Free Butterfly Dreams by A. Meredith Walters Page B

headset back around his neck and conferred with my file once again. “Your heart seems to be healthy, Corin. In my professional opinion that isn’t the problem here.”
    Not the problem…
    “Then tell me why I have this pain, right here!” I demanded, pointing to the spot in my chest that I had gotten into the habit of rubbing constantly.
    Dr. Harrison clicked his pen a few times, and I thought about grabbing the pen and shoving it up his nose.
    “There are a lot of possible reasons for your chest pains. I tested for angina and that doesn’t seem to be the problem. But you could be suffering from gastric reflux or there could be a strained muscle—”
    My humorless bark of laughter cut him off.
    “Strained muscle? Are you kidding me?” I scoffed. I felt a pressure in my chest that seemed to get steadily worse the more upset I became. Like a giant hand had reached through my rib cage and was squeezing my heart.
    “Anxiety and stress could also be a factor,” Dr. Harrison continued, and I noted the look of concern on his face.
    “This is
not
because of anxiety!” I seethed, clenching my hands into fists and trying not to use them to inflict damage on the pretty doctor’s face.
    “Corin, I’m only suggesting that the cause of your chest pains may be something more benign. And that’s a good thing!”
    “Do you know what would be a good thing, Dr. Harrison?” I asked, my voice sounding weak and thready despite how angry I was becoming. I tried to take a deep breath but found my lungs wouldn’t expand. The harder I tried to suck in air, the harder it became.
    I felt a little light-headed and I closed my eyes for a moment.
    “A good thing would be to finally know what’s wrong with me,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. The room was starting to spin and it reminded me of that one time I had gotten drunk.
    Adam had brought me a six-pack of wine coolers one evening after work, and I had thrown up after drinking three of them.
    I rubbed at my temple, feeling a dull throb begin.
    “I want that too, Corin. I just think we need to look at other possible causes than a heart problem.”
    I barely heard what Dr. Harrison was saying. Because I wasn’t there, in his office anymore.
    I was in another doctor’s office eight years ago. Listening to similar, placating words being spoken to someone else.
    “I’m positive your symptoms are a result of a nasty virus, Neil. I recommend going home and getting plenty of rest and drinking lots of fluids. You should be feeling much better in a few days.”
    My father’s doctor hadn’t believed him either. Dad had known that something was wrong but let himself be convinced by a man with a medical degree that he was “fine.”
    “No,” I mumbled, shaking my head.
    “Corin, I think it’s time we look at other possibilities. Psychosomatic ailments can manifest severe physical symptoms…”
    “No,” I said a little louder. Not this again.
    And then I couldn’t breathe. I was gasping and struggling for air.
    “Corin!” Dr. Harrison’s alarmed voice cut through my panic. I collapsed in a heap, the good doc catching me before I slid to the floor.
    I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and the harder I tried to get air into my lungs, the more impossible it seemed.
    I recognized this feeling all too well.
    The butterflies smothering me. Pulling me under…
    But in that instant the only thing I could think was that I was dying.
    “Take a deep breath, Corin. In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Dr. Harrison instructed, but it sounded as though his voice was echoing down a long tunnel.
    The pain in my chest felt like a knife digging through skin. I fisted my hand over my frantically beating heart.
    “Hurts—” I gasped.
    I heard Dr. Harrison talking to someone, but I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. Dark spots swam before my eyes and the last thing I thought before I lost consciousness was
I told them there was something wrong.
    —
    I woke up