THE ER

I run blindly through the hallway, looking for Room 3.

There it is.

There she is.

She is under a white blanket. She is sweating.

Her eyes are open, but only a little. Her eyes look cloudy. And vacant. I grab her hand. Desperately, I call to her. Tell her I am there, ask her to open her eyes, squeeze my hand.

She is uncomfortable. She is gasping and her body is at the mercy of the force coming from the ventilator.

The nurse, Ruth, tells us to tell Mom what is happening.

“You’re in the hospital,” we tell her. “We are here with you. Can you open your eyes? Mom! Open your eyes!”

A twitch.

“SHE MOVED!” I shout. “I felt it! She moved her hand!”

“She’s crying,” says Ruth. “That’s a good thing. Keep talking to her.”

We do. We plead with her.

“She’s resisting the vent,” says Ruth. “We need to sedate her.”

Moments pass. The room fills. A man with bad breath introduces himself as Dr. Liang. I ask him if he’s the attending. He tells me he is, so I let him continue.

There are five, six, seven, ten nurses and doctors surrounding her. They have masks on, and are inserting long tubes into her.

“What’s happening?” we ask. We are beside ourselves, wanting answers.

“It’s very serious,” Dr. Laing tells us. “She was improving, but now she looks more like she did when she came in. We believe she has had a massive heart attack.”

“I work on a brain injury unit,” I tell him.

He says, “So you know where this is going.”

‘Fuck you,’ I am thinking. ‘She’s only been here 30 minutes and you’re giving up? Asshole.’

More time passes, maybe 20 minutes. Maybe an hour.

Dr. Rajan, who we will come to know, tells us“We believe this may be caused by a blood clot. We need to do more tests.”

“So, she may not have had a heart attack,” I ask?

He says, “Maybe not. We are not sure.”