The Doctor and the War Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

before she could follow up on any dating service.
    Prior to Hurricane Katrina, she’d been diagnosed with mitral valve prolapse. Her condition required a visit to her doctor every six months. On her last visit a month earlier, Dr. Champagne had ordered a battery of tests. Her heart raced at the mere thought of what she would learn. She’d arrived fifteen minutes early for her appointment and read a book while waiting, but the words on the page made no sense. Her foot uncontrollably tapped a symphony on the floor.
    “The tests were fine. You have no thyroid problem. No blood pressure problems, either. The heart monitor showed no abnormalities.” Dr. Champagne cast a paternal smile in her direction. He was a short, balding man with thick glasses.
    “I have a question to ask you.” Harley cleared her throat. How was she supposed to tell the man that she was haunted by dreams of her own death? That she could no longer hold the Eucharist in her hands at Mass? “Why does my heart race when I have to act as a Eucharistic minister? And-And I think of dying all the time.” She swallowed, her gaze averted.
    “When did this start, dear?” His stare was penetrating yet kind.
    Harley shut her eyes. “When my mother was sick, mainly homebound, I’d give her communion.” She wiped a tear from her eye. Even as she spoke, her heart pounded, and her hand inadvertently fluttered to her breast. “Now when I give communion at church, the same thing happens.”
    Dr. Champagne nodded. “I know how hard it is to take care of an aging parent.”
    “Do you think that’s why my ch-chest pounds like it does when I give communion? Am I remembering what happened to my mother? Her suffering? I still hear her saying the prayers with me.”
    Dr. Champagne smiled gently. “Very possibly. You’re healthy. Aside from the prolapse, you are very fit. I know you exercise. That’s good. Stay away from chocolate and caffeine, and you may want to see your gynecologist as well. You’re forty. You may be developing female problems.”
    Harley sighed resignedly. She suddenly felt very old. Just what she and Donna joked of so often was now coming to haunt her. “You really think I could be going through menopause? My mother didn’t go through it until she was in her late-forties.”
    The doctor shrugged. “Everyone’s different, dear. Something’s obviously affecting you deeply, and tests don’t indicate anything abnormal. The problem may be of a female nature or a psychological one.”
    The blood rushed to Harley’s face. She was sick of people telling her she was losing her mind. She snapped with more vehemence than she’d intended. “I’m not crazy, Dr. Champagne.”
    His kind smile never wavered. “No, I don’t think you’re psychotic, but you’re dealing with a great deal of emotional stress that could be worsening the menopausal symptoms.” He met the gaze she tried to avert. “Harley, I’ve known you since you were a kid. It’s no disgrace to admit you need help. I could prescribe something—”
    “No!” The word burst from Harley’s throat before she could control it. Her voice was so shrill that she was surprised the whole staff and waiting room didn’t run in to investigate. She lowered her head, ashamed, and said softly, “I won’t take any psycho drugs. I still get up in the morning. I go to my job.”
    “All right. I see you feel strongly about that.” Dr. Champagne rose, crossed over to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come back to me in six months. Sooner, if these panic attacks persist.”
    “You think that’s what I’m having? Panic attacks?” Harley cast a quick glance at him and then clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.
    “Yes, I think they’re panic attacks. I think you’re anxious and grieving. You went through hell taking care of your mother, and the whole thing has caught up with you. Use this summer to rest.”
    Harley cringed and suppressed a shudder as waves of