Grounded by Neta Jackson Page A

the examination room, Grace patiently tried to answer questions as the nurse skimmed over the medical history forms she’d filled out half an hour ago. No, she hadn’t realized she’d skipped her physical last year—she’d probably been away on tour … Yes, in general her health had been okay … Main complaint today was a sore throat, hoarseness, headaches, a low-grade temp … Stress? Well, yes, she’d just come off a four-week concert tour, which had been quite demanding.
    The nurse took her blood pressure (a little high) … height (five-six) … weight (128, down seven pounds from the last weight they had for her) … then gave her a gown and told her to remove her clothes from the waist up. The doctor would be in shortly.
    Grace quickly changed into the ugly gown and sat up on the padded table. It was another ten minutes before the knock on the door and Dr. Stacy entered. The internist was probably in her late forties or early fifties, slender, pale blonde hair graying, cut in a short bob. “Grace,” she said warmly. “You’ve been avoiding me. Nurse Thomson says you’re seven months overdue for a physical … let’s see.” She opened the chart. “I think we usually see you around your birthday in July. Right?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Someone like you, on the road a lot, needs to be proactive about your health.”
    Grace flushed. She felt like a seventh-grader caught skipping school by a benevolent principal. “I … I know. I’ll make an appointment before I leave.”
    â€œGood.” Dr. Stacy studied the forms Grace had filled out and the nurse’s notes. “
Mm
… uh-huh …” She set them aside. “Tell me what’s going on.”
    Grace took a deep breath and told the doctor when the sore throat had started, then the laryngitis, now a low temp. And … she also needed a doctor’s note that she was in no shape to sing, so that she could cancel her next concert a week from Saturday.
    The doctor pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Grace, I’m your doctor. The things you’ve mentioned might indicate a viral infection. But I think there’s more. Your weight is down, your blood pressure is up. You want to cancel your next concert. I’m guessing a good deal of stress and overuse of your voice has a lot to do with what’s going on. What happens in this office is confidential, so let’s get the whole story.”
    It took some gentle prodding, but Grace finally managed to get it all out: the breakup with her fiancé, a family emergency taking her assistant out of the picture, the humiliating experience going through security at the Memphis airport … on top of four weeks of travel and a packed concert schedule. By the time she finished, Grace was in tears.
    Handing her a wad of tissues, Dr. Stacy nodded sympathetically. “Well. Statistically speaking, that’s enough stress to go right off the chart. But let’s take a look at what’s going on in that throat …”
    Grace blew her nose and tried to hold still as the doctor checked her ears, shined a light into her mouth, had her say, “Ahhhhh,” felt the glands in her neck, then used her stethoscope to listen to her chest, front and back. “
Mmm … mm-hm
… take a deep breath … another …”
    Finally the doctor scooted her stool back. “Well, we definitely have an infection going on, probably viral, but I’m going to swab your throat for possible strep. If it’s strep, I’ll order an antibiotic. Otherwise, all you can do is take care of the symptoms and wait it out. Should be better in four to six days with a lot of liquids and rest. But—”
    â€œBut I think I really need to rest my voice.” Grace heard the anxiety in her raspy voice. “Can you—”
    â€œHang on. I’m getting there. I also think you should be