CHAPTER 7
Dara McKinley stood up and walked around her clinic desk when Alexa Culver entered. “So nice to see you!” she said, hugging Alexa. “When I looked at the schedule this morning, I saw your name.” She released her. “Is everything okay, Alexa?”
“I needed to talk to you professionally,” Alexa admitted, sitting down in a bright red chair in front of Dara’s large desk. Dara wore a white lab coat, her stethoscope around her neck, her blond hair caught up with two gold barrettes that Alexa recognized. Dilara Culver must have gifted Dara with them. Alexa saw the delicate hammered Turkish designs on the long barrettes.
“Okay,” Dara said, sitting down. She pulled over Alexa’s file, opening it as she started up her computer. “What’s going on?”
Alexa glanced out the window of the clinic, just a few blocks away from the hospital where Dara had been a resident. Now, Dara had privileges at the medical facility. The early November sky was murky, threatening rain or snow. Alexa turned her attention to the pediatrician. “Gage has been doing a lot of online research about my high cortisol.”
“That makes sense. What’s he found?” Dara asked, curious.
Alexa pulled printed copies of papers from her briefcase and slid them across the desk to Dara. “Are you familiar with a new branch of medicine known as functional medicine?”
Dara took the papers, quickly perusing them. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. But honestly, I don’t know a whole lot about it,” she smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what’s important about it and how it might affect your high cortisol?”
“I liked their motto,” Alexa said. “‘Changing the way we do medicine, and the medicine we do.’ Apparently they work with nutrition, alternative medicine, and lifestyle choices, which all play into a person’s ailment.”
Dara studied the copies she had in hand. “Well, I don’t see anything here that could be harmful to you. I’m in agreement that a patient’s history, their environment, and the meds they take and other influences should all be taken into account before looking at an overall plan to help the patient with his or her issue or disease.”
“And a lot of doctors don’t do that,” Alexa said. “I know you do. I think you’re a functional medicine specialist doc by instinct.” Alexa smiled a little.
“Could be.” Dara placed the printed out sheets to one side. “I’ll take these home with me tonight, Alexa, and really get into their medical philosophy. But where do you see this type of doctor helping you with your high cortisol?”
“Well, let me back up. When Gage found this material, I got really excited, Dara. It gave me hope. There’s a directory of physicians who are functional medicine specialists, and there is a PA, a physician’s assistant, named Taylor Douglas who has a clinic in Wind River, Wyoming. Her focus is dealing with high cortisol and PTSD symptoms!”
“Really?” Dara sat up, and Alexa handed her another sheet of paper.
“Yes. She gives each patient a saliva test and then sends the results to a lab to be checked. On her website, she shows some of her patients’ before-and-after results three months after giving them an ‘adaptogen.’ That’s a compound created by a certain company to shut off out-of-control cortisol so that the pituitary gland can start to control it instead, as it should. If the cortisol is shut down, then a lot of the PTSD symptoms stop immediately. And according to Taylor Douglas’s literature, they remain stopped unless there is another huge trauma in the person’s life. And even if there is, they can take the adaptogen under a medical practitioner’s guidance and stop the cortisol from constantly pouring into the bloodstream. In other words, the adaptogen acts like a shut-off valve for a faucet that is pouring out water. It shuts off the cortisol and the PTSD symptoms go away forever.”
Her voice rose in excitement as she pulled a number of other papers from her briefcase and spread them out across Dara’s desk. “Look at these results,” she said, showing Dara a chart. “They’re all from ex-military men and women who have gone to Ms. Douglas for their PTSD symptoms. They took the saliva test, got the results back, and you can see they all have higher than normal cortisol levels.”
She traced the chart with her fingertip and Dara frowned, studying it intently.
“Then,” Alexa went on eagerly, “Ms. Douglas gave them an adaptogen for thirty days, and most of the people reported that their anxiety disappeared in two to four days!”
Alexa’s voice rose as she pointed to the “after” graph. “Three months after that initial round of the adaptogen, the subjects retook the saliva test. Look at this, Dara. This is amazing!”
She pointed to the second set of lab test results. “All of their cortisol is now within or near normal limits, and they all reported that the horrible anxiety I live with was gone, and it hadn’t returned. Taylor has followed these vets, and their cortisol levels remain normal.” She looked up at Dara. “Can you believe that a single thirty-day course of taking this adaptogen actually shut off the cortisol that was continually leaking into their bloodstreams, stopping it forever? I can hardly believe it, but here are the test results.”
