Release

by Lucia Franco

  Now I understood why people took up habits like smoking and drinking.

  Drinking. Drinking made me think of Kova.

  This morning I’d woken wrapped in his warm arms, his chest to my back in the hushed serenity of his room. His body, though usually solid and firm, was the opposite when he slept. He was a giant teddy bear that demanded cuddling and I was perfect for that, because I did too. I didn't want to get up. We’d clung to each other, limbs entwined like we were holding on for dear life. Where he moved, I moved with him. If he wasn't holding me, I was wrapped up in him. We never let go all night. Even in our sleep we needed each other. With him in his bed, I felt an odd sense of peace when I should've felt anything but that.

  And when his alarm went off too early for anyone—four o’clock in the morning—we both got up and had coffee together. He brewed a large pot and I just cozied up next to him on the couch, my legs thrown over his and my head nestled in the crook of his arm while he watched the news—Russian news to be exact. News all about his country. Of course I didn't understand a word they said, but that didn't bother me. Being with him like that, something as trivial as watching the morning news, gave me sanctuary and brought a sense of intimacy between us, and that was all that mattered. There was harmony. We were Kova and Adrianna, and nothing more, and I realized how much I wished it was always like that. I knew I was treading a fine line getting caught up in Kova again and I couldn't afford to, but in the moment it felt right.

  My phone dinged and I quickly pulled it out of my purse while I waited for the doctor.

  Coach: I like the idea of you in my bed while I am not there.

  I shouldn't have smiled, but I did.

  Me: You’re insane.

  Coach: I am, and you make me that way, but everyone needs a little bit of insanity.

  "Adrianna." My head snapped up. A nurse stood in the doorway near the receptionist’s desk with a questioning look.

  "Yes," I said, and stood.

  I followed her down the hallway and around the corner to a patient room. She placed my file on the countertop, then reached into a cabinet and pulled out a specimen cup.

  "The bathroom is across the hall," she directed.

  Within a few minutes, I was back in the room with a cup of urine. The nurse put on a pair of gloves and took the sample from me. She uncapped it, stuck a paper strip in it for a few seconds, then took the strip out and placed it on a paper towel before removing her gloves. She checked my blood pressure and temperature, then said, "The doctor will be in with you shortly."

  The rising anticipation while waiting for the doctor always sucked and filled me with trepidation, leaving me to overthink every negative outcome.

  I must've heard the doctor walk past the exam room at least seventy times before she tapped on the door and walked in all bright-eyed and cheery-faced.

  "Glad to see you, Adrianna, and at a reasonable time." Dr. DeLang smiled.

  "I know, and I'm sorry about that. My schedule is hectic with training," I said apologetically, realizing that's no excuse.

  "How have you been feeling since you were last here?"

  "Fine, honestly. Nothing new to report, nothing less. I feel the same as I usually feel—tired, sore, drained—but that comes with the territory." I hesitated, then said, "I think I may have reinjured my Achilles at camp, or just tore it a little more, I'm not sure, but it's not that bad. Nothing I can't handle."

  "You should definitely have it reevaluated, even if you aren't having any issues, just to be safe."

  "I'm okay. I'm being careful."

  She walked over and placed her stethoscope to my chest and listened to my heart and lungs for a minute. "Careful can only take you so far," she said when she stepped back. "Considering you're training like a pro athlete, you shouldn't be taking any chances. If you make it past this season without completely snapping your Achilles, I'd say you have a guardian angel watching over you."

  I swallowed, and nodded to myself. She was absolutely right. I should have it checked just to be safe, but between all the blading and plasma injections I'd had, I didn't feel it was necessary. The sessions helped tremendously, and I always felt brand new. I figured I was just overworked and worn out from camp.

  Dr. DeLang took a moment to look over the urine strip on the paper towel before discarding it and washing her hands. She sat on the stool in front of the counter and flipped my file open. "Let's go over your test results, shall we?" She made a note before continuing. "Your pregnancy hormones came back negative."

