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“She’s in the back,” Sophie says. “The doctors are still working.”
I whirl around to the receptionist’s desk. “I need to talk to someone,” I demand. “I want someone to tell me what’s going on.”
The nurse at the desk seems like she’s about to argue, but something in my expression must give her pause, because she purses her lips instead and nods. “I’ll go get one of the doctors.”
She gets up and shuffles to the back. I pace up and down in front of the desk, waiting. I’m not used to this kind of wait. Usually, if something is urgent, I have people on it, someone ready to give me the answer I need.
After about five minutes, a brunette woman in a white coat, a stethoscope around her shoulders, emerges from the back. She removes the stethoscope from her shoulders and produces a tablet from her pocket, walking up to me.
“Are you the doctor who’s been treating my grandmother?” I ask immediately. “How is she? Is she—”
“Your grandmother suffered a stroke,” the doctor says, her voice patient but firm. “We’re doing everything we can for her right now. She’s on blood thinners to remove the clot, but if that doesn’t work, we may have to operate. It’s more dangerous, but it is our best second option.”
I swallow, with some difficulty, and nod. “Okay. I understand.”
“Please wait here,” the doctor continues. “We’ll bring you news as soon as possible, I promise.”
I nod again, turning back to the waiting room. In the corner, Sophie is curled into a ball on her seat, her knees pulled up to her chest.
I walk over to her, sit next to her, and pull her into a crushing hug. She leans into my chest, sniffling.
As I press my lips to the top of her head, my mind churns. How the hell did this happen?
I can’t bear the thought that my grandmother might die. But a stroke… that’s serious. She has always seemed so vibrant and full of life that it never occurred to me how dangerous it was for her to be alone in that house so often.
How could I let this happen?
The waiting room is a terrible place to be, lit by harsh fluorescent lights. The cushions on the chairs are threadbare, the floor tiled. A newscast plays in the corner on a small television.
After what seems like an eternity of waiting, in which neither Sophie nor I say a word, the doctor re-emerges. She looks tired, and her expression is unreadable.
I shoot to my feet in an instant, all but running across the waiting room. “What’s going on?”
“Your grandmother has stabilized,” the doctor tells me. I’m about to exhale in relief, but then she continues, “But she’s in a coma. We don’t yet know the lasting effects of the stroke—whether or not she’ll recover fully. Only time will tell.”
My chest feels tight with dread. “A coma?” I repeat, uncomprehending.
The doctor nods, a look of sympathy on her face. “Would you like to come back and see her?”
I clear my throat, trying to stop the room from spinning. “Yes. We would.” I turn to Sophie, gesturing for her to join me.
The doctor leads us into the back, taking us to my grandmother’s room. She’s unconscious, tubes in her nose giving her oxygen and an IV in her hand. Beside her, a monitor is beeping in a steady rhythm.
I sink down into a chair next to her bed, reaching for her hand. Sophie stands beside me, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly.
“We’ll do everything we can to give her a full recovery,” the doctor says. “If she’d been brought in a bit earlier, we might have been able to do more for her.”
My senses are numb as I nod, barely able to take in the words. All I can think about is how small and frail my grandmother looks tucked into these crisp, white sheets.
She’s old, I think. She’s an old woman. And I left her alone.
Much as she always tried to hide it, she’s probably been slowing down for years. She was always so lively and energetic that I didn’t even notice.
I should’ve realized that something like this might happen eventually.
* * *
Sophie