Fascinated, Dara quickly perused the descriptions of the six military vets diagnosed with PTSD, their list of symptoms and the before-and-after results.
“This is more like alternative medicine,” Dara finally said. “But you can’t argue with the tests and their results.”
Excitedly, Alexa said, “I’d really like to schedule a session with Taylor Douglas. I’ve got my Stearman biplane, and I can fly up there and see her. What do you think, Dara?”
Dara considered Alexa’s question. “First, let me read through all this info tonight. Then, I want to put in a call to Ms. Douglas and talk to her myself. Based upon that call, I can let you know what I think.” She straightened. “You do know that officially, via the American Medical Association, there is no cure for PTSD. There’s nothing out there except sleeping pills and antianxiety medications.”
“Yes,” Alexa grimaced. “I know. And all those do is suppress the symptoms. They aren’t reducing them, Dara. I know I’m not a doctor, nor do I have a medical background, but it looks to me like this adaptogen shuts off the cortisol when the brain’s master gland isn’t able to accomplish it by itself. And if that’s true, according to her other data, the master gland comes back online in that thirty-day period and takes control of the adrenal glands, which manufacture the cortisol. It normalizes how much cortisol is sent out to the person’s bloodstream and turns it off as it normally should.”
Dara nodded and smiled a little. “If this is true, it’s a huge breakthrough. This would help anyone with PTSD symptoms, whether they were in combat or not.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Alexa murmured, relieved that Dara didn’t pooh-pooh the data. She knew many other MDs would discount the information. “Children or adults, for instance, that come out of dysfunctional, abusive homes, or who have been rescued from sex slavery, or who have been traumatized in a hundred different ways, could have their cortisol once more controlled and shut off. They wouldn’t have to suffer the horrible anxiety that’s with them every day of their lives, preventing them from living normal lives.”
“I know,” Dara whispered, giving her a sympathetic look. “Well, this all looks very interesting, the data, graphs, and before-and-after results are all here. Doctors need that kind of proof in order to move on it and make an informed decision about it for their patients.”
“So you’ll let me know what you think?” Alexa needed reassurance.
“I promise, Alexa. I’m hopeful too, but I need to dig into the medical nitty gritty, talk with Taylor Douglas, and see if it all adds up.”
“Fingers crossed,” Alexa whispered, “that it does. I just have such a powerful, hopeful feeling about this, Dara. I think I’m a prime candidate to try it out.”
“I agree. But let’s take this a step at a time.”
Relief surged through Alexa. “That would be wonderful, Dara. Thank you!” She walked around the desk and gave Dara a hug.
“Keep your hopes up,” Dara whispered, smiling and releasing her.
Alexa stepped back and said in an emotional tone, “Gage and I want to start a family, Dara, and I can’t do it with the way I feel now. You said pregnancy would intensify my hormonal responses, and if the cortisol is out of control, I’d feel worse than I do now. And I don’t know what all these hormones would do to the baby.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t want to be like this the rest of my life, Dara. If there is anything out there that can help me, I want to try it out. I’m desperate.”
Dara slid her arm around Alexa. “I feel so deeply for you, for what you have to wrestle with daily. I just don’t want you going to some alternative medicine person who is promising you something that can’t possibly work.” She looked deeply into Alexa’s strained face. “Okay?”
Dara walked her toward the door after picking up Alexa’s briefcase and handing it to her. “You’ll hear from me as soon as possible. I promise . . .”
*
Gage walked into their farmhouse after work and spotted Alexa in the kitchen, making them dinner. Going over, he kissed her hello and handed her a bouquet of pink roses wrapped in silver foil with a huge fuchsia ribbon. “For you,” he said, watching her expression. It had been a week since she’d seen Dara.
“Ohh, these are so pretty,” Alexa said, breathing in the scent of the blooms, then looking up at him with gratitude. “Thank you!” she said, reaching up and sliding her arm around his shoulder, pushing up on her toes and kissing his smiling mouth. Gage wore dark brown corduroys and a long-sleeved white tee that brought out his rugged good looks. To most people, Gage would look pretty ordinary. No one would guess that, as one of the most deadly snipers in Afghanistan, he had saved dozens of American lives on his watch. He was her everyday hero, and as his mouth met hers, she sank against him, making a joyous sound as his arms pulled her to him.