  "Pregnancy?" Jesus Christ! What the hell? I hadn't had sex in ages.

  "It’s standard procedure to check the levels in most menstruating patients, even if the cycles are off."

  I stared at the doctor with wide eyes. Pregnancy had never crossed my mind since I took Plan B.

  "Tell me about that rash on your face." She flipped a few pages in my chart. "When did it start?"

  I brought my fingers to my cheek and grazed over the redness I thought I'd concealed this morning. "I woke up with it actually. I thought maybe I had an allergic reaction to something."

  Dr. DeLang ran her finger down the page and frowned. "The last time you were here you mentioned your coach pointed out a rash on your cheeks." She looked up at me. "Is this the first time the redness has reappeared since then?"

  I chewed my lip and nodded. Truthfully, I’d thought it was the wine since I didn’t even eat, but I couldn’t tell her that.

  She eyed me for a minute before returning her focus to my file. "Your iron level came back low, and your red blood cell count has dropped even more. Your urine tested positive for protein again, only higher this time."

  "Is it all the Motrin?" Those little orange pills were my lifesavers, but now I wondered if they had done more bad than good.

  "Highly doubtful. You’re running a temperature today, and your blood pressure is elevated."

  Huh. I didn't feel like I had a fever. Other than being tired from camp, I felt fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  "I’d like to run a few more tests." She opened a drawer and pulled out a lab sheet.

  I frowned. "More tests? Why? I feel fine." Oh, yeah. My blood pressure was spiking by the second now.

  "It could all be attributed to overtraining. But I’d like to check a few things." Her hand skimmed over the paper, marking off boxes. She paused and angled her head to the side, her eyes staring at me above the rim of her black, bold glasses. "Do any diseases run in your family that you might have forgotten about the last time you were here?"

  My heart was about to jump out of my chest. "D-diseases. N-n-not that I’m aware of. I don’t know." I shook my head.

  She turned back to the form. "I know your schedule is chaotic right now, so we'll kill two birds with one stone and have multiple blood tests done."

  Multiple blood tests?

  I cleared my throat before responding. "I have a training camp coming up. I'll be out of town for a week."

  "Another camp? When is it?" Dr. DeLang looked back at me.

  "My last camp. It's two weeks from now."

  "We should be fine, but get this blood work done before you leave. If anything pertinent comes up, I'll have my office call you."

  I blinked a few times and decided to just be out with it instead of allowing the obvious to hang in the air. "Dr. DeLang, why do you want more blood? You think it’s more than just overtraining, don’t you?"

  She looked up at me and sighed, then removed her glasses. "I tested for Rheumatoid Arthritis because of the pain you mentioned in your joints, but your numbers look good there." She looked directly into my eyes as she continued. "But with the high protein, dropping red cell count, low iron, joint pain, fatigue… I’d be remiss if I didn’t run more tests."

  "What do you think is causing it?"

  "I’m not prepared to give you a diagnosis at this time," she evaded.

  I grimaced. I had a feeling she'd say something like that. "But you have something in mind. I have the right to
know what you’re testing for."

  "Yes, Adrianna, I have a suspicion. But that’s all it is at this point. I don’t want to worry you."

  When a doctor tells you they don’t want to worry you, that’s exactly what you’ll do. I scrunched my forehead and angled my brows. I wasn’t going to let up on her. If she wanted more tests, then she’d damn well tell me why.

  "Dr. DeLang." I pushed. "Not telling me only worries me more, and considering what I do every day inside the gym, putting me at ease would really help so I don't break my neck from a tumbling pass. Please, what are you testing for?"

  She looked at me for a long moment, and I stared right back, not backing down. She sighed, then said, "I’m testing for lupus."

  My stomach dropped and I remained silent as she continued.

  "The issue with lupus is it can be confused for Rheumatoid Arthritis, but those numbers came back fine. Lupus is great at mimicking other illnesses, and thus can often lead to months and months of testing, trying to narrow it down."

  "Lupus?" I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "You think I have lupus?"

