so much fun, Anne. Wait and see. A real
fiesta.”
Anne figured that Morgan would probably nix the whole idea. Marti tossed the stick into the campfire, and Anne, deep in thought, watched the flames devour it.
At the end of the first week, Anne’s father informed her, “I’ve made an appointment this coming Monday with Dr. Rinaldi, the specialist you’re supposed to see here. I’ve asked Maggie Donaldson if I can use the station wagon to drive you into Denver.”
“Dad, how could you? I don’t want to see a doctor. Besides, Monday is another trail ride, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Anne, this isn’t up for debate. You have to be evaluated. You must stay on top of your medical condition as long as you’re in Colorado.”
“Well, I hate it, and I don’t want to think about it.”
“It’s not going to go away.”
“I, of all people, know it’s not going away.” The pain in his eyes made her sorry she’d lashed out at him. “All right,” she said, feeling remorseful. “I’ll go. But I don’t have to like it.”
They left the ranch right after breakfast and drove the hundred miles to Denver. The city, with traffic and noise and exhaust fumes everywhere, was a shock to her senses. The weather was dry and hot, made hotter by the sun’s reflecting off concrete and glass buildings. The large hospital complex was surrounded by looping roads and expansive asphaltparking lots, packed with parked cars. Anne missed the quiet ranch.
She endured the blood test and physical, then sat with her dad in Dr. Rinaldi’s office while the physician reviewed her records.
“How’s Anne doing?” Her father craned his neck to see the chart the doctor held.
“Her lungs are clear. However, she’s anemic, so I want her taking iron and B-12 to build up her red blood count.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m feeling tired,” Anne offered.
“You’ve been bothered by fatigue?” her father asked. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It’s no big deal, Dad.”
“Yes, it is a big deal,” Dr. Rinaldi countered. “Fortunately, your T4 cell count is still up around five hundred. If it falls below two hundred, you’re going to be at serious risk for infections. That patch of dry, flaky skin on your back and upper legs is also a symptom of lowered T cells. I’ll give you a cream for the rash.”
Anne only nodded. The information about her T4 cells bothered her. While the number was still within acceptable limits, it was lower than when she left New York. She felt time and good health slipping away from her. “I’ll do what you tell me,” she promised.
“I’ve spoken with Dr. Becksworth in New York, Anne,” Dr. Rinaldi said. “We both think it prudent that you start on AZT right away.”
She still didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face the side effects. She’d made so many plans withMarti and Morgan. “Please let me have three more weeks at the ranch. As soon as I get back home, I’ll begin taking the drug.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Dr. Rinaldi replied.
“You don’t understand,” she insisted. “I need to live normally before I die.” She felt waves of desperation.
“Anne, be reasonable,” her father said. “It’s your life.”
“Don’t force me to do this yet,” she begged.
“I understand how you feel, but I disagree,” Dr. Rinaldi said. “Nevertheless, I can’t force you to start on AZT against your will. However, if you have any new symptoms—fever, shortness of breath, or persistent cough—I want you right back here to start the medication. Understand? The length of time from infection with HIV to the development of AIDS hasn’t been adequately researched in women. All we kow for certain is that women face serious illnesses with AIDS that men don’t, for instance, cervical cancer and pulmonary tuberculosis.”
“If you’re trying to scare me, Dr. Rinaldi, it’s working,” Anne said. Her hands felt cold and clammy, and she was getting queasy.
The