Coming up for air, Gage reluctantly released her lips, looking at the happiness in her green and gold eyes. Ever since he’d researched Taylor Douglas’s website, and Alexa had brought the information to Dara to explore, he’d seen her hopes grow every day.
Gage smiled, moving her tousled hair away from her cheek. “You’re the pretty one here,” he said. The change in Alexa had been gratifying to Gage, and he prayed that Taylor Douglas was the real deal and that Dara would approve of sending Alexa to her for treatment.
“Mmm, well,” she teased him, “if I’m pretty, you are a certified hunk, Gage Hunter.”
He smiled, watching the play of gold and green in her widening eyes. Every time she cycled up, he wished with all his heart that she’d remain at that level. That was the way Alexa was before the traumas brought her down again. “Thank you, ma’am. I think you’re kinda sexy, and I’m having a hard time deciding whether or not to take you to bed or let you finish up making dinner.”
Grinning, she swept her hand across the front of his jeans, feeling just how hard his cock was. “Well, judging from feeling you, big guy, I think the bedroom might be a better idea, huh? We can have dessert before the meal, okay?”
His eyes narrowed as his look changed, and for Alexa, this was one of her favorite moments—when he changed from gentle lover to a powerful hunter who knew what he wanted and intended to take it. It had been four days since the last time they’d made love, and she knew that Gage would never initiate it. Alexa was grateful for his patience with her on this point. One day, she hoped that her old spontaneity would come back, that Gage could haul her into his arms, carry her off to their bed, and take her like the feral animal that lived within him. At those times, he was dangerous, sexual, and intense. He stalked her every time they made love, and that excited her. But the stalking was done with his lips, his teeth, and his body, coaxing her on every level to surrender completely to him. Gage knew how to turn her on, turn up the intensity, and get her fully aroused, taking her beyond her usual warm affection.
The phone rang, and Gage scowled, saying, “Want me to get it?”
“No, I’m closer.” Alexa eased out of his arms and set the bouquet on the counter.
Gage’s heart skipped a beat when he found out it was Dara calling. And he saw Alexa’s expression brighten as she gripped the phone a little tighter, speaking in low tones. Moving around her, Gage took the bouquet and retrieved a tall glass vase, filling it with water, one ear keyed to their conversation. Halfway through it, Alexa gave a little cry, her hand over her mouth. Turning, Gage thought something might be wrong, and he saw that her glistening eyes suddenly swam with tears.
Was it good news or bad? He wasn’t sure as he slipped the bouquet into the vase, sensing Alexa closely. God, he hoped it was good news, not bad. All week, Alexa had been focused on what Dara might discover. He walked over, coming up behind her and gently easing her back against the front of himself, wrapping his arms low around her waist, giving her some physical support in case it was bad news.
“Thanks, Dara,” Alexa whispered. “I so appreciate you calling us . . .”
Gage felt Alexa tremble as she hung up the phone. She eased out of his embrace and turned around, her gaze locking on his.
“Oh, Gage, I can go!” she announced excitedly. “Dara said she had a long, productive talk with Taylor Douglas about an hour ago.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she covered her mouth with her hand, staring up at him.
“That’s great,” he said thickly, hauling her into his arms. “Go ahead, cry. It’s okay.” He felt his own eyes grow damp, knowing how much this meant to Alexa. He’d read all the information on Douglas’s site and thought it sounded legit, and now Dara had confirmed it.
What if the medication worked for Alexa? What would that mean? Could that adaptogen really shut down the runaway cortisol that her own body couldn’t shut down by itself? That would be a miracle to Gage. He’d give his right arm to make that anxiety stop in her, if he could. This adaptogen treatment might just work!
Finally, Alexa quieted in his arms. “Feel better now?” he murmured against her hair, holding her against him.
“M-much,” she whispered brokenly. “Oh, Gage, I’m so happy right now I could jump up and down with joy. But at the same time, I’m afraid this won’t work for me, that I’ll be the oddball who won’t respond to it.”
“Shh,” he whispered, kissing her temple and easing her away from him just enough to engage her darkened eyes. “I have a good feeling about this, Alexa.
“Y-you do?”
“Yup. What did Dara tell you?”
“She said that Taylor is very warm and easy to talk with. She said that she’s treated a lot of abused women who were either raped or beaten, with excellent results.”
