The Law of Bound Hearts by Anne Leclaire Read Free Book Online Page B

listened to her symptoms and took her blood pressure, which was unusually high, 170 over 115. He frowned at the reading. (One year earlier, according to his records, it had been 115 over 70.) He checked her lungs and heart and palpated her abdomen and then sent her off with one of those little waxy cups to get a urine sample, that humiliating part of the routine exam: squatting splayed-legged over the toilet, haunches trembling from the effort of keeping her flesh from touching the toilet seat, the too-small cup clutched between thumb and forefinger, so nervous she couldn’t relax her sphincter muscles, whistling to release the flow—her mother’s trick—hoping the patients in the waiting room couldn’t hear. After she finally managed to pee, she checked the sample, half expecting to see it perfectly natural and foam-free. Didn’t that always happen? You made an appointment at the dentist’s, but when you got there the tooth-ache was gone. Or you frantically carted a toddler to the pediatrician but no sooner walked through the door than the temperature that had been spiking all night dropped to normal.
    After she dressed, Jack came back into the examining room, avoiding her eyes for a moment. In that second, the first tendril of fear curled in her belly. There is elevated protein in your urine, he told her, which—with the high blood-pressure reading and the edema— was cause for concern. On the plus side, there was no blood or sugar and this was certainly a good sign. She grasped at these words.
No
blood or sugar. A good sign.
He wanted more tests. Full chemical and renal panels. He made out a prescription for the lab and told her to cut back on salt, to eliminate it as much as possible, see if they could get a start on bringing her hypertension under control.
    At home, while she waited for the results of the blood work, Richard researched kidney diseases on the Web. He reported that since Jack had detected no sugar in the dipstick test they could pretty much eliminate diabetes. He also thought they could reject polycystic kidney disease, which, more than ninety percent of the time, was inherited. They could rule out congenital abnormalities and trauma, as well. Finally she had to tell him to stop, he was driving her crazy.
    When Jack called, he suggested Libby and Richard come in together. That was
not
a good sign, but Libby clung to her hope line.
There was no pain.
Surely nothing could be seriously wrong if there wasn’t pain. On the drive, Richard put a Fauré composition for cello, a deliberately lighthearted selection, on the Volvo’s CD player. Whatever it is, he said, we can handle it. We’ll get through this together. He drove with his left hand, his right holding hers. She knew he was thinking
cancer.
    Jack wasted no time. “Your BUN and creatinine levels are abnormal,” he said, reading from a lab report.
    â€œWhat’s BUN?” Richard asked, but before Jack could answer Libby said, “What does that mean?”
    â€œYou’re experiencing kidney failure,” he said.
    She stared at him, uncomprehending. Impossible. A mistake in the blood tests. She barely listened as he listed the diseases that could directly or indirectly cause renal failure. Lupus, diabetes, hepatitis B and C, HIV. He talked about the need for additional tests. An MRI, more blood and urine work. A kidney sonogram. Tests to obtain a more accurate picture of what was going on. He was referring her to a nephrologist—a kidney specialist, he explained—and had his secretary set up an appointment. The best in the Midwest, he said.
    Richard wanted to tell the twins right away, but Libby persuaded him to wait until they had more information. Why worry them needlessly? She was still hoping there had been a mistake. Lab results mixed up. It happened.
    She watched the spider weaving its web, the zigzag pattern in the center. Its name came to her now: garden spider. Innocuous