The Interviews

How could a routine office visit to her Ecuadorian primary care physician turn into so much? Just so, so much that would ultimately change her life forever? The petite but fit forty-year-old Peyton West would probably wonder this for the rest of her life. She turned to look at forty-seven-year-old Tracy Abrams. If it weren’t for her, Peyton doubted she would still be alive. The counselor sat in her favorite chair by the window, reading a book on her Kindle. She was older, but she was still a decent-looking woman. Not one who made you stop dead in your tracks to stare in open-mouthed awe, but one who was pleasant enough for her age. She was thin and had dark, distinct features. Her dark hair, highlighted with streaks of deep auburn, hung in waves to her shoulders. Peyton's mind wound its way back to that fateful visit nearly a year ago… She’d been led into the examination room, as always, by the stout, friendly nurse who had worked for the doctor for as long as she’d been seeing her. She’d first come to the doctor nearly two years ago for routine maintenance on some minor underlying issues she’d had. When Peyton was first introduced to Doctor Diana Ardeno, she’d been just as surprised by how short she was as she was annoyed with her foreign accent. She was young, too. She guessed her to be in her mid-thirties. The doctor shook her hand and flashed her a friendly smile that matched her white coat before taking a seat next to her. If only she’d seen the deception in that smile at the time. Doctor Ardeno took a moment to shuffle through the information she’d given the nurse in her more extensive questionnaire as a new patient; then, she focused her small brown eyes upon her. “Well, I came here from another medical group because I didn’t find the doctors very helpful or their staff very competent.” “I see,” Doctor Ardeno said, waiting for her to explain. “I had a bad reaction to my thyroid medication that made me extremely anxious. They kept insisting I was just anxious and needed anxiety medication, but knowing what was normal for me and what wasn’t, I knew something was up with the medication. I just didn’t know what. I had no problem with the lower dosage, but as soon as they raised me, the anxiety set in, and my heart pounds and races at random.” “Are you on any anxiety medication now?” Peyton nodded. “On an as-needed basis. I take it every few days or so if I feel myself getting too wound up.” “And are you still on the higher dose of medication?” “No, I’m not. I’ve actually been too terrified to take anything at all. But having no one to turn to who was willing to help me, I decided to try a new medical group with a new team of doctors, since I wasn’t getting anywhere with the old team. I naturally have a fast heart rate, and I wonder if there’s a connection somehow.” “Well, these aren’t side effects of the medication itself, but can sometimes be in conjunction with other things going on, so yes, it could be due to a rapid heart rate. We can run some tests and see. Let’s send you to the lab first to see how your thyroid function is right now.” “For now, based on the medical records that you gave us permission to access, I think it’s best that we start with the lowest dose possible and slowly work you back up to a level that’s most comfortable for you while monitoring your thyroid levels.” Peyton's heart lurched just thinking about it. The doctor noticed and said with assurance, “You handled the lower doses well before.” “I did. I’m still nervous about it anyway, after what happened. It was a pretty scary experience, to be honest.” “Well, you just try this and let me know if you have any questions, ok?” Peyton nodded. After the doctor finished doing a basic exam, she was free to leave, with an endocrinologist referral in hand. Over time, her dosage was increased to a safe and comfortable level, and her anxiety subsided. The problem began when she was put on statins, and the anxiety, along with aging and finicky hormones, began to once again take hold of her. While grateful to work from home breeding rats for sale on and off, and testing software programs, this meant that she spent a lot of time alone. It didn’t help her situation much at all, especially when she felt more on edge. Doctor Ardeno suggested she see a counselor, and she did. Even though she knew her anxiety wasn’t just about her phobia of medication after the scary experience she’d had with her thyroid medication, she knew it couldn’t hurt to see a counselor. And it definitely hadn’t hurt at all to see Tracy Abrams. She’d shown her some amazing techniques that no therapist had ever shown her when she last saw them many years ago for other reasons. About a year and a half after she’d begun seeing Doctor Ardeno, she asked her something she hadn’t expected to be asked at her next routine check-up. “Peyton, would you be willing to participate in an experiment?” Peyton's expression was that of being caught off guard. Then, her eyes widened. “It doesn’t involve taking any medication at all,” the small, long-dark-haired doctor assured her. “All it entails is a series of interviews.” “Interviews?” “Yes. The study, which a few other doctors and I are conducting, deals with the biographies of a select group of patients, and I think you would make an ideal candidate.” “Oh? Can I ask why?” Peyton asked curiously. “That, I’m afraid, we can’t yet discuss in much detail so as not to influence one’s answers, even if it were on a subconscious level. All I can say is that we’re interested in comparing how certain groups of people handle certain traumas, as well as other things, that are within a particular age group and on particular medications. The questions may seem rather trivial and meaningless. One question I might ask, for example, is: what time did the first incident happen?” “Incident? You mean the first time I experienced severe anxiety?” The doctor nodded. “The time, not the day.” “It was between 6:30 and 7:30 in the morning.” “And what do you think of that time?” “I don’t like that time.” “Why?” “Because I know it’s probably going to be a long day.” “What do you do?” “I try to keep busy and productive.” “So you see?” said the doctor. “Some questions would be simple, but others would be more personal. Take some time to think about it; if you’re up to it, contact me online and let me know. We’ll then set you up to be interviewed at regularly scheduled times. Note that you will be fully compensated for transportation costs along the way.” “Wow. There would be that many interviews?” The doctor nodded. “It takes time to go over one’s life, so yes, you might have up to a dozen appointments that last about an hour.” “Interesting.” The doctor flashed her white smile and said, “Think of yourself as famous and someone is interested in writing a book about your life.” “I’ll definitely give it some thought, Doc,” Peyton said as the two rose from their seats and headed for the door. What Peyton didn’t say was that she’d already written her biography, in a sense, having kept a journal for decades.