Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Hell, I’m wondering if my inexperience is showing. If maybe the last four months were some extended beginner’s luck, and now, in the final stretch of filming, my luck is running out.
I fled that set as soon as Kenneth said it was a wrap for the day. I didn’t look for Canon, and I’m sure he’s not looking for me. Our fight this morning didn’t help my concentration. I was hurt by his harshness, but I was also frustrated with myself, with my body. I only came to lie down for a quick second because I was so exhausted, lying down seemed a better use of the time we spent waiting for them to fix the power than standing around. I never oversleep that way. I snapped at him as much out of misplaced embarrassment as anything else.
I told Takira to go eat with the rest of the crew and I’d see her tomorrow. I still don’t have much appetite and fought nausea most of the day—yet another thing to distract me. I was a mess on set. Trey, Kenneth, Linh—all asked if I was feeling okay. Not Canon, though. He and I barely spoke besides the notes he delivered himself instead of through Kenneth. No one observing us would think our relationship tempts him to favor me. He was the same with me as with everyone else. Maybe even more indifferent. The intimacy of last night feels light-years away right now.
I drag my weary body to the bedroom. I don’t even make it to the shower. I’m more tired right this very second than I have ever been in my entire life. And today was a relatively easy schedule compared to nine-hour dance rehearsals. I know this isn’t normal, this level of fatigue. No amount of rest seems able to penetrate it.
“I’m so close,” I whisper, staring up at the ceiling. “Only three weeks left. Just please let me finish.”
I don’t know if I’m asking God or my body, begging it to hold out long enough to finish strong, but I choke down a sob. It feels like some internal clock is ticking, and I’m racing against it.
After a few seconds, I stand, strip, shower, and get into my lounge pants and tank top. All I want is my bed. Five o’clock will be here before you know it, and I need tomorrow to go better than today. It’s not that we didn’t get what we needed. If we hadn’t, we’d still be there. Canon wouldn’t settle for less than that, but it just took so much. And most of the time it was my fault. Even with new content, I’m usually sharper than this.
“Ugh.” I tap my head as if that might clear it.
I’ll never get rest if I replay all my mistakes over and over on this loop. I pull back the comforter and climb in, but notice my phone plugged in by the bed. A ringing phone on set will get you chewed out as fast as being late will, so I usually leave mine here.
I have missed calls and messages.
“Neevah, hi. It’s Dr. Ansford. I know you’re on set, but call me first thing tomorrow. We need to talk. Your tests came back. Your antinuclear antibodies are elevated. Low red and white blood count. ESR indicates inflammation. Most concerning is your high creatinine levels.”
I’ve barely absorbed all she’s saying in the pause she takes to breathe when she launches another attack on my peace of mind. “I’m coordinating with your doctor out there. We’re calling in a prescription for prednisone. You should be able to get it tomorrow. I’m sorry, Neevah. I know you like to manage things naturally, but all signs indicate you’re experiencing a flare-up—a very serious one. We have to get that under control. Based on those elevated creatinine levels, we need to biopsy your kidney.”
I press a trembling hand to my temple and draw a shaky breath, listening to the rest of the message through ringing ears and with a dozen questions winnowing through my head.
I have discoid lupus. She hasn’t even mentioned the rash or my hair falling out. Why are they looking at my kidneys? I want to hurl the phone into the wall because I can’t ask her my questions and it’s almost midnight in New York.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” she continues in the message.
Too late.
“But things can go south with kidneys very quickly and with fewer symptoms than you might think. We want to see what we’re dealing with as soon as possible, but you take a lot of supplements. Stop taking those right away. We need them out of your system before the procedure. So it’ll be a few days before we can get the biopsy done, but we can at least get you on the prednisone. Call me first thing and try not to worry. Stress will only exacerbate things, and we’re going to figure this out, okay? Goodnight.”