Dreamland(73)

   When I finally reached I-95, I called my sister again.

   Same result.

   I checked the app. No change.

   I drove even faster.





After that, I called the hospital, got the runaround, but finally spoke to a nurse who had just started her shift and hadn’t worked since earlier in the week. She didn’t have much in the way of helpful information regarding my aunt but promised that someone who knew more would call me back.

The call didn’t come for more than an hour. That nurse told me that, as far as she knew, there’d been no recent emergencies but that I needed to speak with my aunt’s neurologist for additional information.

Trying to keep my frustration in check, I asked to speak with him. The nurse informed me that he wasn’t in the hospital at the present time—it was a weekend, after all—but he was expected at rounds sometime later. She would leave him a message, recommending that he give me a call.

After hanging up, I tried and failed to reach Paige again.

My stomach tightened further.





The interstate was a hazy mirage as I left Florida behind and entered Georgia.

Morgan called for the third time; I’d been on the phone the first two times and hadn’t answered. After apologizing, I filled her in with what I knew, adding that I hadn’t yet spoken to the neurologist.

“I called my parents about what happened,” Morgan said. “I asked them about strokes, and they said that if she’s not in ICU, she’ll most likely survive. But depending on the severity of the stroke, there can be long-term effects.”

Like partial paralysis, I thought. “Can those be fixed?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like it depends on the original blockage. Apparently, rehabilitation has come a long way in the last few years. I hope you don’t mind, but my mom checked out Vidant Medical Center and discovered that it’s a primary stroke center, which is really important. It means they’ll be able to offer interdisciplinary care even after she’s released. She said your aunt is in good hands.”

“That was kind of your mom to look it up,” I said. “But how did you know my aunt was admitted to Vidant?”

“Google. It’s the largest hospital near Washington. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

Even as Morgan spoke, my mind continued to whirl. “The nurses won’t tell me anything.”

“They’re not allowed to. That’s the physician’s job.”

“He hasn’t called me, either.”

“He will, probably after he finishes his rounds. And depending on how many patients he has, he might call late. That’s what my parents do. But what did Paige say?”

I said nothing at first. Finally: “I haven’t been able to reach her yet.”

“What?” Morgan’s voice sounded her disbelief. “Why didn’t she call you when it happened?”

That was the question I wasn’t yet ready to think about. Instead, I offered, “I don’t know.”





I stopped for gas, then hit the interstate again. From the other direction, headlights appeared as tiny dots in the distance, growing larger as they approached and suddenly vanishing, only to be replaced by others. Overhead, the moonlight was clear and bright, though I was only dimly aware of the passing landscape.

I called Toby again. After my call—maybe because my worries had amplified his—he returned to the hospital, even though he’d visited earlier. He said that he had been allowed to stay only a few minutes, because visiting hours were ending, but that my aunt appeared stable. “She was sleeping,” he explained.

“Where was Paige?”

“I didn’t see her, but one of the nurses said they thought that she came by earlier. They assumed she went to get something to eat.”

“That’s great,” I said, feeling a sudden surge of relief.

“I also stopped by the house again on my way back,” he added. “The lights weren’t on, and her car wasn’t in the driveway.”

After I hung up, the relief was strangely short-lived. In the back of my mind, warning bells continued to sound.

My next call to Paige went straight to voicemail again.





By the time the doctor finally called, I’d made it through Georgia and was into South Carolina. I was doing 90, praying I wouldn’t be pulled over but more than willing to risk it.

“Your aunt had an ischemic stroke,” he said. “That’s where a clot narrows one of the arteries leading to the brain. The good news is that the blockage wasn’t total.” He explained the surgery—while I’d imagined something complex, he said it hadn’t taken long—and emphasized how critical it was that Toby had called the ambulance when he did. He updated me on her current condition and the medications she was taking, adding that he was confident she’d be released within the next few days.

“What about her paralysis?” I asked.

“That’s a bit more complicated,” he said, “but the fact that she retains some movement in her arms and legs is a good sign.” He went on to discuss potential complications and post-hospitalization rehab, but with my brain still whirling, all I really understood was that right now there was still much he couldn’t answer. While I appreciated the honesty, it didn’t make me feel a lot better.