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“Okay…” She types on her computer as I wring my hands together. Miles places one large hand on top of mine, squeezing gently. It gives me the little burst of calm I need right now. “She’s getting some tests done now. There’s a waiting room around the corner, and a doctor will come talk with you when they’re finished.”
“Okay. Thank you. Um… was she—is she—” I don’t even know what I’m asking. It’s not like the admissions nurse will know if she’ll be okay or what happened.
“She was conscious when she came in, after a reported stroke. That’s all the information I have.”
“Thank you,” I breathe. She was conscious. That’s something.
Miles wraps his arm around me and guides me to the waiting room.
I want to vomit as we sit in the waiting room. I hate waiting rooms. I’ve spent far too much time in them. During hospitalizations and procedures my dad had, and later when my mom was getting diagnosed. I lean forward as much as my stomach allows, resting my head in my hands. Miles rubs my back.
Today is fucked up. Everything is fucked up. Then our daughter kicks and for the briefest of moments, everything is beautiful. Why is life like this?
The chair on the other side of me shifts, and a hand brushes my arm. I look up and see Dani’s soft smile.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“Excuse me? I’m your best friend. Where else would I be when you need me?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” She pulls me into her arms.
“How did you know?”
She nods toward Miles and I spin around. He shrugs and gives me the sweetest boyish smile.
I have to fix things.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Ames. I told you, you’re mine to take care of. And I know when to call in reinforcements.”
I laugh lightly. “Should I expect everyone to storm the hospital?”
He squeezes my hand. “I didn’t think you’d like that, but my mom’s on her way and Mackie’s on call if we need anything.”
“That’s good. Whatever good is right now.”
“I’m looking for the family of Eileen Davis,” a doctor says, walking into the room.
“That’s us.” I stand and walk toward him. Miles’s arm is wrapped around my back in a second, bolstering me. “I’m her daughter.”
“Your mother came in after a suspected stroke at the nursing home. The staff found her disoriented and difficult to rouse, and noticed some muscle weakness and difficulty speaking.” My heart shudders at those words. More of her to be ripped away from me. “The good news is by the time she got to us, she had very few symptoms. Really only some muscle weakness on her right side. She was yelling and quite combative, actually. To the point that we may need to give her a mild sedative overnight.”
My mouth drops open. “Really? She’s—she didn’t—” I take a deep breath. Full sentences, Amelia.
“Will she be okay?” Miles asks before I get anything else out. Of course he gets right to the important question.
“She’s being transferred up to our stroke and vascular care unit now, and the therapy team will be in to evaluate her shortly. They’ll be able to give you a clearer picture, but based on how she bounced back thus far, her prognosis is good. Of course, we’ll continue monitoring her and make sure of that. With her returning to a nursing home, she’ll likely only be here a couple of nights as long as all continues to go well.” He gives a gentle smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper, more to the universe than to the doctor.
“Of course. The doctor and therapy team in the stroke unit can answer any further questions you have. As soon as she’s set up in her room there, you’ll be able to see her.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Miles says.
“Yes. Thank you,” I say again. “Should we go to the other unit?”
