to just be here in Toronto with me. My appointment is first thing in the morning, so we got up and left at 5:30am on a coach bus, arriving in the city about an hour prior to the appointment. Rather than sitting in the hospital waiting room, thinking, and dreading and fretting, Noah tells me he wants to show me something, so I follow him blindly wherever he wants to take me, taking in the big skyscrapers that make home seem so small in comparison. As we come around the corner, I stop to gape at the place he's brought me to. He's grinning at me, so he obviously knows he's done well in seeking this out.

"Where... how? Have you ever been here?"

"Never. But I suspected we would have time when we got here, and I thought a stroll in a park would be a lot nicer of a morning. More... relaxing. So I googled it, and found out this park is only a five-minute walk from the hospital. Was... was it a good idea to come here?"

"It's beautiful," I say with a smile on my face, clutching his arm as we take in the view.

A few blocks from the hospital, Noah has found the nicest park I've seen in a long time. Most parks have been cut back to make room for roads and playgrounds for children in our city, but this park is bright and green, the trees kept to the edges of the walking paths. As we walk down the cobblestone paths, Noah tells me imaginary stories of fake history surrounding the park, but fades into actual facts he's learned about the historical monuments positioned along the paths, leading up to a government building that looks like a castle. When I ask him what the park's history really is, he says it's named after Queen Victoria. When we're finished walking through and have looped around both paths, we make our way back to the hospital for my appointment. I don't get anxious until we're forced with a decision I don't want to have to make.

"What do you mean the stairs are closed?"

"Well, the main set of stairs are closed. Everyone's taking the elevators, so it's a bit of a heavy traffic zone right now. They were painting and dropped a paint can down the stairs, so it's been written off."

"But we need to get to the third floor." I urge, my hands shaking, heart racing at the very thought of entering the elevator, even with Noah trying to calm me.

"Well," The hospital volunteer points down a hallway, "You can try the stairs down there, but then you'll have to navigate your way back."

"That's... fine. That's fine." I breathe a little slower, let Noah calm me once more.

"You really hate elevators, huh?" The volunteer asks.

"More than you know," I mutter, thanking her and following Noah's lead to the alternative stairwell.

"We could have tried that elevator." He suggests, and I glare up at him as we climb.

"I’ve only taken one elevator since the incident and that was to find you. Never again, thanks.”

“Oh come on. That one was perfectly fine,”

“Sure, and I am going to win the lottery," I scoff and roll my eyes.

"That's not very positive," Noah retorts, all in good fun.

I tease back, "I just thought we were stating things that were never going to happen. Honestly Noah, I don't know that you know me well. I am the sunniest person I know. Can't you see it?"

When we're at the landing for the third floor, I'm not even winded. Many months of taking the stairs at my own apartment has made that lessen over time. He turns to me, pulls me close, and smiles when he touches my cheek and sees me physically relax.

"Oh, yeah. There it is. So beautiful, that sunshine," he murmurs before leaning in to kiss me.

"Get a room." A doctor scoffs, pushing past us in his haste to get to the third floor. Noah and I look at each other so seriously before bursting out into fits of giggles.

"Looks like he could use some sunshine," Noah teases.

I laugh with him, "He needs the whole fucking rainbow."

The wait in the waiting room is endless. If I thought hometown doctor wait times were bad, Toronto is next level. Your appointment could be for 10am but fully anticipate being there until 1pm because the doctors are on their own time and they're all overbooked. Noah calms my jiggly leg of anxiety by placing a palm over the shaking knee, and then takes my hand in his. I rest my head back on the chair, and the next thing I know I hear Noah stirring me and pulling me out of the sleepy daze I fell into. He makes a comment about how it's 'precious' that I can fall asleep anywhere, to which I give an indignant huff, following him as he follows a nurse who has apparently called my name to welcome me into the next waiting room.

The actual exam room is just another space they place patients in to forget about them for a while, but it makes the patient think they're getting closer to the answers they are seeking. I have learned better by now, but I have to say this one is a lot nicer than the exam rooms back home. A bright sky blue with a floral mural to look at. The exam table doesn't look like something out of a horror film, instead, it looks brand new, nicer, and plusher, like something you'd see in a chiropractor’s office.

Pushed against the wall, its flat white cushion top is not covered in cheap-looking paper, which is a good change. Makes it feel less clinical. The exam instruments are stored in a matching white roller cart, and there's even a real-life plant in the room. I overanalyze this for a while, telling Noah about previous appointments, the horror stories, and the small triumphs. He takes it all in, commenting on what he finds horrible about the situations, what he thinks was probably illegal (when a surgeon got a little too handsy for comfort, but I didn't say anything because what could an eighteen-year-old desperate for answers say about it?), and when I am about to start into another story, the door swings open for the doctor to enter.

"Hi, Ms. Wright, I'm Dr. Delvi—oh." He stops short, looking up to see me sitting on the exam table, medical binder beside me, ready to be flipped through and Noah in the neighbouring chair, our hands interweaved on my lap. I cross my legs and swing them anxiously. The man from the stairwell is my doctor? Oh god. This is going to be a nightmare. Should we just leave now? Is there even a point?

"Hi," I say softly.

"Look at that, we got a room, doc," Noah says with a smile on his face, intention clear in his eyes that he is not trying to be as friendly as he comes across.