I’ve heard about strokes. Old people had them whenever a call came over the police scanner at Mama’s house. John Doe age sixty-three. Stroke. Jane Doe age seventy-one. Stroke.
Not eighteen-year-olds. Not me.
Cam’s eyes water, and hers don’t turn any other color. Not in the darkness. Not from the tears. They’re the same as always. “Your mother has been called, sweetie. She and your grandmother are already on their way.”
I swipe my dry lips with my tongue. It feels lighter, but the weight in my chest hasn’t eased as much. “K-Kaiden? He must…be worried. Plea—”
A doctor walks in, opening and closing the squealing door behind him. I know Kaiden. He must be pacing the waiting room, his hair a mess, and cursing out anyone who asks if he needs anything. Is he still barefoot? Did someone get him shoes? Hospital booties? A cup of coffee?
“Ms. Matterson,” the doctor greets. He squeezes Dad’s shoulders like he must have done hundreds of times since our arrival.
“Emery,” I whisper, taking a deep breath of relief when the word forms correctly.
His hair is still dark. Not graying like most doctors I’ve crossed paths with. His face is wrinkle free and kind, like he hasn’t witnessed true tragedy yet. Does that give me hope? Or will I be the one to break him?
“Emery,” he corrects, washing his hands and drying them off at the sink in corner. “I’m Dr. Thorne. I was assigned to you when you arrived at this wing. After reading over your medical file and seeing the image tests, EKG, and lab work they did on you tonight, I contacted your rheumatologist for some additional information. I’ll need some further answers from you on how you’ve been feeling, to get a better picture.
“Can you tell me about some of the symptoms you’ve been experiencing? Is there anything out of the ordinary you’ve noticed over the past few months? Every detail will help.”
Dad’s breathing is unsteady, and I wonder if he’s going to cry. I’ve never seen him do that before and I’m not sure I ever want to. Tearing up and letting them spill are two different things. It’s like an acceptance that things have changed. When you tear up, you’re simply unsure. When you cry, you know.
I don’t want to know.
I don’t want Dad to know.
For some reason, I struggle looking at the young doctor. Instead, my eyes go from Dad to Cam to the door. I think about Kaiden and pretend he’s right here. He should be, he’s family.
My ears pick up on the drum of my heart, which pounds in a rocky beat. It doesn’t sound normal at all. It’s been like that for too long, and excuse after excuse I reasoned with its abnormality as if it made a difference. It overpowers the noise coming from the various machines hooked to me. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump. Thump.
“Emery?” Dr. Thorne repeats.
“H-head…aches.”
He nods, glancing at the computer screen I didn’t know was on. “It looks like you came to the emergency room over the winter because of a migraine that turned into a fainting spell?”
I don’t answer.
Dad says, “Yes. She got sick at school and fainted, but insisted it was from the migraine.”
Pressing my lips together, I finally meet the doctor’s eyes. “I saw a…neuro..logist right after who helped me get medication.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.” No. I don’t know anymore.
“You no longer get headaches?”
No answer. My lips tingle.
His eyes scan the screen once more before he proceeds with his questions. “Have you noticed any changes in weight?”
I know for a fact any fluctuation is r
ight in front of him, documented from my many visits and check-ins. “Gain. I’m not sure how much.”
“Bruising? Bleeding? Dizziness?”
Exhaustion sweeps through me. “Dr. Thorne, I’m t-tired. I-I’m sorry, but I want to know what’s going…I’ve never felt…I never had…”