“Sure, or now,” I said. Jackson and I were out, making a Dutch Bros coffee run. I had given up caffeine but every now and then I just needed a small hot Cocomo with whip.

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hang on.” I waited while he checked his schedule. “You are in luck. I had a cancellation for an appointment this afternoon. I can see you at three.”

“I’ll be there.”

Later that day, Jackson drove me to the office where we had logged a lot of time in over the past few months. I didn’t have my wheelchair with me. It made me edgy. Jackson must have sensed it because he matched his stride to mine, walking on the side with my bum leg. I appreciated his silent understanding more than I could say.

Patty, the receptionist, smiled and waved us forward. She leaned over the sign-in desk and whispered, “Dr. Henry said for you to go right on back to his office.”

We thanked her, and Jackson and I made our way through the waiting room and down the hall into the large plush office that was Dr. Henry’s inner sanctum.

“Nick, Jackson,” he greeted us. His thick silver hair was combed in its usual precise side part. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

We sat in the two leather chairs, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and lacing his fingers together. “What can I do for you, Nick?”

“I can’t live like this,” I said. “There has to be something I can do to fix what’s wrong with me.”

He met my gaze directly. His eyes were kind, which I found annoying at present. I didn’t want kind. I wanted a light of understanding to go off and then I wanted a cure, a pill, an exercise regimen, something that would alleviate my body’s inexplicable fits of weakness.

“Still suffering from the sudden numbness in your leg?” he asked.

I nodded.

“And the other issues, the fatigue, anxiety, and fuzzy brain?” he asked.

I clenched my teeth. I hated all these symptoms with the fire of a thousand suns. They made me feel weak, and I hated being weak. “Yes.”

“You know those are all typical conditions after an ischemic stroke?” he asked.

“Yes, but I thought they’d be gone after six months.”

“There’s no absolute timetable on these things,” Dr. Henry said. He considered me for a moment before asking, “Have you noticed if there is a trigger?”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“When your leg gives out, are you overtired? Feeling stressed? Dehydrated?” he asked.