Buffy Andrews - It's In The Stars

I made the mistake of looking at Matt when I sat down. He stuffed a brownie into his mouth and chewed while he talked. “How was the fire?”

He was using small talk to make up for his loud-mouth episode the other day. Matt is just one of those people who irritate me. I think it’s because he reminds me of this bully in elementary school. Teddy was my nemesis. I think he made fun of people so he wouldn’t be made fun of. Sort of like beating someone to the punch. He was as skinny as a stick and had a cowlick that couldn’t be tamed. In other words, there was a lot of material to work with if someone wanted to make fun of him. Thing was, he never gave them a chance. Until one day I put him in his place when I overheard him making fun of Laura, who was a mouse of a girl.

I decided to be nice to Matt and not my usual curt self. I realized lately how much working in a newsroom has changed me and I’m not sure I like who I’ve become. I’m much more dismissive and abrupt. Maybe it’s a hazard of the job and the deadlines, because a lot of journalists I know are like this. I’m tough because I have to be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care or I’m not dying inside. “The home went up fast,” I told Matt. “I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

It didn’t take Oyster Breath long to edit my story. I was right about the red notes. There were lots of them, but I appreciated being challenged. To be honest, I’d learned a lot from Oyster Breath over the past year. The guy was an editing guru and I loved that he challenged me and never settled for mediocre work. I knew I was a better journalist today than I was when I came here, and that meant the world to me.

After addressing his notes in my story, I took the long way to the women’s bathroom, hoping to see Hottie Advertising Guy. I cut through the advertising department, scanning the area as I went. Hottie wasn’t around. He spends most of his time out of the office so catching him is about as likely as Oyster Breath discovering mints.

I checked the clock. I’d almost forgotten about my doctor appointment. While showering that morning, I’d felt a lump in my armpit. I called Dr. Lerman’s office on the way to work and pleaded with the receptionist to fit me in.

“Please, please, please,” I said. When I gave her my name, she said “Oh,” as if she suddenly realized who she was dealing with. It’s not that I go to the doctor’s a lot, but maybe more than most people because I worry so much. Last month, I’d apparently pulled a muscle from running. It happened on a Friday. By the following Monday, I was convinced I had lung cancer and was going to die.

My grandmother died from lung cancer after going to the doctor about a back pain, so of course I figured I had cancer, too. By Monday my fears had spiraled out of control and I could hardly breathe it hurt so much. Dr. Lerman sent me for chest X-rays immediately and had me wait for the results. When I learned there was absolutely nothing wrong, it was like a huge weight was lifted off my chest. The pain just vanished. It was the weirdest thing. I never would’ve believed my fears and anxiety could actually produce phantom symptoms, but they did.

When I discovered the lump, the only thing I could think about was this tearjerker movie in which a young mother died from cancer that was detected during a routine office visit. The lump was near her armpit. So, knowing how my worries manifest into symptoms, I made the appointment.

When I arrived at Dr. Lerman’s office, a woman with a throaty Midwestern accent talking on a cellphone followed me in the door. Dressed in what I would classify as retro bohemian she looked like she was ready to smoke a joint and party. I swear she had a ring on every finger – even her pinkies.

I hate with purple passion people who talk on cellphones in waiting rooms, or anywhere I’m a captive audience. She sat beside me and put the caller on speaker. (No, I’m not kidding.) They talked about a guy (“He was a lousy lay anyway!”) who dumped the caller earlier that day. Thank God the nurse called me back to the examination room because I was about to go hang out in the bathroom.

Covered with a thin paper sheet, I drifted off on the examination table. Dr. Lerman startled me when she opened the door.

I sat up. “Sorry, Dr. Lerman. Tough day. I probably smell like smoke.”

She sniffed the air. “You do a little. Why?”

“Covered a fire today and didn’t have a chance to shower.”

She nodded and went over my medical history. “So, let me see this lump.”

I held my right arm straight up and the paper covering fell down around my waist. She pushed against the lump with her fingertips.

She pulled off her plastic gloves. “Nothing to worry about, Sydney. It’s just a pimple.”

I sighed. “Thank God, because I really thought it was cancer and that you were going to tell me I was going to die and never have kids and never grow old and never be a grandmother, even though I’m not sure I want kids and growing old isn’t bad because it means I’m alive but I don’t want to look old and I definitely don’t want to be a grandmother until like fifty years from now – if at all.”

“Wow, Sydney,” Dr. Lerman said. “How are you sleeping, by the way?”

“Well, since you asked – I’m having trouble. I just can’t shut off my brain. You know how I hate odd numbers, right?”

Dr. Lerman nodded.

“Except 666. I hate that number, too, even though it’s even. I got a receipt yesterday and it was for $6.66. I asked the clerk if she could add two pennies to it, but she said she couldn’t. I thought about buying something else, but then I added two pennies to the penny dish on the counter, figuring that covered me.”

Dr. Lerman cleared her throat. “Wow. Okay, then. And the sleep?”

“Yeah, that. So, as I was saying I hate odd numbers. Now I’ve been watching the clock and if the clock ends in an odd number, like 11:03, I have to wait until 11:04 to close my eyes. But if the time ends in an odd number but the two last digits add up to an even number, then I’m okay. So like 11:13 is fine because even though it ends in an odd number, one plus three equals four, which is even.”

“Sydney,” Dr. Lerman said. “Maybe it’s time we had a serious talk about your anxiety issues.”

I squirmed on the table. “Do we have to? I’m not crazy about taking medication.”

Dr. Lerman sat down across from me. “Would talking with someone help?”

I shrugged.

“Look,” Dr. Lerman said. “If we start you on a very low dosage of medication, just enough to take the edge off your anxiety, you’ll be able to sleep better. You want to do that, right?”

I nodded. “It would be nice to be able to shut off my brain and fall asleep when my head hit my pillow. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Dr. Lerman called in a prescription. “Let me know if it helps. I’m going to start you out on half a pill, but if it’s not enough, we’ll increase it to a whole tablet. How does that sound?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

By the time I got home, I had a little bit of a second wind, but not enough for Zumba. Maybe a walk. I hadn’t planned on confessing my odd, no pun intended, behavior to Dr. Lerman. But maybe she was right. Maybe I did need something to help curb my anxiety. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe this was the something new Horoscope told me to embrace. Besides, the whole odd and even thing was beginning to stress me out in other areas of my life. For example, I liked having an even number of pencils in my caddy at work. When I bought bananas, I looked for a bunch with an even number. It didn’t bother me that after eating one, there’d be an odd number left, as long as I started with an even number. I know, I’m a freak! I knew Dr. Lerman was right about my anxiety and obsessive behavior affecting the quality of my life and I definitely needed to get more sleep if I was going to function at my best.