Page 4 of Just Like That

‘No problem.’ He smiles politely at me. ‘Can I ask you to take a seat in the waiting area and I’ll see what I can find out.’

‘Um… OK…’ I’m reluctant to do this when I don’t know how long it will take, but a faint voice in my head tells me this person doesn’t know anything and should be given the space to find out what’s going on.

Retreating to a seat, I perch on the edge bolt upright, waiting anxiously for some news. I don’t know whether it’s the continuing nausea I’m feeling or the overpowering chemicals used to keep the hospital clean, but I find the smell of the place almost intolerable. That and the drab feel of the waiting area, being surrounded by so many sick and injured people. After what feels like an eternity, the man from reception approaches me and I stand up, expecting to be led somewhere.

‘Your brother is having a CT scan just now,’ he tells me. ‘Someone will be over to see you soon.’

‘Right…’ I kind of know I need to accept this situation for now, but my desperation is overriding my ability to be placated. ‘The nurse who called me said it was a suspected stroke. Do you have any other information? Any indication of how serious it is?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you any more than that.’ The receptionist gives me an apologetic look. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long until there’s some news.’

Frustrated, I sit back down, fidgeting uncontrollably, watching every move of the medical professionals who come and go. After a short while, my phone buzzes with a text from Craig asking if there’s any news.

Our earlier conversation was obviously cut short after the nurse called me, and Craig was great. He called a cab and bundled me straight into it, telling me not to give work a second thought until I knew more.

I quickly respond to let him know where things are at, and as I hit send, I suddenly think of my parents. They need to know what’s going on, but if I call them now, what can I tell them? What if it’s not a stroke and just a false alarm? I wouldn’t want to worry them for no reason. But regardless, something is clearly going on. The nurse told me that Seth couldn’t even communicate with her – Mum and Dad should know that.

Keeping an eagle eye on the activity around me, I find my parents’ number and put my phone to my ear. The elongated international ring tone sounds for a few moments and then someone answers.

‘Jess, darling, how are you? Lovely to hear from you,’ my mum’s softly spoken yet upbeat voice greets me. ‘I thought we were speaking at the weekend. To what do I owe this pleasure?’

I wince in anticipation of ruining her day – perhaps even her life, given I don’t yet know how serious Seth’s condition is.

‘Mum, is Dad there too? I need to speak to you both together.’

‘Of course, I’ll just get him. You sound worried. Is something up?’

I refrain from answering her question and wait silently as I hear her calling my dad, who’s clearly been outside from the noises and dialogue that follow.

‘He’s coming now,’ commentates my mum.

Seconds later I hear my father clear his throat as he joins the call. ‘Jess, love. Your mum thinks there’s something wrong. You’re all right, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. Well, actually I’m not… because Seth is not fine.’

‘Sorry, honey, you’re not making much sense,’ says my mum. ‘Are you saying something’s wrong with Seth? He’s not in trouble, is he? I’ve told him about getting too boisterous with those lads of his on his nights out, but he never listens.’

‘It’s not that, Mum. He’s taken ill.’ My voice cracks as I say this. ‘They… they think it might be a stroke.’

There’s a stunned silence. For a second I think maybe I’ve lost the connection and quickly check the reception on my phone.

‘Are you still there?’ I ask.

‘We’re here, Jess,’ confirms my dad. ‘It’s just… a bit of a shock. Are you sure you’ve understood correctly? Seth is young and very fit. A stroke seems quite unlikely.’

‘I know. That’s what I thought, but I literally don’t know anything else. He’s having a scan right now and I’ve been told I’ll be updated soon.’

‘OK, sure. Well try not to worry, love. They always want to rule out the most serious conditions first. It’s probably something far less sinister.’

‘I would think so,’ my mum pitches in with agreement.

Talking to my parents, even when they’re so far away, acts as some comfort to me. We move on to some light chat about what they’ve been doing (very little from the sounds of it), which I know is their way of trying to calm me.

By the time I end the call, I feel more reassured. I’ve jumped to the worst conclusion and the chances are it’s something way less concerning. Feeling slightly cheered, I scroll through my Instagram newsfeed until someone approaches me.

‘Ms McKenzie?’

‘Yes?’ I look up and shove my phone back in my bag.

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