  "I have nothing concrete at this point. But that butterfly rash"—she pointed at my face—"coupled with your other symptoms raises a red flag. I’d like to run a few analyses on your organs as well."

  "My organs?" Chills rolled down my arms. I didn't know how to react, what to say, what questions to ask. I knew I should've been asking something, anything, but I couldn't think straight. "Which organs?"

  She hesitated. "Lungs, heart, kidneys. Sometimes lupus can affect them. I want to rule out everything I can."

  My heart fluttered. Lungs, heart, and kidneys? "How? Is this a genetic thing?"

  "If it is indeed lupus, typically someone in the family tree would most likely have an autoimmune. But you’ve indicated there is no family history of illness or disease. So this is all circumstantial and inconclusive without further testing, and why I didn’t want to worry you."

  I nodded my head, mentally flashing to every family member I could think of and if they were sick—Dad, Xavier, Joy… Joy. My lips parted and I averted my gaze.

  "Adrianna?" I blinked a few times. "Is there someone on either your paternal or maternal side that is sick?" She softened her voice.

  Looking at the bland ivory wall across from me, I licked my lips nervously, thinking about how I would phrase this.

  "I…ah… I just found out my mom isn't my real mom," I admitted out loud for the first time since that awful day. "I don't know who my biological mother is." My voice shook, cracking from the unshed emotion I’d been holding in for months now. I didn't want to look at my doctor. I didn't want to see the pity.

  Tears filled my eyes. I blinked a couple of times to hold them in. Dr. DeLang reached behind her and plucked a few tissues from a box and handed them to me. She gave me a gentle and understanding smile that only made me cry even harder.

  "I'm sorry," I said, blotting my eyes.

  "There's nothing to apologize for."

  I sniffled, and she gave me a few minutes to get myself together.

  "If this is lupus, if there’s something severely wrong with me…" One thought kept floating through my mind. One fear. One worry. One concern. I didn’t want to know but I had to ask. "What does this mean for my future in gymnastics?"

  "Lupus is debilitating and sucks the energy and life force from you. It weakens you, hinders your physical, and sometimes mental, well-being. Most people with an autoimmune can’t do what you do, yet you have been, which makes proper diagnosing a bit more complicated. As I said, this is all speculation until we do more testing."

  "But you think it’s lupus," I stated. "Or possibly something worse."

  "I prefer facts and data over probabilities." She handed me the lab sheet. "Go to the lab first thing tomorrow. You’ll have to fast again, nothing after midnight."

  I looked down at the form. My mind a scattered mess. Nothing made sense and suddenly I was filled with all these worries and fears I couldn't stop myself from thinking about.

  "In the meantime," she continued, "I want you to take iron supplements and increase your water intake. You can try an antihistamine to see if it clears up the rash."

  I hopped off the exam table and she walked me to the door. "Oh, and please check in with your orthopedic doctor. The littlest tear can lead to the greatest injury."

  Within thirty minutes, I was at home and sitting on my couch reading over everything I needed to know about lupus. My chest tightened with anxiety and I clicked out of the websites I'd been reading online. Every single thing I’d thought was a result of training too hard, was in fact a symptom of lupus. All of it. And the worst part was knowing what lupus could lead to if left untreated.

  I sat back and dropped my cell phone on the couch, and let out a deep sigh. The silence was a roar in my ears. I had so many questions swirling around in my head.

  Standing up, I walked into the bathroom and flipped the light on. I looked at my reflection and touched my cheek. There was a soft, petal-pink rash. I looked down at the counter and noticed all the stray hairs. There seemed to be more each day, and I wondered how the hell I wasn’t bald by now. I looked back at the mirror and wondered about my real mom. Wondered if I would ever find out the truth about her, and if she was where this autoimmune shit came from.

  How could I be sick and not know it? No! I let out a loud huff and shook my head. There was nothing wrong with me. I felt fine, just worn out because I was stubborn and pushed myself too hard.