“That’s good,” Gage agreed. “What else?”
“She said that, the way Dara described my symptoms, I would qualify for the adaptogen treatment. Oh, Gage, I can’t believe it! This is the news we’ve been waiting for!”
He smiled down at her. “Best yet,” he agreed “Did Taylor say what her rate of cure was with the adaptogen?”
“She said she’s treated a hundred and fifty people. And every one of her patients has responded to it. Those that had severe PTSD would get relief and their anxiety would be alleviated, but sometimes not fully cured. Still, if symptoms are reduced by eighty percent, that means the person can function in normal society again.”
“I would think so,” Gage agreed. “What about in your case? Did she comment on the symptoms Dara gave her about you?”
“Yes, she said that while she can’t guarantee how many of my symptoms will be alleviated, in her other cases involving sexual assaults, most recover completely. She has two patients who did not, but their particular symptoms were seventy percent improved.”
“That’s great, baby.”
“Even if I don’t get rid of all my horrible anxiety, it still means I’ll be feeling so much more like my old self.” She sniffed, wiping the tears off her nose.
“Come on, let’s go to our bed,” Gage said suddenly. “I just want to hold you for a while.” He saw her eyes soften and she nodded, her lower lip still quivering. She had a lot more tears in her to release, and he’d rather hold her on their bed, stretching out, relaxing, and allowing him to fully care for her. Right now Alexa felt so fragile that it almost scared Gage. He’d never felt her like this before and couldn’t figure out why now. She had been fragile before, but it had seemed to recede in her since they started living together. Now it was back and even more intense than before.
“Hold on,” he murmured, sweeping her up and into his arms. She let out a little cry of surprise, her arms coming around his shoulders. Gage carried her to the bedroom, toeing open the partially cracked door.
Alexa sighed, lying against Gage as he settled her on the bed beside him. His arm was beneath her neck, and he was propped up on his elbow, watching her through half-closed eyes. “Talk to me, baby. What’s going on in your head?” Gage smoothed strands away from her face so he could easily see her expression. She lay with her head on his shoulder, her hand resting over his heart.
“A million things,” she admitted, her voice husky from crying. “If this works, I can get pregnant, maybe. I need to talk to Taylor about it. I wonder if she’s had any experience with women patients who get pregnant after the medicine works? What else does the adaptogen do? Will I always have to take it?”
Gage nodded. These were all good questions.
“According to the literature, it’s a one-time deal. You take it for one month, and it’s done. I don’t ever have to take it again unless I experience a new trauma that might cause the cortisol to get out of control again. Taylor told Dara that with some of her patients, she might have to give them the adaptogen immediately after the new trauma, but only if a saliva test shows that the hormone is out of normal bounds.”
“Makes sense,” Gage murmured. “What else?” He so desperately wanted this procedure to work for Alexa.
“I want you with me,” she whispered, giving him a pleading look. “The weather is too ugly to fly my Stearman to Wind River Airport. Do you think you could get the time off to go with me, Gage? I really need you at my side. You know how my brain is nowadays, how it races and I can’t focus. I get distracted so easily.”
He tipped her chin up, kissing her salty lips, her breath warm and moist against his face. “I would go to hell and back for you,” he rasped against her mouth. “Of course I’ll go with you. I’m sure everyone in your family wants this to work for you, and I doubt that Tal will throw a horseshoe if I’m gone for two or three days.”
“No,” Alexa agreed. “They’ll all be so happy to hear this, Gage.”
“I’m sure they’ll be celebrating, baby.” Her family had a strong psychic connection to one another, and Dilara often said the Turkish side of their family had visionaries, like her grandmother Damia, who’d foreseen Artemis Shipping being the largest shipping company in the world.
“When can we go?” he asked her, eager to get this going.
“I have to call Taylor’s office. Dara said that she had a cancellation two days from now and if I wanted, I should call her right away.”
“Good,” he murmured, sliding his hand down her back, feeling her melt beneath him. “Let’s do it.”
She sighed and gave him a rueful look. “I’m so glad you’ll be going with me, Gage, because right now I feel as if I’m going to break.”
Gage knew that when Alexa hit an anxiety high that lasted for days at a time, she was exhausted for an equal amount of time when she came down from it. “Well, maybe that will stop once you get the tests and the doctor gives you that medication.”
He could only hope that he was right, and that help was really on the way.