On the way to the hospital, every song on the radio is annoying and Mum and I hardly say a word to each other. When we get to the emergency room, Aunty Teresa is there and she looks terrible. We both give her a huge hug and sit down in the bright-green plastic chairs. I text Dad, Loz, and Bradley. It’s funny who pops into your head at times like these.
We wait for a long time—there is lots of coughing and sneezing. Teresa tries to diagnose everyone and Mum gets annoyed. “I was just trying to take my mind off everything,” Teresa says sadly.
Mum holds her hand and says, “I understand. Sorry.”
Eventually a doctor comes out. She is lovely. She gathers us around and says, “It does look like a minor stroke. Who was with him?”
Teresa raises her hand. “Well, it was your quick thinking that got him here so we could get him stable. Well done.”
I smile at Teresa. She’s genuinely a medical expert.
“It’ll be a long road,” the doctor explains, “but he should be okay. He’ll need physiotherapy. Some tough talking. It’s not going to be easy. He’s already tried to discharge himself twice. Until he realized that his leg was unable to work. He also kept calling me a nurse, but I put that down to him having a minor brain injury.”
I know this is not the reason, but I don’t say anything as I don’t want to “out” Granddad as a sexist. He is trying. He’s just from a generation of men who were told that women should stay at home and believed it. Probably because it suited them.
“Don’t worry,” Mum says. “We’ll make sure he does as he’s told. Can we see him?”
The doctor thinks for a moment. “Give us about twenty minutes to get him really comfortable, then yes.”
In that time, Lauren messages me with every link to every page about strokes in the history of the Internet. She also texts me about stroke rehabilitation. Apparently, it’s good to keep the brain active with trivia.
I think I’ll be seeing even more of Lauren than normal. And that’s a great thing.