  I turned off the light and returned to the living room for my cell phone. I glanced at the time, seeing that it was still early in the day. I hesitated, torn between wanting to know more and not believing there was anything wrong with me. Either way I needed to talk to my dad. I needed real answers about my birth mom that only he could answer. I knew he had to know something. There was no way my dad, of all people, didn't have some type of information on her.

  I looked at the time again and decided to skip practice. I was going to drive back to Palm Beach. My dad couldn’t evade me if I was in his face.

  I shot a quick text to Kova before grabbing my purse and keys.

  Me: Blood work came back normal. All good here. I'll see you tomorrow.

  Coach: Do not think I will not call your father and ask him for the results.

  My blood simmered in my chest. He may be my emergency contact, but he wasn’t privy to any results.

  Me: I'm not like you, I don't lie. Plus I'm on my way to see him now.

  It didn't take long until I was on the highway. My phone chimed and I picked it up from the cup holder to see who it was. Kova. I wasn't one to text and drive so I placed my phone back until I could stop and read it. Another three messages came in, but I ignored them. If he really wanted to talk to me, he could call.

  I wasn't sure how I was going to get my blood work done if I planned to be at practice bright and early tomorrow, but I'd figure it out. I guess I could "accidentally" sleep in and Kova would never know I lied. Actually, attending the camp and going to the doctor at the same time was a blessing in disguise. I could ask for one more day to rest, and I had a feeling he'd give it to me.

  * * *

  Driving on a long stretch of the highway for a few hours cleared my mind. Typically I didn't love to drive, but this was freeing and released a lot of the anxiety that caused tension in my neck, something I needed to remember. Especially when it came to Kova.

  I pulled into the driveway and immediately looked for Joy's car. My stomach was tossing and turning—it'd been months since I'd seen her—and I wondered how she would react to my presence.

  Shifting into park, my gaze traveled over the rows of cars looking for her Jaguar, but it was gone. Maybe she was out shopping or doing her charity stuff she loved more than her family. It wouldn't surprise me. There were a few other cars I'd never seen before, but nothing out of the ordinary.

  I pulled my cell phone from the cup holder and stepped out of the car, then walked
up to the front door. As soon as I stepped inside, Thomas was there to greet me.

  "Miss Rossi," he said excitedly and hugged me. "It's been too long."

  I smiled and squeezed him back. He'd been like a father to me and seeing him brought me happiness the same way seeing my dad did.

  "I've missed you," I said.

  "We were not expecting you or else I would have had your room freshened up. I can do that for you now."

  I pulled back and shook my head. "It's not necessary. I won't be staying long, I just wanted to surprise my dad and talk to him."

  His white, bushy brows angled just slightly together. He frowned. "Mr. Rossi doesn't know you're here?"

  "No, I didn't tell him. Why do you ask?"

  He straightened and forced a smile. "No reason at all."

  I observed him. "What are you hiding?" I joked a little.

  "Nothing at all. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Let me get your favorite coffee for you."

  "Ah, diversion." I winked. "It's all good. Is my mom here? I didn't see her car outside."

  He swallowed thickly and peered down. "I haven’t seen Mrs. Rossi in quite a few months. I'm not sure where she is, to be honest."

  I paled. "A few months," I repeated. "What are you talking about?"

  Thomas's eyes widened and he panicked. "Miss Rossi, I thought you knew she wasn't staying here. Forgive me, please. I wasn't aware you didn't know she moved out."

  My jaw hit the floor. This day just got better and better. "No, I had no idea. Dad never told me."

  Thomas looked terrified. He shifted on his feet, using his hands to speak. "Please, I truly—"

  "Don't worry, I won't speak a word of it, and I'll pretend I didn't know. It's not your fault this family is bound by secrets and lies. Dad probably was just trying to protect me and help keep me focused on gymnastics."

  He nodded, speechless. His eyes filled with guilt, and I felt bad about it. Wiping the astonishment from my face, I smiled and said, "I'm gonna go see him. I only have so much time before I have to hit the road again."